Gospel Story Finder

The next day Kipp and I rode out to Carlos’s place again. He was working in his garden. Kipp and I gave him a hand. He told us stories of when he was a young man. He had left home when he was twelve years old to work as a ranch hand, first in Mexico and finally in Arizona. At noon we went into his little house and ate beans and tortillas again.
Kipp and I made at least one visit a day to Carlos’s place. Sometimes we’d help him work around his house. Other times we’d just sit in the shade and he’d talk. Two days before Christmas, I asked him, “What are you doing for Christmas?”
“I’m too old for Christmas. It is for children and families.”
Kipp and I were quiet as we rode Bill back to the barn. As we stripped off the bridle and saddle, I said, “Carlos can’t spend Christmas alone.”
Kipp nodded. “We thought things were rough for us. He doesn’t have anybody. And he won’t have any presents.”
“Aunt Clara,” I asked as we burst through the front door, “do you suppose we could invite Carlos over for Christmas?”
Aunt Clara sighed. “We used to invite him every year, but the last few years he hasn’t come. He says he doesn’t care for Christmas anymore.”
“Can’t we try?” Kipp pleaded. “Spending Christmas in that little hut can’t be any fun. Christmas is for everybody. This year we can be his family, and he can be ours.”
Uncle Hank thought our idea was a good one, so the next morning we went to Tucson. It took us most of the day, but when we had finished, we had two blankets, a pair of work boots, a new hat, and a basket of fruit and nuts for Carlos.
“Now, how are we going to get him to celebrate with us?” Uncle Hank asked as we drove down the dirt road to the ranch.
“Kipp and I will worry about that,” I said with a grin.
It was turning dark, but there was a bright, full moon when Kipp and I saddled old Bill and headed for Carlos’s place. As we rode up, we saw a little light from his two windows. When he opened his door, we shouted, “Merry Christmas, Carlos!” I added, “Grab a jacket—we’re going to be late.”
“Late? Late for what?”
“It’s Christmas Eve. The party’s ready to start.”
“I thought I told you that I don’t celebrate Christmas anymore.”
Kipp said, “But we can’t celebrate Christmas without you. This year we don’t have family except you, Uncle Hank, and Aunt Clara. You have to come! You can ride old Bill. We’ll walk.”
Kipp and I had to do some more fast talking, but we finally got Carlos out of his house and onto Bill; then the three of us left for the ranch house.
Aunt Clara had a stocking for each of us, bulging with candy and nuts. We sang Christmas carols, read the Christmas story from the Bible, and snacked on popcorn, candy, and apple cider. Toward the end of the evening, we gave him our gifts.
Carlos was like a little kid! He admired the blankets and fruit basket. Then he tried on his new shoes and hat and marched around the house, studying himself in the hall mirror. Big, happy tears trickled down his cheeks.
When Kipp and I took Carlos back to his place, he paused in the doorway and said, “Maybe I am still a child, because Christmas feels good tonight. Or maybe it is because I was with family.” He grinned. “Feliz Navidad, muchachos. Y muchas gracias! (Merry Christmas, boys. And many thanks!)”
Kipp and I rode Bill back to the ranch house in silence. “You know, Jacob,” Kipp said quietly, “a week ago we thought that this was going to be our worst Christmas ever.”
“Yeah,” I answered, “but this Christmas was special, and I’m going to remember it more than any other.”

