Gospel Story Finder

As I watched the shiny tray come down my aisle, I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. This would be the first time in my life that I hadn’t been worthy to take the sacrament. The tray was quickly coming closer to me, and I was drowning in all my feelings. What would my parents think when I didn’t take the sacrament? My little brother and sister? I was supposed to be their example.
As the tray came to me, I quickly passed it on, bowing my head. I felt as if everyone in the whole chapel was looking at me.
The week before, I had talked to my bishop. As I entered his office, I started crying in shame even before I sat down. As I told him everything I had done, I thought he would be angry with me or say I had no hope of being forgiven. Instead, I noticed he was crying too. He let me know he was very pleased I had come to him. It felt so good to know he wanted to help with my problems and that I had someone to talk to.
When I finally stood up to leave, my bishop told me he loved me and assured me, “I am going to help you as much as I can to overcome all of your problems.” At that moment I knew everything would eventually be all right.
My first time not taking the sacrament was hard, but I have to relive the experience every Sunday as I pass the tray on. I am grateful to have the blessing of repentance in my life. I know that when I have completed the repentance process, I will be clean again. And because of this experience and the struggles I am going through, I never want to be unworthy again. Not taking the sacrament is hard. But it has helped me more fully appreciate my Savior’s sacrifice for me.

Jessie and Steve Cota saw a need and found a way to fill it. With help from their father, they built a house for an abandoned mother and her five children, who had been living on the street.
The 12-year-old twin brothers, who live in the Nogales Branch, Tucson Arizona Rincon Stake, didn’t wait for a quorum service project or an assignment from the branch president. They went right to work.
“My aunt, who lives in Mexico, met this woman in the hospital,” Steve explains. “She found out the conditions the woman and her children were living in and knew they needed help. She talked to my father, Jose, who is first counselor in our branch presidency, to see if something could be done.”
Something could. Word spread quickly in the branch. Church members contributed what they could, and Brother Cota, a builder, was able to get materials donated from a project he was working on. The aunt donated her own backyard as a site for the new construction.
“Everybody helped out,” Jessie says. “But to be honest, my dad did most of the work.”
Brother Cota, however, gives credit to his sons. “They really enjoy working. They helped put the floor in, hauling buckets of water so we could make the cement. They helped with the framing and with the roof. We’re especially proud of the roof, which has asphalt shingles and should last many years.”
The house the twins built is similar to dozens of others that cover the hillsides of Nogales, which straddles the border of Arizona and Mexico. The house is small, made mostly of plywood, and has no plumbing. But it is now home to a family of six.
It took three to four weeks, working on Saturdays, to complete the structure. “We felt good, knowing we were helping someone who needed help,” Steve says. “We learned a lot doing this together. We learned about how Church members can reach out to help others in the community. We learned about construction. And we got to be better friends with our father.”
“We like to nail things together,” Jessie says. “Maybe I’ll be a builder when I grow up, too.”
Brother Cota just smiles, then says, “The important thing about this is that now the children who live in this house will have a future. They have protection from the weather and a chance to go to school.”
We visit for a minute more, talking about birdhouses the boys are building as a hobby, about Steve’s baseball games and Jessie’s love of football, about future plans to build an outside bathroom to go along with the house.
Then the woman, surrounded by her children, greets the Cotas warmly and poses for a photo with them.
“These,” she says, “are the people who gave me my home.”

Mateo looked at the math problem on the board and quickly wrote it down in his notebook. Math was his favorite subject, so he really wanted to pay attention. But he could barely hear what Mrs. Santos was saying because his friend Daniel was talking.
“Shh! Daniel, I can’t hear!” Mateo whispered. But Daniel kept talking. Finally Mrs. Santos heard him.
“Daniel, you’re interrupting again,” Mrs. Santos said. “You’ve already had a warning. Now you need to give me a ticket.”
Daniel slowly reached into his desk and handed her a red ticket. His shoulders slumped, and he looked down at the floor. Mrs. Santos gave tickets to students who behaved well and followed directions. The students wrote their names on the tickets and put them in a jar each day. But you had to give a ticket back if you misbehaved. Every Friday, Mrs. Santos pulled a ticket out of the jar, and the winner got to choose a prize from the class treasure chest! Daniel had to give a lot of tickets back for talking, so his name wasn’t drawn very often. Mateo felt bad that Daniel was losing another ticket.
At recess Mateo ran out to the field to play football. He saw Daniel standing alone by the swings. He could tell Daniel was crying. Mateo wanted to help him feel better.
“Do you want to play football?” Mateo asked.
Daniel didn’t say anything. Mateo tried to talk to him more, but Daniel just turned away.
“Well, I’ll be at the football field if you change your mind.”
Mateo went to play with his other friends, but he kept thinking about Daniel. Mateo was turning eight and was going to be baptized soon. He wanted to be like Jesus and be a good friend. Was there something he could do to help Daniel not get in trouble?
The next day, the class was reading a story in small groups. But instead of reading, Daniel was tossing his book high into the air.
Mateo tried to stop him. “Daniel, we need to read the book, not play with it.”
Daniel tossed the book again. Mrs. Santos saw it almost hit the ceiling. She walked over to Daniel and held out her hand for a ticket. Daniel reached into his desk. Panic crossed his face as he kept searching.
“Oh no! He must be out of tickets!” Mateo thought. No tickets meant Daniel would have to stay inside for recess. Mateo’s mind started racing. What could he do? Then he had a good thought.
“Daniel,” Mrs. Santos said, “if you don’t have a ticket for me, then—”
Mateo took a deep breath. “May I pay for him, Mrs. Santos?” he asked.
The class went quiet. No one had ever asked her that before. Mateo wasn’t sure what she would say.
Mrs. Santos looked surprised. Then she smiled. “You’re a very good friend. Yes, you may pay Daniel’s ticket for him.” Mateo handed Mrs. Santos one of his tickets.
“Thanks, Mateo,” said Daniel.
“Sure!” said Mateo. “Do you want to read together now?”
Daniel nodded and picked up his book.
As Daniel started reading, Mateo felt warm and happy inside. That good idea had come from the Holy Ghost! Mateo knew that Jesus had wanted him to help Daniel—because He loves Daniel. And Mateo felt Jesus’s love too!

