Gospel Story Finder

I am the only member of the Church in my class at school. One day I had a substitute teacher, and she asked a question about a Christian religion in a different country. I thought the answer was Mormons, so I answered her question. She told me that she wanted to know a Christian religion because she thought that Mormons were not Christians. I told her that Mormons are Christians because we believe in Jesus Christ. I had just been baptized, and I knew that I believed in Jesus Christ. Our church is His Church. I bore my testimony of the Savior to my whole class. Many people have asked me questions about my religion since that day, and I have been able to be a missionary and share the gospel because I stood up for my beliefs.
Tate M., age 8, Virginia, USA

Our uncle Logan is on a mission. He said that miracles happen when you open your mouth and talk about the gospel as best you can. We gave away 10 copies of the Book of Mormon in one week by opening our mouths to people we met as we ran errands with our mom. Several people thanked us for the book and told us they were going to read it! Now we keep copies of the Book of Mormon in our van so we can keep being missionaries.
Eliza and Lucy B., ages 7 and 6, Virginia

In 1976 an area general conference was held in Copenhagen, Denmark. Following the closing session, President Spencer W. Kimball desired to visit the Vor Frue Church, where the Thorvaldsen statues of the Christus and of the Twelve Apostles stand. He had visited there some years earlier and wanted all of us to see it, to go there.
To the front of the church, behind the altar, stands the familiar statue of the Christus with His arms turned forward and somewhat outstretched, the hands showing the imprint of the nails, and the wound in His side very clearly visible. Along each side stand the statues of the Apostles, Peter at the front to the right and the other Apostles in order.
Most of our group was near the rear of the chapel with the custodian. I stood up front with President Kimball before the statue of Peter with Elder Rex D. Pinegar and Johan Helge Benthin, president of the Copenhagen stake.
In Peter’s hand, depicted in marble, is a set of heavy keys. President Kimball pointed to those keys and explained what they symbolized. Then, in an act I shall never forget, he turned to President Benthin and with unaccustomed firmness pointed his finger at him and said, “I want you to tell everyone in Denmark that I hold the keys! We hold the real keys, and we use them every day.”
I will never forget that declaration, that testimony from the prophet. The influence was spiritually powerful; the impression was physical in its impact.
We walked to the back of the chapel where the rest of the group was standing. Pointing to the statues, President Kimball said to the kind custodian, “These are the dead Apostles.” Pointing to me, he said, “Here we have the living Apostles. Elder Packer is an Apostle. Elder Thomas S. Monson and Elder L. Tom Perry are Apostles, and I am an Apostle. We are the living Apostles.
“You read about the Seventies in the New Testament, and here are two of the living Seventies, Elder Rex D. Pinegar and Elder Robert D. Hales.”
The custodian, who up to that time had shown no emotion, suddenly was in tears.
I felt I had had an experience of a lifetime.

When President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) was a young man, he and his family lived on a farm during the summer. He had this experience there:
“There was a dead tree I wished to pull. I fastened one end of a chain to the tractor and the other end to the tree. As the tractor began to move, the tree shook a little, and then the chain broke.
“I looked at that broken link and wondered how it could have given way. I went to the hardware store and bought a repair link. I put it together again, but it was an awkward and ugly connection. The chain was never, never the same.”1
Think of yourself as part of a chain—a family chain. President Hinckley said we should never let ourselves be a weak link in our family chain.

During an Old Testament class at the institute of religion, he met Lesa Jean Higley, who had moved from California to Idaho and was now a student at Utah State. “The teacher asked Lesa to role-play as Eve and for me to play the role of Satan to tempt her. As a result, it took a while for me to convince her to go out with me,” he recalls with a smile. They dated for just over a year and then married in the Idaho Falls Idaho Temple in 1979.