A spy? Seven-year-old Amanda couldn’t believe her eyes. She traced her finger over Mosiah 9:1 again, just to make sure. “I, Zeniff, having been taught in all the language of the Nephites, and having had a knowledge of the land of Nephi, or of the land of our fathers’ first inheritance, and having been sent as a spy among the Lamanites …” A spy! There it was. Amanda closed her Book of Mormon. She knew she should have been listening to Brother Anderson’s talk during sacrament meeting, but she couldn’t help but giggle in surprise. She knew lots of Book of Mormon stories, but she never knew there was one with a spy in it.
She sank down in the pew and peeked at the page again. Zeniff the Spy. It sounded mysterious. And important.
I could be a spy! she thought excitedly. She knew all about spies. Spies noticed everything. Spies used secret codes. Spies wrote down important information with special pens.
Amanda knew some secret codes. And she had a special pen—well, a very special pencil. She rummaged through her scripture-carrying bag and pulled out the yellow pencil she’d earned in Sister Wooster’s class for perfect attendance.
Then, from her coat pocket, she pulled out her little purple notepad. It had pages and pages of straight lines just waiting to be filled with important information.
Amanda the Spy! she thought. It sounds mysterious and important!
The closing song and prayer captured her attention. She loved to sing the hymns, and she always wanted to mean it when she added her own “Amen.”
Normally Amanda would have hurried straight to Primary. This time she peered over the back of the bench and watched.
Brian Fisher tripped on his shoelaces. Three babies were crying. And … and … something small and gray was under the last bench.
It was an envelope. A heavy envelope that jingled.
It sounds like money, she thought. She peeked inside. It was money! Five dollars and twenty-five cents!
Amanda hugged it to her chest and spun around on her heel. Wow! she thought. I could buy a doll. Or a new book. Or tons of gummy bears! She pulled out her notepad and pencil and wrote, “Found $5.25.”
Then she wondered, It’s all right to keep it, isn’t it? After all, it isn’t that much money. If she’d found a million dollars, that would be different. But this was just a little over five dollars. Whoever had lost it probably wouldn’t even miss it.
Amanda gave the envelope a quick kiss—then gasped. The letters seemed to jump right off the paper: “Bishop Johansen, Creek Ward.”
It was a tithing envelope!
She plopped down on the bench, feeling like she’d been punched in the stomach. It wasn’t fair! She had already planned what she was going to buy.
It was hers! Wasn’t it?
She looked at her notepad. What would Zeniff do? she asked herself. Spies were supposed to be experts at staying out of trouble. Amanda thought she knew what he would do.
She glanced around. Brother Campbell was just leaving the chapel. He was a member of the bishopric.
Stuffing her notepad into her pocket and dashing toward the double doors, she called to him, “Brother Campbell, I found this envelope here in the chapel.”
Brother Campbell shook Amanda’s hand. “Thank you, Sister Pratt,” he said with a wink. “I’ll make sure that the bishop gets it.”
Turning toward the Primary room, she thought, Amanda the Spy knows how to stay out of trouble, too! She got out her notepad and wrote, “Turned money over to Brother Campbell.”
“Oh, no!”
Amanda looked up to see the bucket in Sister Kelly’s hand bounce onto the floor, spilling crayons over the carpet like colorful fireworks.
“What next?” Sister Kelly despaired as she hoisted her crying baby onto her hip and desperately grabbed at pictures slipping from her fingers.
Without even thinking, Amanda dashed down the hall toward her CTR teacher. “Don’t worry, Sister Kelly,” she said as she started to pick up crayons and drop them into the bucket. “I’ll help.”
“I can help, too,” said her friend Melanie, who’d been with her mom in the library.
Amanda and Melanie quickly refilled the bucket.
“Thanks so much,” Sister Kelly told them with a grateful smile. “Everything’s been going wrong today.”
“No problem,” they said together.
“Come on, girls,” Sister Kelly whispered, glancing towards the Primary door. “We’d better hurry.”
Amanda and Melanie slipped quietly into Primary and sat with their class. Amanda quickly wrote, “Helped Sister Kelly pick up crayons,” in her notepad.
“Sister Kelly,” the Primary President said, interrupting Amanda’s thoughts, “Randy could not come today. Would someone else in your class like to give the scripture and prayer?”
Sister Kelly glanced at the four children in her row.
Amanda did, too. She knew Jared wouldn’t do it. He was too shy. And she knew Wayne wouldn’t do it—he never volunteered for anything. That left Melanie and her. But Melanie was holding Sister Kelly’s baby.
“I’ll do it,” Amanda volunteered. She walked quietly to the podium. When she sat down again, she wrote in her notepad, “Said opening prayer for Primary,” and drew a smiling face.
“What’s that?” Melanie asked as they walked to class.
“It’s my spy book. I’m writing down important information.”
“Oh. I thought maybe it was a CTR book or something.”
Amanda read all the things she’d written. “Found $5.25,” “Turned money over to Brother Campbell,” “Helped Sister Kelly pick up crayons,” and “Said opening prayer for Primary.” It was like a CTR book. The entries showed that she had “Chosen The Right.”
She wrote “CTR” in large letters on the cover of her notepad. It’s like a secret code, too, she thought happily. Amanda the CTR Spy! Being this kind of spy really is wonderful and important.