During the spring of our 20th year together, my husband lost his job. Even though he had a new job by Christmas, our finances were grim. We didn’t expect to have much of a Christmas for our own family, so we wondered how we would carry out our secret tradition.
During home evening we talked as a family about what our Christmas would be like that year. We recognized with gratitude that even if gifts would be scarce, at least we still had warmth, food, and each other. We thought of all the people who had essentially nothing: no home, no family, no warmth. Then we thought about how for years short little legs had run inside our Christmas coat and bright eyes had peered out from its furry hood. How would we put the coat to use this year?
One Sunday morning we loaded everyone into the car and drove downtown with our Christmas coat. We drove to an area where homeless people often spent the night, and we watched for someone who didn’t have anything warm to wear. When we spotted a man walking alone, my husband and son walked over to him. The rest of us watched as the man accepted the coat and smiled. Tears filled my eyes as I saw him put on our Christmas coat, the only gift we had to give that year.
Other Christmases have since passed, and we have been able to continue our tradition. None of us has forgotten about the Christmas coat, however. When I consider all the years the coat disguised us while we delivered gifts, the memory of the year we gave it away warms my heart the most.

Six-year-old Jason rode down the street on his new red bicycle. It was the first time he had ridden his bike without his eleven-year-old brother, Ray, riding along beside him. Jason grinned as he thought about his big brother. Ray was fun to be with. He would often take Jason along with him when he went to the park or to the baseball field. But now Ray had gone to the store for Mother, so Jason was riding by himself.
“Aaaah,” he called as he pedaled past his mother.
She smiled and waved at him. Jason didn’t dare let go of the handlebars to wave back, but he gave her a big smile. When he turned around and pedaled back to his house again, his mother motioned for him to stop. Born with a profound hearing loss, Jason wore a hearing aid in each ear. The only sounds that he could hear were very soft and unclear, so Jason had only begun to learn to talk.
“Jason,” Mother said, at the same time using sign language, “I’m going into the house to do dishes now. It will soon be dark. Please come inside in just a few minutes.”
“OK.” Jason tried to form the word with his mouth as he finger-spelled.
Mom smiled and rumpled his hair before she walked into the house, and Jason pedaled his bike down the street again. It was exciting riding past the houses, with a rush of the wind against his face. Jason wished he could go farther than the corner. It would be neat to ride around the block. The thrill of such an adventure filled his mind. He decided to go partway around, then come straight back. But as Jason pedaled faster and faster, pretending that he was a fireman racing his truck to a fire, he sped down several blocks. “Aaaah!” he crowed happily.
Then the cry froze in his throat as he stared at the unfamiliar houses that he was passing. The bicycle wobbled and nearly fell over before Jason could come to a stop. He looked around him with wide, frightened eyes. Where am I? he wondered.
Jason turned his bicycle around and pedaled back toward the nearest corner. He peered at the houses in the gathering darkness. They were all strange. Jason choked back a sob. How would he ever get back to his own home? He couldn’t ask anyone for help. He pedaled up and down the streets looking for a familiar sight, but the longer he searched, the more confused he became.
Soon it was dark, and Jason didn’t know what to do. Suddenly there came to his mind a picture of his family kneeling in prayer, and he thought, I’ll ask Heavenly Father to help me!
Jason got off his bike and lowered the kickstand, then knelt on the sidewalk and folded his arms. Dear Father in Heaven, he prayed silently, I’m lost. Please help me. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Jason opened his eyes, half-expecting to see a familiar face, but no one was there. He could see lights shining through the windows of nearby houses. He thought about his family in his own home and about how much he loved them. Maybe I’ll never see them again. Tears trickled down his cheeks at the thought. Then the words I am a child of God popped into his mind. They were from a Primary song that his mother had taught him.
“You can learn to say the words if you try,” she had said as she signed to him. “Then you can sing it with your voice, your hands, and your heart.”
Jason had tried. It was hard, but he could sing it well enough for his family to recognize it. Now he loved to sing it often, even though he could barely hear the sounds that he made. He knew that there was beautiful music inside him, though, because he had such a happy feeling when he sang.
Maybe, Jason thought, I won’t feel so scared if I sing. He squeezed his eyes shut against his tears and began, “I am a child of God,/ And he has sent me here,/ Has given me an earthly home/ With parents kind and dear. …”
As he sang the last few words, Jason opened his eyes. He could scarcely believe what he saw: His big brother was coming down the street!
“Aaaah!” Jason cried, leaping to his feet. “Aaaah!”
Jason started to run. He didn’t stop until he ran straight into his brother’s open arms. Ray caught him in a big bear hug, swinging him off his feet.
“I’d never have found you if I hadn’t heard you singing that song!” Ray exclaimed. “You’ve sung it so many times at home that when I heard that off-tune hymn coming to me out of the darkness, I knew just who was singing. It led me straight to you!”
Jason couldn’t follow all that Ray was saying, but he knew that he was safe, and he knew that Heavenly Father had answered his prayer.