Voices in the front room awoke Sherrie. Through her outside window she could see nothing but blackness. It can’t be morning already, she thought. Listening, she heard Mama say, “Perry, please don’t go. Storm warnings on the news are urging people not to travel today unless absolutely necessary.”
“It is absolutely necessary. If I can pick up this load of freight, it will get us out of a bind.”
“Perry, please. A couple of days won’t make that much difference.”
“I might be able to beat the storm if I go now. It isn’t supposed to hit the Wasatch Front until this evening.”
Sherrie heard Daddy tell Mama goodbye, the front door open and close, and Daddy’s big truck rumble out of the yard. Turning her face to her pillow, she prayed softly, “Dear Heavenly Father, take good care of Daddy, and bring him safely home.” Then she drifted off to sleep.
By early afternoon, the heavy clouds had turned to snow. Sherrie ran home from school through swirling flakes—a rare and exciting thing. It practically never snowed in Hurricane, Utah, for just like nearby St. George, this was “the place where the summer sun spends the winter.”
When Mama turned on the TV to watch the six o’clock news, the newscaster was announcing that the blizzard had arrived hours earlier than expected and that Salt Lake City was snowed in. Pictures showed trucks and cars stalled in the snow.
When it came time for family prayers, Mama said, “Sherrie, I believe that it’s your turn tonight.” Everyone silently knelt and bowed their heads.
“Heavenly Father,” Sherrie began, “thanks for the snow to play in, but we’d like to have not so much of it for the people traveling on the roads. Take good care of Daddy, and bring him home safely. And if Thou would, please send a bright angel to protect him from danger, and help him to return soon. Thanks for taking good care of us and keeping us well. We love Thee, Heavenly Father. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Morning brought the sunshine. The storm was over, and Hurricane’s skift of snow was reduced to tiny white patches in the shade. Good! Daddy will have safe traveling today, Sherrie thought. But when she came home from school, his big truck wasn’t in the yard.
The evening news showed that weather conditions were still bad in northern Utah. Mama looked out the window often as she prepared supper. “Sherrie, please help Annie set the table,” she said.
Sherrie set Daddy’s place first. Then she drew little flowers on a card and wrote, “We love you, Daddy,” and put it by his plate.
Mama was just taking a pan of biscuits from the oven when Daddy’s truck rumbled into the yard. A stampede of children greeted him as he came through the door. It took some doing to hug his way through them before he could greet Mama. Happy faces surrounded the table, and Mama put on the roast and the vegetables. She had even made Daddy’s favorite lemon pudding.
“Dad, did an angel guard you on this trip?” Clay asked. “Sherrie prayed for one for you.”
As Daddy looked up from his plate, Sherrie shyly ducked her head. Daddy regarded her tenderly.
“Yes, Sherrie, an ‘angel’ did guard me. You see, snow and ice aren’t the only dangers on the road. My rig held the road just fine, but something far worse than a breakdown almost happened. On my way home I stopped on the outskirts of Salt Lake to gas up the truck and get a bite to eat. Then I pulled out onto the road. After I had gone a mile or two, a man rose up in the sleeper behind me and jabbed a pistol in my back.
“‘Pull over,’ he demanded. I stopped as soon as I could. Still keeping me covered, the man climbed onto the seat beside me. ‘Do as I say,’ he ordered, ‘and I won’t hurt you. But if you give me any trouble, I’ll shoot you.’ Then he barked, ‘Empty your wallet, and be quick about it.’
“Since I was looking down the barrel of that pistol, I didn’t argue. I dug my wallet from my pocket.
“‘Hand me the money first,’ he ordered, ‘then I’ll look at the credit cards.’
“I handed him the money I got for delivering the freight, about two hundred dollars in bills. Then, as I started to pull the cards from my wallet, Sherrie’s picture fell, faceup, onto the seat beside the man. He gasped. Like a man hypnotized, his gaze was riveted on Sherrie’s picture. The pistol fell from his limp fingers, and the money scattered to the floor. He buried his face in his hands and shook with deep, anguished sobs. Speechless, I watched him. Time seemed to stand still. How long I watched that big, burly man shaking with sobs, I don’t know. It seemed quite a while, but it must have been only minutes. Finally he raised his face, took another look at Sherrie’s picture, and asked hoarsely, ‘Is that your little girl?’
“‘Yes,’ I replied.
“‘She reminds me of my own little girl. I can still feel her arms clinging around my neck, and I can hear her crying and begging me not to leave her and her mommy. I’m no criminal. I’ve never robbed anyone in my life. But today I was desperate. The picture of your little girl has brought me back to my senses. Forgive me, please.’
“Perspiration stood out on the man’s forehead. He wiped his face on his sleeve, opened the door, and got out. ‘Hey, mister, don’t you want your pistol?’ I asked. Reluctantly, he picked it up. ‘Here,’ I said, handing him a couple of twenties. ‘I’m sure that you can use this.’
“He looked at me with disbelief as he took the money, then, swallowing hard, said, ‘Sir, you’re a lifesaver. You can’t possibly know what a difference this makes. God bless you.’
“I watched as he cut across a field toward a cluster of houses, and then I gathered the rest of the money from the floor. Sherrie’s picture still lay on the seat where it had fallen. As I picked it up, her smile danced in front of me through a river of tears. Over and over I whispered, ‘My angel, my darling little angel.’ My heart is so filled with thankfulness for all of you. Surely I am blessed.”
The sweet silence that filled the room seemed too sacred to be broken. At last Sherrie said softly, “Heavenly Father let my picture fall onto the seat by that man, didn’t he, Daddy?”
Stroking her dark curls, he replied, “Yes, Sherrie, my precious, bright angel. I’m sure that He did.”

In my class at school, there are only two other members of the Church. What we believe is like a new world to some of my classmates. They often ask us questions about the gospel, and some are difficult to answer. If we don’t know the answer to a question, we discuss it together and seek guidance from our Church leaders. Once we know how to respond, we tell our classmates about what we know to be true. I have even invited some of them to come and see for themselves how we worship, and they’ve received good feelings about sacrament meeting.