At the height of his career, Dickens was the most famous person in the world—after Queen Victoria. He had been struggling to find a subject for a new book when the idea for A Christmas Carol came to him. He presented the idea for the book to his publishers, but they did not want it. Christmas had become a small occasion celebrated only by a holiday dinner, if celebrated at all. Dickens became so convinced of the importance of his story that he funded the publication himself. The publication was a great success, and the book is as popular today as it was over 179 years ago.

Both before and since my marriage, I have had more help through prayer, in matters small and great, mundane and dramatic, than I can possibly list. And yet, when faced with the most important decision of my life, I could feel no help from him—no answer, no assistance, not even any sense of his spirit.
I met Bob when I was a sophomore at Brigham Young University. Without him, I found myself lonely in a crowd of my good friends; but with him, I recognized differences in our life-styles that could lead to problems in marriage.
When Bob asked me to marry him, not trusting my own decision, I asked God to confirm it for me. “With all my soul I asked Him to give me a “burning feeling” (see D&C 9:8) in my heart if marrying Bob were right, or a “stupor of thought” (see D&C 9:9) if it were wrong; I experienced neither the burning feeling nor the stupor of thought. Wondering if my faith had been insufficient, I rephrased the question, asking if it was right to break off the engagement; again, I experienced neither burning nor stupor.
Twenty-one months after we had met, I married Bob in the Alberta Temple without receiving any recognizable assurance that doing so was right or that not doing so would be better. I made my own decision. Committing myself to a relationship with risks and without any guarantees except the promises we made to each other before the most important witnesses. That commitment and those promises were mine, and I know now that I needed to make them without commandment to do so.
I know now that I wanted God to take all the risk out of my marriage, and hoped that he would guarantee a good relationship with my husband. Instead, God required that I solve problems and make the commitment on my own. In the process of growing closer together, Bob and I have found adventure and sorrow, growth, identity, and a great joy. Most people need a positive answer that their choice of partner is right; I needed an answer of silence so I would grow in the ways I have mentioned. My situation is probably very rare. In most instances I’m certain it would be very unwise to enter into an eternal marriage covenant without the sustaining testimony of the Holy Spirit.

The first Sunday I attended church with the missionaries, I recognized people I had grown up with and knew from the community. I saw one of my best friends from school, the elementary and high school secretaries, a girl I had not been exceptionally nice to in the past, and even a young man I once had a crush on.
Each of these individuals had a lasting impact on me. My best friend was a young woman of great integrity, and because of her I chose to continue investigating the Church. The secretaries who remembered me from school helped me know that I am important. I learned about godly love and charity from the young woman who embraced me despite my less-than-kind behavior toward her in the past. My early teenage crush set such a good example, I recognized his light and wanted to be around him.
These experiences helped me learn that, even before my first exposure to the missionaries, Heavenly Father had prepared me to receive the gospel through the people He placed around me. From them I learned that the small things we do can have great effect. Most important, I have learned that missionary work starts with me.

There are individuals who declare that those who support the Residential Living Standards—expecting that young men and young women not go into each other’s private living spaces (bedrooms and bathrooms as opposed to public areas like living rooms and kitchens)—are residing in the Dark Ages and need to get up to the decade of the nineties. A letter from a former student reflects the folly of attempting to explain away Residential Living Standards. The letter read, “I thought that the rules regarding Residential Living Standards were the most ridiculous rules that ever existed. After all, I reasoned, you should have been able to discern that nothing inappropriate was either intended or going on. After all, we only went into the bedroom to study together, to read the scriptures, and to pray. I am sorry to have to report that I came to know that the rules were not ridiculous. They were to protect us, and they were founded on principles. The reasons are clear to me now, and I want to apologize for my disregard of them. Should my children ever have the privilege of becoming students at BYU, rest assured that they will be instructed by their parents before they leave home that Residential Living Standards matter.”

A dozen years ago, in one of the countries of Africa, we had faithful members of the Church who had been meeting in their homes for several years. I went to that country to see if we could receive permission from the government to bring in missionaries and establish the Church. I met with a high-ranking government minister. He gave me 20 minutes to explain our position.
When I finished he said, “I do not see where anything you have told me is any different from what is currently available in our country. I see no reason to approve your request to bring missionaries into our country.”
He stood up to usher me out of his office. I was panic-stricken. I had failed. In a moment our meeting would be over. What could I do? I offered a silent prayer.
Then I had an inspired thought. I said to the minister, “Sir, if you will give me five more minutes, I would like to share one other thought with you. Then I will leave.” He kindly consented.
I reached for my wallet and removed this small For the Strength of Youth booklet, which I have always carried.
I said, “This is a little booklet of standards we give to all of the youth in our Church.”
I then read some of the standards I have mentioned tonight. When I finished he said, “You mean to tell me you expect the youth of your church to live these standards?”
“Yes,” I replied, “and they do.”
“That is amazing,” he said. “Could you send me some of these booklets so that I could distribute them to the youth of my church?”
I replied, “Yes,” and I did.
Several months later we received official approval from the government of that country to come and establish the Church.