“If someone gives you a valentine, do you have to give one back?” I asked my mom. She was stirring some pudding for dinner.
“Well, Elizabeth, if you ‘have to give,’ you’re not talking about giving anyway—you’re talking about obligation or repayment. Giving means you do it because you want to, out of love.”
My mom never misses a chance to give a little lecture like that. “I guess I won’t, then, because for sure it wouldn’t be ‘out of love.’ I can’t stand Jeremy Rawlins.”
“But, Elizabeth, isn’t everyone in the class supposed to bring a valentine for everyone else?”
“Yes, but Jeremy told me that he’d made a special valentine for me in family home evening. He’s sure I’m just going to love it.” I couldn’t keep from adding sarcastically, “Sure I will.”
“Family home evening?”
“It’s something they do every week at his house. He’s always talking about what they did during family home evening—how they went to this place or that, how they made something, or how somebody special came over. I get pretty sick of hearing about it.”
“It sounds like fun. So why don’t you like him?”
I had to think about that. I didn’t really know exactly why I didn’t like him. “He’s just so annoying,” I said.
“In what way?” My mom never gives up.
“I don’t know. He’s just so nice, so cheerful all the time.”
Mom stopped stirring. “Cheerful and nice are annoying? We could use more annoying people like that around here.”
I didn’t know how else to explain it. “Well, anyway, I think he’ll just get a regular little dumb valentine from me.”
Mom gazed out the window. I knew she was hatching up something. “You know, we could do that,” she said.
“Do what?”
“Have a little family home evening and make some valentines. Not for Jeremy—for our grandparents and each other.”
“No we couldn’t. Family home evening is on Mondays, and this is Tuesday already.”
She looked at me sort of blankly. “Who says it has to be on Monday?”
“I think it’s a rule of his church.”
“Well, since we don’t belong to his church, we can have it whenever we want. Thursday night would be just right. Ask Jeremy a little more about it tomorrow, like what kinds of things they do and how they organize it.”
Great! Now I had to talk to Jeremy. Once my mom gets an idea, she never gives up on it.
By the next day after school, things were getting worse. When Mom walked in from work, I just kept watching the TV and didn’t speak to her.
“Well, let’s not get annoyingly cheerful like that awful Jeremy person,” she said. I think she meant to be funny, but I didn’t laugh. “Thanks to you, he’ll be here any minute,” I grumbled, still not looking at her.
“Jeremy is coming here?” She dropped a big shopping bag on the chair.
“He’s bringing over some book, something he called the Family Home Evening Resource Book.”
“Well, that’s nice.”
“Yeah, nice.”
Just then the doorbell rang. I let Mom answer it.
“You must be Jeremy. How very nice of you.” I couldn’t hear what he was saying. “Will you come in? Elizabeth is here.”
Oh great, I thought. But I guess Jeremy declined the invitation, because Mom came back by herself. “He has basketball practice,” she explained. “He’s a very pleasant boy.” She sat right down and started looking at the book.
After dinner the next night, she put out all this stuff on the kitchen table—red paper, lace doilies, glue, markers, old magazines, and seed catalogs. We cut and pasted great big valentines for my grandmas and grandpas and for each other. I have to admit, it was kind of fun.
Afterward I cut out a picture of a basketball star, glued it on some red paper, and wrote, “You’re a star!” I thought I might give it to Jeremy the next day. I mean if he gave me a really good one, at least I’d have something to give back and I wouldn’t have to feel stupid.
When I went to bed, my mom was still sitting in the kitchen, reading more in the Family Home Evening Resource Book.
I really had bad news for her when she got home the next night. I waited until she’d hung up her coat and kind of settled down to rest in her favorite chair before starting dinner. She was looking at me, kind of waiting. “I got lots of valentines,” I said.
“Good. I hope you didn’t eat so much candy that you won’t want dinner.”
“Not too much,” I said. “Jeremy gave me a valentine with a wrapped chocolate heart pasted on the front. I ate that.”
“Did you give him yours?”
“Well, yeah. I mean what else could I do? I stuck a few little candy hearts on his. I hope he likes glue.” I laughed.
“What else?” she asked. My mom always knows when you haven’t told her everything. I handed her Jeremy’s valentine. She opened it and read:
“You’re so smart and funny, and I like you a lot.
P.S. Would you and your mother come to our house for a special family home evening next Monday night at 7 P.M.?
P.P.S. If you can, bring a story about one of your ancestors—maybe a grandma or grandpa.”
“How nice,” my mom added. “I’d like to go and see how they do a family home evening.”
“Well, I told you he was annoying—but nice.” I sighed, and then I smiled at her. “I kind of want to go, too,” I confessed.