I remember clearly my first experience with the sacrament. I had just been invited by the missionaries to attend church for the first time. Unfortunately I didn’t know anything about how the sacrament works or what it symbolizes, so the girls I was sitting with had to explain the whole process while it was happening.
Looking back on this experience has made me realize that it would have been helpful if I had tried to learn a little bit more about the sacrament beforehand on my own, but I was fortunate that the girls I sat with on that first day were more than willing to explain everything to me in the moment. Since then, a lot has changed in my life—including my knowledge of the gospel and the meaning of the sacrament.
There have also been many changes during the past general conferences. When President Russell M. Nelson closed the October 2019 general conference, he revealed some revisions to the questions asked in a temple recommend interview, and as he reiterated question 8, “Do you strive to keep the Sabbath day holy, both at home and at church; attend your meetings; prepare for and worthily partake of the sacrament; and live your life in harmony with the laws and commandments of the gospel?” (emphasis added).
I was struck by the word prepare.
I’ve realized that the sacrament isn’t something you prepare for just moments before the bread and water are passed. You can prepare for the sacrament throughout the week to help you feel the Spirit strongly and a sense of renewal every Sunday.
Since then, I’ve started preparing to take the sacrament throughout the week by:
Studying my scriptures through Come, Follow Me and thinking of ideas I can share with others and in the next Sunday School meeting.
Packing what I need for church on Saturday night for meetings in the morning (the joys of working the night shift!). I make sure I pack my scriptures and a notebook to take notes during sacrament meeting, and I pray to find answers during church about how I can improve myself throughout the next week.
Listening to spiritual music on Sunday morning before I attend sacrament meeting also helps me feel the Spirit and get in the right mindset.
Reading over the hymns we will sing in sacrament meeting and looking up the scriptures they refer to. This helps me fully realize the message and meaning behind the hymns and helps me ponder these things throughout the meeting.
Lastly, thinking about the reason for the sacrament before it’s passed. I remind myself that I need to always remember the “why” of the sacrament and its importance throughout the week—the Savior.
The purpose for the sacrament is to remember Jesus Christ and His atoning sacrifice for us (see Matthew 26:26–28). The sacrament also invites us to renew our baptismal covenant and to deepen our commitment to become more like Him, to remember Him, and to become better disciples. It also allows us to start the next week spiritually refreshed.
I’ve learned so much more about the sacrament since that first day at church. And I now feel so much joy every week as I walk into sacrament meeting, knowing that I am about to remember my Savior’s sacrifice for me and be more diligent in keeping my covenants. Preparing makes a positive difference in the Spirit you feel throughout the meeting. Before the sacrament was in my life, I often felt empty—like something was missing. I never knew that the missing piece of my life was an ordinance that is so simple, but so powerful at the same time. An ordinance that helps me deepen my love for the Savior and appreciate all He does for me.

For example, I honor those special souls who face challenges of parenthood with unwavering faith in their Maker. To a family dear to Sister Nelson and me, a son was recently born. This child was afflicted with multiple anomalies affecting virtually every system of his little body. Two operations were required in his first week of life. More will be necessary. When I spoke with the child’s parents, they did not ask, “Why did this happen to us?” Instead, they declared: “We know that this child is meant for us. God has entrusted this special baby to us. We will love him and care for him to the best of our ability.” Thank the Lord for such parents!

This story happened in Australia.
“Bye, Saría! I know you’ll do great today,” Mom said.
Saría hopped out of the car. “Thanks!”
Today Saría wanted to invite her friends to her baptism. Mom had helped her practice inviting them on the way to school.
Saría skipped to the big double doors to her classroom. She went to a Christian school. That meant they all learned about Jesus Christ together even though not everyone went to the same church. Her teacher had put different names for Jesus on the classroom doors. They said things like “Miracle Worker” and “My God.” Today, Saría noticed the one that said “Promise Keeper.”
Saría grinned with excitement. When she got baptized, she would be a promise keeper too!
At lunchtime, Saría sat by Katy and Jenny on the stairs outside the classroom. As they ate, Saría thought now would be a good time to do what she had practiced.
Saría took a deep breath. “I’m going to be baptized soon. Would you like to come?”
“Why are you getting baptized now?” Katy asked.
Saría tried to remember the things she’d practiced with Mom. “Because I want to make a covenant. A covenant is a promise with God. After I am baptized, I will get the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
Katy reached for her sandwich. “I was baptized when I was a baby.”
“Me too,” Jenny said. “I thought everyone was baptized when they were babies.”
Saría felt confused. She didn’t know what to say.
After school, Saría told Mom what happened. “Why did Katy and Jenny get baptized when they were babies?”
Mom sat beside her. “Other churches do things differently. In some churches, babies are baptized by sprinkling water on them. But we believe that when we’re baptized, we make a sacred covenant. And we need to be old enough to understand the promises we make.”
Saría thought about the other differences she’d noticed at school. Her friends worshipped in many ways that were different from what she was used to.
Mom hugged her. “You did a good job today.”
Saría felt better. She hadn’t known how to answer her friend’s questions, but she had done her best. She still wanted to invite them to her baptism.
The next day, Saría and Katy walked to class together. Katy dropped something, and Saría picked it up for her. It was a necklace with a cross on it.
“Thank you!” Katy took the necklace. “I’d be really sad if I lost this. It reminds me of Jesus.”
Saría grinned and held up her CTR ring. “This reminds me of Jesus too! It stands for ‘choose the right.’ It reminds me to do the things that Jesus would do.”
“I like that,” Katy said.
Saría and Katy reached their classroom door. Katy pointed to the name for Jesus on the door that said “Way Maker.”
“That one is my favorite!” Katy said.
“I love it too.”
A happy feeling spread through Saría’s chest. Her teacher had told her that “Way Maker” meant Jesus made a way for things to happen. Jesus had made a way for Saría to make friends with kids from many different churches! They had differences, but one thing was the same. They all loved Jesus and wanted to follow Him. Saría knew that made Jesus happy.

My friend Marcia had moved several times in her young years as her father’s work required it. She was now ten years old and facing another new school. Marcia’s mother could see the concern on her daughter’s face and sat down with her to discuss what was bothering her.
Marcia talked about the challenge of joining classes at midterm and trying to get in step with the subject matter, teacher, and other students. Mother pledged her support to help Marcia make the adjustment. Then tears welled up in Marcia’s eyes. In all honesty, she shared with her mother, “I can overcome the difficulties with the academics and the new teachers. But Mother,” she said, with tears trickling down her freckled cheeks, “I just hate eating my lunch alone.” Marcia needed someone to recognize her situation and invite her to join a group and get acquainted.
Laura was someone who recognized a potentially awkward situation and did something to avoid it. She and Kate were best friends. The two of them included others in their circle of friends. A few of these girls planned a party, inviting all in the group except Kate. Laura, after becoming aware of what had happened, told the others that she would not be able to accept their invitation unless Kate was included. This kind, loyal act of a friend who followed the golden rule (see 3 Ne. 14:12) prevented pain and sorrow.
We become kind by doing kind things. The Apostle Paul said: “And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you” (Eph. 4:32).
The Merrie Miss motto is I Will Follow God’s Plan for Me. God’s plan for us includes our being kind. My challenge to you is to search for opportunities to be kind. The promise is: you will be happy. I pray that each of us will develop a desire to be kind to others and to ourselves and continually act upon that desire.

Soon after I was baptized, the branch president called me as the Young Men president. It was excellent to be with the youth and to help them learn about the gospel. At the same time I was teaching, I was learning. This was the first in a series of callings that I received. With each of my responsibilities, I felt joy and pleasure for the new challenges. President Thomas S. Monson has taught: “Remember that whom the Lord calls, the Lord qualifies.”3 I had to trust and believe with humility that I would be capable. And in less than six months as a member, I had the great opportunity to become familiar with the programs in the Church.
Germano Lopes, baptized in Brazil in 2004

I am filled with emotion when I see my wife read the Book of Mormon every day. As she does so, I can feel her testimony just by seeing the joy in her countenance as she reads over the passages that testify of the mission of the Savior.
How wise are the words of our Savior: “Search the scriptures; for in them ye think ye have eternal life: and they are they which testify of me.”
Inspired by this, I asked my grandchild Raquel, who had recently learned how to read, “What would you say about setting a goal to read the Book of Mormon?”
Her answer was “But, Grandpa, it’s so hard. It’s a big book.”
Then I asked her to read me a page. I took out a stopwatch and timed her. I said, “You took only three minutes, and the Spanish version of the Book of Mormon has 642 pages, so you need 1,926 minutes.”
This could have scared her even more, so I divided that number by 60 minutes and told her she would need only 32 hours to read it—less than a day and a half!
Then she said to me, “That’s so easy, Grandpa.”
In the end, Raquel, her brother, Esteban, and our other grandchildren took more time than this because this is a book which needs to be read with a spirit of prayer and meditation.

The temple is the most still and quiet place on earth, right? Well, maybe not for someone like me with Tourette’s syndrome. This neurological condition causes me to make constant movements and noises against my will. My Tourette’s can make people uncomfortable when I’m near them in a quiet place.
One day during an endowment session in the Washington D.C. Temple, I worried that I might bother or distract others. It takes all of my focus to control my tics, which prevents me from concentrating on anything else. So, as I tried to concentrate on the endowment, it was impossible for me to completely control my tics, though I did my best. I struggled more than usual during the session.
Afterward, as I was leaving the celestial room, I heard a comforting voice behind me say, “Please come back. Please keep coming to the temple.”
The voice came from a couple who had seen me struggling. They wanted to assure me that I was always welcome in the temple no matter what noises or movements I made. Their words made me feel that I was just as welcome and needed there as anyone else.
As they hugged me, the Holy Ghost blessed me with peace and joy. God had sent me a tender mercy in the form of those two angels, who comforted me and showed me that He cares. Because of them, I felt the peaceful, still, quiet feeling I had hoped to feel in the temple that day.