Photographs by Shirley Brito
Felipe F. from Pará, Brazil, is not your average 18-year-old. He has competed in professional mixed martial arts (MMA), judo, and karate competitions. And he’s pretty good at what he does. He won the International Iron Man MMA competition. He’s a 2-time Pará state champion, a Brazilian vice-champion, and an international vice-champion for judo. And he is a 10-time Pará state champion, a 10-time Brazilian champion, a South American champion, a Pan-American champion, and a 3-time world champion for karate. Whoa!
Felipe has been training since he was seven years old. But he believes the biggest reason for his success is God. “I always pray for the Lord’s help,” he says.
During his last Pan-American karate championship, Felipe wasn’t feeling very confident. But then his dad gave him a priesthood blessing. “After that my mind was better, and that helped me win the championship that day. The last two matches I won, I had only one second left. Everyone thought it was impossible. I did an unexpected move that helped me win, and for me, it was all because of my dad’s blessing.”
His dad has given him many blessings over the years. Felipe knows that receiving a blessing won’t always mean he’ll win, but he believes that the Lord can help him stay focused and improve his talents. “This helps me be more confident,” Felipe says. “I know that regardless of the result, the hand of the Lord was there.”
The rest of his family has been a big support as well. At one MMA tournament, Felipe saw his family in the bleachers. “All of them were there cheering my name. I was speechless.” He adds, “I am extremely grateful for my father and mother, who showed me the right path.”
Felipe feels that following that path has helped him in his sport. His friends would often laugh at him when he wouldn’t do the things they were doing. But Felipe doesn’t regret it. “Just like the gospel brings blessings, in sports it also brings achievements! Not going to party with my friends and eating the right things both influence the result.”
Now that he’s 18, Felipe has lots of opportunities. He was recently invited to train in a prestigious MMA academy, and he has offers from managers around the world. But he wants to serve a mission first.
“For me, it’s an easy choice,” he says. “The Lord is in first place. The rest can wait, because He always blesses you for being obedient.”
Felipe’s older brother Júnior, who recently got back from a mission, was part of his motivation. He told Felipe that there is nothing better than serving a mission and that he should go even if people try to convince him not to.
And Felipe has had people telling him to stay. Many people in his extended family aren’t members of the Church. “They don’t understand that serving a mission has more value than becoming rich and famous. I just try to teach the gospel when those moments happen,” Felipe says. And one of those moments led to a powerful missionary experience.
Felipe’s cousin had recently passed away, and Felipe’s uncle was grieving his son’s death. Felipe told his uncle about the plan of salvation. Afterward his uncle hugged him and apologized for telling him not to go on a mission. “He told me that I had the gift of touching people’s hearts and that I needed to serve,” Felipe remembers. “It was a special moment for me when someone who had no idea what a mission was understood its real purpose.”
Felipe did have times when he wasn’t sure about a mission himself. “I read my scriptures every day, and one night I had a lot of doubts about my choice. I started thinking, ‘Should I stay and compete a little longer?’ But then I read in the Book of Mormon about the Nephites starting to become ungrateful and prideful. Jacob taught them that they needed to put the Lord first. [See Jacob 2:12–21.] At that moment I had no doubt about my choice.”
“Today I know what I want, and I know that I will come back from my mission and be blessed in some way. It could be doing MMA or something else, but I know that God gives us what we need.”
Felipe didn’t always feel so excited and confident about a mission—or the Church. “I had a time in my life when I wasn’t as strong in the gospel, and it always felt like something was missing,” he says. “You know that person who just goes to church and doesn’t do anything else? That was me.” After talking to his brother and bishop about serving a mission, he decided to start praying and reading his scriptures every day.
“I think what helped me was daily conversion. I grew up in the Church, and for a time I didn’t search for conversion because I grew up in a home with a belief and thought that was good enough. But now I am looking for a testimony every day.”
Felipe knows that choosing the right doesn’t mean he’ll always win or have things go his way. “I remember going to a competition thinking I was prepared, and I lost in the first round. Another time I was at home injured. I remember waking up early, looking at the ceiling, wondering if it was all worth it. Sometimes I just wanted to turn around and go back to sleep, but I stood up and went to training. To be a champion goes beyond the moment of winning. It is someone who overcomes every day, overcomes failure, overcomes trials.”
The Savior is Felipe’s motivation to overcome in all aspects of life. “If we want to become like He is, we need to do what He does, always trying to stand firm, strengthen ourselves, and think what He would do. That inspires me in my actions every day, to be like Him. When I see something that I can change, I pray and ask forgiveness, trying to be better always. A true champion is the person who falls many times and even in the midst of frustration gets up and keeps going.”
“I am a champion because of the Lord,” Felipe says. “If it wasn’t for Him, I have no idea where I would be. But I’m sure I wouldn’t have all that I have today. Living the gospel has made me a champion in life and in sports.”
Note: Since this article was written, Felipe has begun his service in the Brazil São Paulo South Mission.