Laurie sat in the deserted dressing room that smelled of sweat socks and leftover lunches and thought about all the times she’d done this before—just sat in a dressing room of an ice rink somewhere and waited for her turn to compete. Today wasn’t one of the ordinary times, however. Today marked her comeback in the National Junior figure skating finals. If I place in one of the top three positions, she thought, I’ll qualify to move up to Seniors next year and then, after that, world competition and the Olympics. Fantastic!
If, Laurie thought, coming down from her excitement with a thud. That big word if. Before the accident, no one could beat her in competition. From that first day, when she was ten and passed the Preliminary test, she’d glided right through the local divisions into National Novice.
“Hi, Laurie,” Kathy said, suddenly bursting through the door. “Welcome back to the competition ranks. We’ve surely missed you these last six months.”
“I’ve missed being here,” Laurie said.
“How’s the knee?” Kathy’s face suddenly turned serious. “Is it going to slow you down? I mean, you had such a head of steam going for you. We really thought you’d be in the Seniors by now and then the Olympics.”
“I guess we’ll find out tonight just where I stand,” Laurie said, feeling her confidence drain away.
“We have some new competition this year, Laurie,” Kathy said, adjusting her bootlaces. “A girl from Connecticut named Jinny Jordan, who’s really strong in everything—schools, freestyle, you name it.”
“I saw some of her figures this morning,” Laurie said. “Unbelievable!”
“Wait’ll you see her freestyle program tonight,” Kathy said. “She does four double axels and a triple toe loop at the end. Can you believe it?”
Laurie thought about this and knew that she’d have to include a triple toe loop too. She had hoped to leave it out because it put an additional strain on her knee, but now there was no choice. I’ll have to try the triple and pray, she thought.
“Is Jinny ahead in the scoring?” Laurie asked.
“She’s the one you have to beat this year,” Kathy replied, as she hurried out, slamming the door behind her.
For a moment, Laurie sat quietly, getting used to the feeling. Until the accident, everyone had said, “Laurie Collins is the one to beat.” Now the one to beat was someone she’d never heard of before. Has everyone written me out of the competition since the accident? she wondered.
The accident. Who could have predicted it? No one figured on that awful rainy night when she and Mom were driving home after a practice session and the car in front of them swerved on the slippery road and they plowed into it. Later, examinations at the hospital revealed that torn cartilage in her right knee would need three months to mend and three more months of therapy and practice if she hoped to regain her position.
She jumped up and winced as her right knee broadcast pain signals up and down her leg. The doctor said it would do that for awhile. After waiting for the sensation to pass, she moved slowly across the room, then back again, to limber up. She did a few deep knee bends, holding onto the back of a chair for support.
Suddenly she caught her image in the mirror, then stood up and looked herself right in the eye. “Who are you kidding?” she asked. “And what makes you think you have a chance tonight?” She covered her eyes with her hands, and then said with determination, “I just have to win.”
The door swung open and Laurie looked up into the mirror again. Reflected there was a girl about her own age but shorter and more powerfully built. At the moment her arms were overloaded with a skate equipment bag, a thermos, a warm-up jacket, and a pair of skates.
The girl dumped some of her belongings onto a chair. The bag fell to the floor with a thud. “Hi, I’m Jinny Jordan,” she said.
“Hi, I’m Laurie Collins.” Laurie felt ill at ease. So this is the competition, she thought. Because of her, I may lose tonight.
“This costume was my mom’s idea,” Jinny began, looking at her red, white, and blue skating dress. “I hope no one expects me to skate to the national anthem.”
Laurie smiled and then looked down at Jinny’s skating bag. “Hey,” she said, “some stuff fell out of your bag, Jinny. Guess you didn’t have it zipped up all the way.”
Jinny looked at the clothes and equipment that lay scattered on the floor. She started gathering her belongings when the door opened.
“Jinny,” Kathy said, poking her head in. “You’re supposed to get your music tape out to the sound engineer right away.”
“I thought I gave it to him half an hour ago. Tell him it’s the dark green box with my initials marked in white in the top right-hand corner.”
“Maybe you better remind him. He claims you never gave it to him and he’s about ready to explode.”
“Then I don’t know what I did with it,” Jinny said, hurrying out after Kathy.
Laurie relaced her boots one more time. That’s funny, she thought. She has a chance to win tonight and she doesn’t even know what she did with her music. Music was nearly as important to the freestyle program as the skating itself. It created mood, rhythm, style. Laurie had worked for months with her coach to select, then tape, her music program. If she lost her tape, she might as well forget about competing; it was that simple.
She stood up and walked to the chair to try a few more deep knee bends with her boots relaced. As she came down for the second time, Laurie saw something small and dark green behind the leg of the dressing table. She bent over to pull it out and saw the white initials J.J. in the top right-hand corner.
Must have rolled out of her bag when she dropped it, Laurie thought. She stood there immobile for what must have been only seconds, yet it seemed years while she thought about her next move.
All I’d have to do is forget that I found this. If Jinny doesn’t have her music, she might as well not skate. She would lookpretty ridiculous skating with no sound. And then, Laurie thought, I would win, because she’s the only real competition I have.
Laurie shivered slightly at the possibility. Do I really want to win that much? she wondered. Does winning mean so much that I’d be willing to cheat for it?
The door flew open. “Hey, you’re on after Jinny,” Kathy said, “and she’s in real trouble. She still can’t find her music.”
Laurie hesitated for only a second. “Tell her I found her tape,” she said, heading for the door. “And then would you mind giving it to the sound engineer. I’m already laced up.”
With a resigned but relieved feeling, Laurie made her way to the rink. Moving to the edge of the ice, she removed her guards and watched Jinny skate gracefully to the taped music. Afterward she nervously waited for her cue. When the announcer called her name, Laurie glided quickly to the center of the rink as her music began. She waited until the taped music filled the stadium over the loudspeaker, let the drum beat inside her head to catch the rhythm, then stroked hard into a double toe spin as the tympany reached a crescendo. She followed with a strong spiral on her right leg that carried her half way around the perimeter of the rink.
Good, she thought, my knee’s holding up!
She didn’t leave one figure out as she felt herself gliding, spinning out of one figure and into another. The audience applauded from time to time, enthusiastically supporting her in her comeback.
The closing strains of music lifted her into a difficult triple toe loop that made the audience gasp. Finally it was over. The applause blanketed her and she stood for a moment there in the spotlight. Afterward she waved to the crowd and quickly made her way to the exit where her coach ran over and hugged her.
“You did it, Laurie,” she said, “You didn’t make a single mistake. I think you won.”
Laurie said nothing, but smiled as she waited for her marks. When they came, she knew she’d beaten Jinny Jordan and everyone else.
“Laurie, you won! You won!” Kathy screamed, as she rushed up to her.
“Yeah, I guess I did,” was all Laurie could manage. Then, as she put on her blade guards and walked back to the dressing room, she thought, but no one will ever know how close I really came to losing.

When President Hinckley was two years old, he became severely ill with whooping cough. The doctor told his mother that he needed good clean air to breathe. His parents bought a farm outside of Salt Lake City, and the family moved there during summer months. While there, young Gordon learned to work hard pruning trees, weeding gardens, and caring for animals. He learned that you could only harvest food after you had planted and cared for it. He learned that Heavenly Father blesses us, but He expects us to do the work first.

In my fifth-grade class, we started studying Russia. We planned a “Russian Party.” There was mostly Russian food, and we had a quiz.
When the Russian party was about to begin, I put the potatoes and vinegar I’d brought on the table. We all went to our seats. When our teacher called our names, we went up and got a little bit of everything from our teacher, who was standing behind the table.
Before we started eating, she asked everyone who had made something to tell the class what it was. It turned out that the drink was a Russian tea.
When I ate everything on my plate except the tea, my friends who aren’t members of the Church asked me why I didn’t drink it. When I told them about the Word of Wisdom, they understood. So, when our teacher came around to see that we all tasted everything, my friends and I told her that I didn’t want to drink the tea.
I didn’t have to drink it. I’m glad that I can try to set an example to be like Jesus Christ.

Several months ago, with another General Authority, I visited the beautiful island of Tahiti. Our airplane arrived at the Papeete airport at about four o’clock in the morning. We were met by a group of local Church leaders headed by regional representative Victor Cave. We quickly gathered our luggage and went to the hotel to get what rest we could before the day’s activities began.
As we drove through the quiet streets in the early morning light, we saw a man crossing the road in front of Brother Cave’s car. Brother Cave slowed the car to give the man plenty of time to cross and told us, “That man is from the local ward. He is hurrying to get to the temple. The first session of the temple doesn’t begin until nine o’clock, but he wants to be there well in advance.”
“How far away does he live?” he was asked. The answer: “Two or three blocks.” Brother Cave said that the caretakers open the temple gates early and that this man comes in and watches the day begin from within the sacred grounds surrounding the beautiful temple.
I marveled at the faith of that man, who is willing to give up his sleep and other activities in order to meditate and contemplate. Some would no doubt say, “How foolish! What a waste of time that could be spent sleeping or studying.” I hope that in those special hours of meditation and contemplation that faithful man is coming to know himself and his Creator.
Like that man crossing the street in Papeete at 4:00 A.M., hurrying to the temple, we can enjoy an untroubled conscience in the temples of God. Having a simple, untroubled faith can lift us above the selfish, sordid, and greedy aspects of the world toward peace and eternal life.