Let me say something of the marvelous members of the Church themselves. In the reorganization of a rather far-flung stake recently, I felt the Lord’s prompting to call a man to the stake presidency who, I had been told, owned a bicycle but no automobile. Many leaders across the Church don’t have cars, but I was nevertheless worried about what that might mean for this man in this particular stake. In my terminally ill Spanish I pursued the interview, then said, “Hermano, ¿no tiene un auto?” With a smile and not a second’s hesitation he replied, “No tengo un auto; pero yo tengo pies, yo tengo fe.” (“I do not have a car, but I do have feet and I do have faith.”) He then said he could ride the bus, ride his bicycle, or walk, “como los misioneros,” he smiled—“like the missionaries.” And so he does.

When I was a young mother of several small children, at the end of days filled with diapering, dish washing, and disciplining, no one sang more emphatically the Primary song “I’m so glad when daddy comes home.” I’m sad to admit, however, I was not always cheerful when Craig seemed to bounce through the door after a hard day of work. He always greeted each of us with a hug and kiss and turned many difficult and sometimes disastrous days into delightful daddy times. I wish I had been a little less preoccupied with the endless list of to-dos still to be done and had more wisely focused, like he did, on things that mattered most. I would have stopped more often and enjoyed sacred family time and would have thanked him more often for blessing our lives!

One cloudy day when she was fourteen, Anna raced off to school in her usual hurry, forgetting her umbrella. After school that day it began to rain. At the gate Anna fell and sprained her ankle. Doctors in those days didn’t have the benefit of X-ray machines, and sometimes mistakes were made in the treatment of bones and ligaments. For the rest of her life Anna was crippled. At times she could walk a little, but much of the time she was an invalid.

While serving in Pennsylvania several years ago, I was pleasantly surprised to be visited by a minister of a huge Protestant congregation. We exchanged pleasantries and discussed the doctrinal subjects on which we could find benign agreement. Suddenly he interrupted our conversation by stating, “You teach one belief with which I could never agree. It is your idea that ‘as God is, man may become.’” (See History of the Church, 6:302–17.) He held a well-worn white Bible in his hand. I asked him to turn to Matthew 5:48. His nimble fingers quickly turned to that reference, and he read, “Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.”

He gasped and then hesitatingly agreed to man’s great potential. We read other scriptures, such as: “And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness.” (Gen. 1:26.) He understood, and found a new respect for our teachings. He left a wiser man, and I felt a renewed gratitude for the inspiring truths that we understand and teach.

“Sister Brimley, could I talk to you for a minute?” I asked after Primary.
“Of course, Sara. Let’s gather up the pictures and fold the chairs while we talk.”
I stacked the pictures, but we didn’t get to the chairs for a while.
“Lots of people must know about that lesson you gave today on giving,” I began. “And since my dad’s been out of work, people are always bringing us things. Mom and Dad get tears in their eyes when they talk about how good everyone’s been to us. But now I’d like to give someone something. You always say it’s more blessed to give than to receive. How do you think it makes me feel to always receive? I’d like to take food to someone who’s hungry, but Mom says we don’t have any extras.” I couldn’t control the tremor in my voice. “I hope I can be rich when I grow up.”
Sister Brimley sat across from me and took my hand in hers. Her eyes looked deep into mine, and she gave me her special warm smile. “Sara, you don’t have to be rich to give of yourself. Jesus wasn’t rich, and look how much He gave.”
“I’m not Jesus. I can’t do miracles to help people.”
“Will you do something for me, Sara? Will you look for one person this week who needs something you can share? Will you, like Jesus, give of yourself?” Sister Brimley continued to look me straight in the eyes. I had to say yes.
Monday at school, I looked at the other kids. They had better clothes and shoes than I did, so I couldn’t offer them mine. Anyway, I didn’t have any extras. Everyone had a lunch, so I couldn’t share my sandwich. I was afraid that the whole week would be like this and that I’d have to tell Sister Brimley that I hadn’t found anyone to help.
At afternoon recess, the spring sun warmed my back. There must have been a hundred birds singing among the tiny yellow-green leaves on the big tree in the playground. I forgot about giving and Mrs. Brimley, took a jump rope, and walked towards Maria. Maria just moved here last week, and she doesn’t speak English very well. She mostly stands by herself on the playground.
“Maria, want to jump? Like this.” I jumped a few times. Maria’s dark eyes sparkled, and the shadow of a smile tickled her bronze face. She nodded. As I swung the rope over my head, she jumped in with me. We were laughing together by the end of recess.
When the bell rang to go home, Mrs. Hansen, our teacher, put her arm around me and whispered, “Sara, thank you for playing with Maria today. That’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh since she came.”
Suddenly I understood that this was what Sister Brimley meant when she said for me to give of myself. I really did have something to give! I determined right then and there to find someone every day to share with.
The next day, I asked Maria to come with me. We went to Mrs. Smith’s house after school. She was sitting in an old chair on her front porch, rocking with her cat. I asked her if she’d like me to read her a story.
“Why, Sara, I’d love that, but I gave all my books away when my eyes got bad.”
“That’s OK. I brought one from school.” I sat on her top step with Maria and read her my favorite Dr. Seuss story. Mrs. Smith and Maria laughed until the tears rolled down their cheeks. I think it must be their favorite story too. Mrs. Smith asked if we could come again next Tuesday. This giving of yourself was wonderful. Mrs. Smith and Maria looked really happy, and I hadn’t felt this great in ages.
On Wednesday Maria and I helped Brother Swenson plant petunias. It’s hard for him to stoop that low, but Maria and I planted his whole bed in a half hour. He told us to come back in the summer and pick a bouquet for our moms.
By the weekend, I had started giving to my family. I cleaned the kitchen one evening for Mom, I played a game of checkers with Dad, and I helped my little brother, Jason, with his puzzle.
On Sunday I couldn’t wait until Primary to talk to Sister Brimley, so I met her at the chapel door. “Sister Brimley, you won’t believe this! I found six people to give of myself to this week.” I told her about each of them. “But I can’t think of anyone for today.”
Sister Brimley stooped and put her arm around me and spoke in a tiny, low voice. “You’ve already given of yourself, Sara—to me. You see, I was very, very discouraged. I felt as though I wasn’t doing a good job as a teacher. You showed me that I can make a difference. Sometimes we may need things, but often we just need people to just give of themselves, as Jesus did and as you have. I think that He must be very pleased with you.”
Both Sara and Sister Brimley felt good about themselves as they went into the chapel together.

A friend—we will call him John—shared what can happen when we see another’s less visible need: “A sister in my ward attempted suicide. After two months, I discovered no one in my quorum had approached her husband to address this traumatic experience. Sadly, I had not acted either. Finally, I asked the husband to lunch. He was a shy man, often reserved. And yet when I said, ‘Your wife attempted suicide. That must be overwhelming for you. Do you want to talk about it?’ he openly wept. We had a tender and intimate conversation and developed a remarkable closeness and trust within minutes.”
John added, “I think our tendency is just to bring brownies rather than figure out how to walk into that moment with honesty and love.”

Rob: You usually don’t realize you have a problem until you are in so deep you can no longer see the light. That’s what happened with me. I was curious and justified my involvement with pornography by reminding myself that guys at school were involved with it too, and it didn’t seem like a big problem for them.

Rob: Curiosity turned to interest, and interest developed into a strong habit. Soon I was addicted. I would get home from school, go straight to the computer, and be there for hours. My social life suffered. So did my schoolwork, family ties, and—most important—my spirituality.
At the very time I most needed the promptings of the Spirit in my life, I was less and less able to feel anything. Life became a constant struggle against depression.
My soul hungered, but the only thing I fed it offered no nourishment. I would get down on myself, so I would delve into pornography to feel better. But the pornography would upset me even more.

Rob: Through all those years I attended church, but I was mentally inactive. I kept going to church so I wouldn’t upset my parents. But I knew the lifestyle I was caught up in was wrong. I noticed a change in my own countenance day by day, year by year. I became calloused and hardened. I found myself lying to my parents, my bishop, everyone around me. Inside I was going through personal turmoil and spiritual torment.

Rob: I humbly bowed before the Lord in tears and pled for strength beyond my own. Night after night I prayed, and finally I knew I had to talk to my bishop about it. That was the hardest part—admitting to someone else that I had a problem. I kept thinking I could handle it myself and no one would ever have to know. I wanted it to be something just between God and me. But I finally matured to the point that I realized that was impossible. I approached my bishop and began a long and difficult repentance process.

It took a lot of time and sincere effort to break bad habits. Eventually I was judged by my priesthood leader as worthy to serve a mission. The best feeling in the world was to go through the temple and know I am clean. The Spirit I wanted to feel during all those teenage years came flooding into my heart and life. I am so thankful for the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
The adversary still works on me, trying to get me to backslide. But I have learned to put on the armor of God every day. I know Jesus Christ loves me, and I love Him.

Shortly after getting my first driver’s license, I drove alone to southern Utah to visit a favorite aunt and uncle and get in a little fishing. After fishing without much success Saturday evening, I proceeded Sunday morning toward my aunt’s home. I had time to get there before church began.
As I drove past Duck Creek Springs, I noted the clear surface mirroring an emerald meadow and tall pine trees. I stopped the car to take a closer look. Then I saw a resplendent, 20-inch crimson-striped rainbow trout slowly fin over a moss bed not far from the bank. The fish seemed intent on slurping up every insect in sight.
My fishing rod was in the trunk of the car. I’d have plenty of time to put my humpy fly pattern in front of that feeding fish and still get to church on time. I was alone and no one would know that I was fishing on Sunday.
At that precise moment I truly felt that I could make a few casts, then quit, whether I caught the fish or not. But what about the time after that? And then, would I arrange deliberately to spend Sunday fishing?
I had heard people tell me they could “worship God out among his creations, in nature; you don’t need to be within the walls of some church building.” However, that thinking always seemed shallow to me. Even if you did yourself some good, what good would you do anyone else spending Sundays by yourself?
I got back in the car and headed for my aunt and uncle’s home and ward.
Over the years, that Sunday experience has always stood out as a source of strength in my mind. Since then I’ve taken fishing trips in many parts of the world, sometimes fishing almost every waking moment from Monday to Saturday night. But Sunday is different. No, it hasn’t always been easy. But it has been easier to keep things in proper perspective since that first Sunday decision at Duck Creek Springs.