Sofía was almost eight years old. She was getting ready to be baptized. She was learning lots of important things. One thing she had learned about was prayer. She knew she could pray to Heavenly Father anytime. She knew she could pray anyplace.
One day Sofía and Mama decided to visit Papa at work. It would be a long trip. Papa worked in another town. They would have to ride on a bus, then in a truck, and then in a taxi.
During the bus ride, Sofía fell asleep. She woke up when she heard a baby crying. A mom and dad with a baby had gotten on the bus. The baby was sick and crying loudly. The baby’s parents looked worried.
Sofía felt sorry for the baby. She felt sorry for the parents too. Then she had an idea. She whispered in Mama’s ear. “Could I say a prayer and ask Heavenly Father to bless the baby?”
“Of course,” Mama said with a smile.
Sofía bowed her head and said a silent prayer. She prayed hard. She asked Heavenly Father to bless the baby. She asked Him to help the baby feel better and stop crying.
Sofía knew that we do not always get what we pray for. She also knew that our prayers are not always answered right away. But in a short time, the baby calmed down. Then the baby stopped crying. She seemed to feel better. Her parents did not look so worried.
Sofía felt warm and happy inside. She was happy for the baby—and for the baby’s parents. She knew Heavenly Father had heard her prayer.

When the car horn honked, Ricky jumped to his feet, grabbed his sleeping bag and his pillow, banged the front door open, and ran outside. “Bye, Mom. See you tomorrow,” he called without even looking back.
Mrs. Oglethorpe’s green station wagon sat in the driveway. Steve pushed the back door open for Ricky. “Hey, Ricky!” Steve greeted him.
Ricky had always admired Steve, who was a year older and the best athlete in their school. Although they lived on the same street, they had not been good friends until this year, when they both played for the Dodgers. All spring and summer they’d practiced together, and Steve taught Ricky how to pitch. Steve was a great pitcher. Besides having a sharp-breaking curve and a sinker, he could throw the ball so hard that it would almost knock your glove off. All of Ricky’s pitches looked the same—slow balls.
“Hi, Stever! Hello, Mrs. O,” Ricky said as he climbed into the station wagon. “Oglethorpe” always seemed to get mixed up in his mouth and never came out right.
“Hi, Ricky. All ready?” Mrs. Oglethorpe asked.
“You bet!”
As Mrs. Oglethorpe was backing the station wagon out of the driveway, Ricky’s mom hurried out of the house. “Ricky!”
She caught up with the car, and asked, smiling at Ricky, “Didn’t you forget something?” “Something very important?” She held out Ricky’s baseball glove.
“Oh, wow! How’d I forget that?” “Thanks.”
“Don’t forget your promise, Ricky,” Mom said. “In bed and asleep by ten o’clock. No later.”
“OK. I will.”
“Remember what Dad said. ‘You don’t want to be tired for the big game tomorrow.’”
The Dodgers were in first place, and tomorrow’s game against the Giants was the last game of the season. If they won, they’d stay in first place, and with Steve pitching, they should win easily.
Because Steve’s family was leaving on vacation right after the game, Brad had decided to have a sleepover party tonight to celebrate the last game. It wasn’t a big party—just Brad, Steve, Jason, and Ricky.
The boys played catch in the backyard while Brad’s dad grilled hamburgers. The delicious-smelling barbeque smoke floated through the hot, summer-evening air. Even baseball couldn’t keep the boys’ minds off the sizzling hamburgers and the food on the picnic table. Everyone laughed as Brad grabbed his stomach and rolled on the ground, moaning about how hungry he was. Then Jason, who was getting a drink from the hose, decided to cool off Brad, Steve, and Ricky, and soon a water fight was going. It ended abruptly when Brad’s dad got soaked. It felt so good to be cool, though, that the boys didn’t mind the soggy hamburger buns and the limp chips. The coleslaw, pickles, corn on the cob, and lemonade tasted great too. Then there was watermelon—complete with a seed-spitting contest—and brownies and vanilla ice cream for dessert.
When it got dark outside, the boys went inside and started a game of Monopoly but didn’t finish it. Then they played video games for a little while. Mostly they talked baseball.
They were still talking baseball as they laid out their sleeping bags in front of the TV. Brad brought in a huge bowlful of popcorn and put a movie into the video recorder. That was when Ricky looked at the clock on the video recorder—9:59. Hey, he thought, how’d it get to be so late so early? There’s a movie and lots more fun coming. It just can’t stop now!
Ricky heard a grandfather clock chiming in another part of the house. Ten bongs. Rats! I wish I hadn’t promised to be in bed by ten. He looked at Brad and asked hesitantly, “Don’t you think it’s kind of late to start a movie?”
“Nah,” Brad replied. “Not for a sleepover party. I’ve stayed up lots later than this before.”
“But we have a game in the morning,” Ricky said, “and we can’t be tired.”