Finding the official blue envelope from the Netherlands tax service on my doormat filled me with dread. I picked up the envelope and opened it nervously. Sure enough, it was a notice informing me that I was to meet with the tax inspector on a certain day.
This was the latest in a series of disappointing events that had begun when I read Malachi 3:8–12. I was not a member of the Church at the time, but I took literally the Lord’s promise that he would open the windows of heaven and pour out abundant blessings on those who bring their tithes to him. I thought of the widow who was blessed for casting into the temple treasury her two mites (seeLuke 21:1–4). I knew that God always keeps his promises. And I knew that if anyone needed his promised blessings, I did.
My financial situation was disastrous. My small company was not flourishing. I had few orders, many debts, and a sizable tax liability. And so, without a church to pay an offering to, I chose a charitable organization to which I would pay my “tithing” and offered Heavenly Father a “deal.” “I’ll donate a tithe,” I promised, “if thou wilt deliver me from my financial problems.”
But things didn’t work out as I had hoped. In fact, they grew even worse. And then my wife and I had words on the subject. She said, “I have to clean with a very old vacuum cleaner, and you give money away to charity! I am your wife; don’t I deserve your charitable donations, too?”
What am I doing wrong? I wondered. I am keeping my part of the bargain. Where are the promised blessings?
I decided to read the promise in Malachi again. When I did, I realized that I had been “tithing” in the wrong way. I realized that tithing is not a financial investment; God is not a storekeeper who gives you an article when you put your money on the counter. Tithing, I learned, must be paid out of love and gratitude—not out of a hope of gaining something for oneself.
I asked Heavenly Father’s forgiveness, and things began to go better. But now the blue envelope at my door destroyed my optimism.
With a heavy heart, I walked into the tax inspector’s office for my scheduled appointment. After we had talked for a few minutes, he said, “I have the impression that you are an honest man and that you want to pay but cannot.” He then told me he had decided to forgive my tax debt.
Five minutes later, people on the sidewalk in front of the tax building saw a man dancing with joy, arms raised toward heaven!
Some time after that remarkable turn of events, I joined the Church. And now,after many years of paying a true and honest tithe with a happy and grateful heart, I have proved the Lord’s promise as recorded by the prophet Malachi. I know that Heavenly Father answers our love and faithfulness with rich blessings. Truly he opens the windows of heaven.

A member of the Church once befriended me even though I drank and swore. As a result of her friendship I attended church, seminary, MIA, and other activities. I received the missionary discussions and became a member. I didn’t associate with my old friends as I didn’t want to go back to my old ways. Actually I was afraid I wouldn’t be strong enough to stay away from those things. After some serious reevaluating I decided I wouldn’t be a good, true member if I couldn’t uphold my standards under any conditions. I’m glad I changed my attitude. I’m attending a college where I’m a religious minority of one. My true friends respect my standards and would be disappointed if I fell away from them.
Deby BartonChanute, Kansas

Tenth grader Carrie Olson Falahi wanted to start a club, but her mind wasn’t on drama or a specific sport. It was on people. “I’ve always had this idea that I could get people to go out into the community and help other people,” she says.
Carrie, a Laurel in the Springfield Fourth Ward in Missouri, dreams of someday participating in worldwide humanitarian aid, and she didn’t see a reason to wait until after high school to start pursuing that dream. “I really wanted to do something now, so why not start here in my own community?” she says.
She enlisted the help of fellow 10th grader Victoria Sutter and freshman Rebecca Carr to create a new kind of club for their school, the Youth in Action Club. The goal: to spend time—not money—in service. “I think time and service are among the most meaningful things you can give,” Carrie explains.
Rebecca agrees, adding, “It’s fun to get involved in a cause.” Little did these friends know just how much they would gain by giving service to others.
They quickly discovered one of the blessings of service: it brings people together. When Victoria first heard about the club, she was enthusiastic. “I’ve always liked community service,” she says, “but it’s hard going out by myself and doing it.” The club solved that problem. At the very first meeting 20 students showed up, eager to participate. With such a large group, it was easier not only to serve but also to make friends.
The club’s first project was helping a local organization assemble care baskets for mothers with premature newborns. “We were all working close together, and everyone was talking to everyone,” Victoria remembers. “I thought it was neat that we could be doing something for someone else while having fun and making new friends.”
Giving service also had its rewards at the club’s second project: preparing food at a local shelter where parents with severely ill children stay while their child is in the hospital. This was one of Rebecca’s favorites because it played to her love for cooking and gave the students a chance to interact directly with the people they were serving. “It was fun to see the surprise on their faces when they saw that a bunch of teenagers could actually cook something that you could eat!”
Since the club’s beginning in February 2009, the three friends have learned other ways that spending time in service has helped them too. Striving toward the goal of having one project per month, Carrie, Victoria, and Rebecca had to work hard together to organize each event, especially as their group grew from 20 to 50 members.
Before school let out for the summer, the club members put their muscle into helping a local care center for abused children store its stock of winter clothes and unpack its summer supplies. The club also spent a creative afternoon making scrapbooks for children.
With so much planning and organizing, everyone in the club became better team players. Carrie and Rebecca contributed service ideas from their youth group while Victoria found other service opportunities in the community. “The club helped me learn how to let other people share their ideas and do things their way,” Rebecca reflects. “I’ve learned how to better interact with others.”
The team effort of these friends was tested in their last month of school when, with only a week’s notice, their club adviser asked them to organize a food drive, which they carried out with success.
Looking to the future, Carrie, Victoria, and Rebecca plan to expand their club and lay the foundation for it to continue. “We’re hoping to have the club stay strong, even after we’re done with high school,” Rebecca says.
Leaving a legacy is important to these friends because they know the club has great lessons to offer. As they’ve served, Carrie, Victoria, and Rebecca have seen how true it is that you can find your life by giving it (see Matthew 16:25).
With all the friendship, interaction, teamwork, and fun, the Youth in Action Club members have received much more because of the service they’ve given. For Victoria, the club has taught her that the place to serve is here, and the time is now. “Why spend your time sitting around when you can be out doing something for people who can’t do it for themselves?” she says. “You feel so much better knowing that you’ve done something that will be appreciated.”
And for Carrie, giving her time in service has helped her gain new perspectives in her own life. “My attitude towards helping others has changed,” Carrie says. “I’ve helped others through struggles in their lives. I have a new, more open perspective towards everyone.”

I have met some people who have been interested and puzzled why a young man would do what I do. I spend most of my time cleaning the headstones, so that I can read them and take photos, or hacking my way through overgrown grass and weeds. One time I found a small headstone beside a big tree near a footpath, that had been lost in the undergrowth, and completely hidden from view. I cleaned it up and removed the holly bush, other weeds and grass that were hiding it. It was a grave of a five-week-old baby boy, Tony Hamilton, lost from view and forgotten. Now, since I cleared it, someone has mowed around the tree and the grave, so hopefully he will not be lost again.

When I moved to London, England, in my early twenties, I began working at an international bank. Everyone lived off tea and coffee to get them through the workday on our fast-moving trade floor. On my second day of work, my manager made me a cup of tea. I thanked her but explained that I don’t drink tea—she quickly offered me coffee instead.
I knew she was just being kind, but I was determined to keep my standards. Although I felt a little awkward, I explained in greater detail why I don’t drink tea or coffee, and I was able to share some of my beliefs with her, including the Word of Wisdom.
That was a great experience, but similar situations didn’t always go as well.
As time went on, being surrounded by the normalcy of others drinking alcohol made it difficult for me to keep my standards. Going to pubs with clients and coworkers was a regular circumstance I would find myself in. I grew tired of having to explain myself when I turned down a drink, and sometimes I just wanted to fit in.
But beyond wanting to fit in, I wanted to be an example of a disciple of Jesus Christ, so I learned a few ways to help me resist temptation:
I prayed for strength each morning to make good decisions.
I often listened to conference talks or hymns on my way to work.
I kept my favorite scripture taped to my bathroom mirror to read each day: “Yea, I know that I am nothing; as to my strength I am weak; therefore I will not boast of myself, but I will boast of my God, for in his strength I can do all things” (Alma 26:12).
I enlisted the help of my closest coworkers, asking them to support me when others would offer me “just one drink.” They could tell when I was feeling uncomfortable and would kindly jump in and order me a “sparkling water on the rocks” to help me avoid feeling awkward during these gatherings.
I worked with many other religious individuals who had similar morals. There were a few practicing Muslims whom I bonded with, and we often sat together during work functions so we could have strength in numbers. Surrounding myself with like-minded people who respected my standards helped me immensely (see Ecclesiastes 4:9–10).
I strove to focus on my baptismal covenant to “always remember Him” (see Doctrine and Covenants 20:77, 79), which helped me feel the Spirit more abundantly. I had promised to follow God and be a disciple of Christ, and seeking to always remember the Savior helped me keep an eternal and infinite perspective in the most finite moments of temptation.
But what has helped me most in resisting temptation is knowing that the Lord has a higher purpose for keeping all of His commandments, including the Word of Wisdom. And I know that remaining true to the commandments has always blessed my life in so many ways. (See Doctrine and Covenants 82:10.)
I’ve realized that the Word of Wisdom is more than just going without alcohol and other strong substances. Heavenly Father gave us this commandment to help us maintain good health and practice self-mastery, to protect us from potentially crippling addictions and other consequences, and to allow us to find greater wisdom and knowledge (see Doctrine and Covenants 89).
I’ve seen that when we demonstrate obedience to the simple things the Lord asks of us, our capacity and desire to keep all of His commandments grows, and we can learn to overcome even greater temptations and challenges (see 2 Nephi 28:30).
I know that Heavenly Father loves me and that through His strength and the Savior’s, I can overcome peer pressure and temptation. I always remember Alma 7:11–12, which explains how the Savior understands all we face—pains, afflictions, and even temptations. He knows how “to succor his people according to their infirmities.”
As I have relied on Jesus Christ to help me in my weaknesses, I have felt His strength enter my life, and I more fully see that He truly does understand us. And when we are faced with temptation, He is ready to help us see the bigger picture and choose well. All we need to do is turn to Him.