“That game’s no sweat,” Jason said. “We beat ‘em before when Steve pitched.”
“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m going to bed.” Ricky changed into his pajamas, climbed into his sleeping bag, and fluffed up his pillow.
“Come on, Ricky. This is a great movie. It’ll scare your socks off,” Brad said.
Ricky sighed, casting a longing look at the popcorn and the VCR, but said, “No. I’m going to sleep. Good night, guys.”
Jason threw his pillow at Ricky. “Hey, how come you’re such a party pooper?”
“He promised his mom and dad that he’d be in bed by ten,” Steve said as he got out a big bag of candy.
“Ricky, they’ll never know what time you went to bed if you don’t tell them,” Jason said.
“Yeah,” Brad urged. “We won’t squeal on you.”
“Let him alone, you guys,” Steve said. “Have some candy.”
Brad got up. “Let’s go find some more stuff to eat before we start the movie.”
Ricky rolled over, away from the glare of the TV. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. He thought it would be hard to fall asleep, but it was easy. He never even heard the rustling of cookie and candy wrappers, the opening of pop bottles, the joking and giggling, and the scary movie music.
The next day was a perfect day for baseball. The sun shone brightly on the green grass and tan dirt of the diamond.
Steve had pitched only part of the first inning before his stomachache had gotten so bad that he’d had to leave the game. Now it was the last inning. The Dodgers were ahead, 5–3, but the Giants had one more chance to bat. Jason was pitching. He walked the first four Giants, so the score became 5–4, the bases were still loaded, and there was still nobody out.
The coach walked out to the pitching mound and talked to Jason, then looked around at the other players. His eyes stopped on Ricky. He waved at Ricky, calling him in.
“Just throw strikes, Ricky,” the coach said, handing him the ball. “You’re playing well today. I know you can do it.”
Ricky threw some warm-up pitches, and the umpire asked if he was ready. Ricky nodded. The batter stepped up. Ricky looked around at his teammates and checked the runners. If he walked a single batter, the game would be tied. If two runners got in, the game would be over, and the Giants would win. Ricky looked in at the batter. The kid was grinning.
Ricky paused and said a silent prayer. Then he wound up and threw the baseball hard.
“Outside and low—ball one!” the umpire yelled.
Ricky tried another fastball.
“High! Ball two!”
The next pitch hit the dirt in front of the batter.
“Ball three!”
Ricky kicked at the dirt and looked in at the batter, who was grinning bigger than ever. Ricky could hear the Giants cheering. He thought of the times he and Steve had worked together on pitching. Steve had told him not to worry about the batter. Just think about the target. Get the ball into the catcher’s mitt.
Ricky looked at the catcher and his mitt. Then he wound up and threw.
“Steee-rike!”
Ricky threw another strike. The batter just watched it, expecting to stand there and be walked.
Ricky pitched again.
“Strike three! You’re out,” the umpire yelled.
The Dodger fans cheered, and Ricky heard Brad behind him yell, “Come on, Ricky! You can do it!”
The next batter swung at the first pitch and missed. He wasn’t going to just stand there. Ricky pitched again, and the batter hit it—right back to Ricky. Ricky grabbed the ball and threw it to the catcher for the force-out at the plate.
Two outs. But the bases were still loaded, and the Giants’ best hitter, Jay Cottrel, was coming up to bat. Jay was big. And he was swinging the bat like he was ready to hit the ball over the fence.
Ricky thought of the catcher’s mitt and pitched.
Crack! The ball sailed through the air.
“Foul ball!” shouted the umpire. “Strike one.”
The Giant fans yelled for Jay. The Dodger fans yelled for Ricky.
Ricky rolled the ball around in his glove. He couldn’t pitch fast enough to get the ball past Jay the way Steve could. Jay was going to hit it. No doubt about it. So don’t let him get a good hit, Ricky thought. Steve had taught him how to put spin on the ball, so Ricky grasped it on the seams the way Steve had showed him.
Ricky took a deep breath. Everyone else was standing and yelling with excitement.
Ricky wound up. He threw the ball, spinning it off his fingers.
Jay swung. The bat cracked against the ball. But the ball went straight up in the air. Ricky called for it and moved under it. Down it came—down, down and smacked into Ricky’s glove. The Giants were out! The Dodgers had won!
All the other Dodgers ran over to Ricky, patting him on the back and giving him high-fives.
“Ricky, you’re a hero!” Jason yelled.
Ricky looked over at his mom and dad in the stands. They were yelling and cheering with the other parents of the Dodgers. He couldn’t help smiling at them. He knew how proud they were of him, and he was glad to know that they could be proud of him even for things that they didn’t know about—like how he kept his promise to them at the sleepover. They might never know that he’d kept that promise. But Ricky would know. And that was even more important.