When Gary Stevenson was about 11 years old, his father took him hiking. “I was jumping from rock to rock in front of my father,” he remembers. “I intended to climb a large rock and look down. As I clambered toward the top of the boulder, he grabbed me by my belt and pulled me down.
“‘What’s the matter?’ I said, and he replied, ‘Don’t climb on that rock. Let’s just keep on the trail.’ A moment later as we looked down from higher up the trail, we could see a rattlesnake on top of the rock, basking in the sun.
“‘That’s why I pulled you back,’ my father explained.
“Later as we were driving home, I knew he was waiting for me to ask the question: ‘How did you know the snake was there?’ He said, ‘Let me teach you about the Holy Ghost.’ We had an impromptu lesson about the roles the Holy Ghost can have in our lives: protector, comforter, and one who testifies. ‘In this case,’ my father shared, ‘the Holy Ghost was protecting you through me. He warned me to pull you away.’”
This experience, though simple, helped Elder Stevenson to understand that when promptings of the Spirit are received, they should be accepted and acted upon. It was one of many lessons gleaned from his father.

Preparing to decorate our Christmas tree, I unpacked a box filled with Christmas decorations that I hadn’t seen or used in several years. As I pawed through the Christmas lights and linens, I discovered a dress box filled with Christmas ornaments I had collected when I was single and teaching school. I discovered a plain, cross-stitched ornament that simply said “Christmas Open House—1984.” My mind raced back to that year. I was unmarried and had apprehensively moved from a young single adult ward to a family ward.
I love the Christmas season, but some had been very lonely for me. Being in my 30s, single, and not having children, I sometimes felt left out. It was easy for me to feel sorry for myself, falling back into what I called the “poor little old me syndrome.” That particular year, 1984, I remember making a conscious decision to conquer the syndrome, to look beyond myself and see what I could do to make Christmas joyful for others.
I was relatively new to the ward and thought that opening my modest apartment to members of the Relief Society would help me celebrate the holidays and become better acquainted with the sisters.
As I reminisced about that open house, I remembered the small Christmas tree decorated with my box of ornaments, the smell of the shortbread cookies my single friends helped me bake, and the sweet taste of Mom’s “white Christmas punch” I served to the guests.
That conscious decision in 1984 to “lose my life” by looking outward was indeed a turning point in “finding” myself. As I pondered the past, I realized that many, in turn, had followed our Savior’s words and lost their life for me. Christmas ornaments had become a sweet reminder of Christlike friends.

When I was in my teens, a recently returned missionary named Brother Peterson taught our Sunday School class. Every week he would draw a large arrow from the lower left-hand corner of the blackboard pointing to the upper right-hand corner. Then he would write at the top of the blackboard, “Aim High.”

Whatever doctrine he was teaching, he would ask us to stretch ourselves, to reach a little higher than we thought was possible. The arrow and those two words, aim high, were a constant invitation throughout the lesson. Brother Peterson made me want to serve a good mission, to do better in school, to set my sights higher for my career.

Brother Peterson had a work for us to do. His goal was to help us “think about, feel about, and then do something about living gospel principles.” His teaching helped save my life.

The Scouts and their leaders arrived in the town of Green River on a Monday morning and started building the rafts at a state park where a boat ramp provides easy access to the river. It took a little longer than expected to assemble everything. In fact, launching was delayed until the following morning. But once underway it didn’t take long for the fun to begin.

“It was like a moving summer camp,” said Brother Ivie’s 13-year-old son, Brian. “You didn’t have to worry about getting bored. The scenery was always changing.”

The Green River Canyon is a place where the earth gets down to basics. Rock and water, water and sand, sometimes some red rock to add brightness to the land. The Missouri-wide water twists through curve after wandering curve, past side canyons where Indian petroglyphs and explorer’s signatures are etched in the stone of thousand-foot cliffs reaching to a cloudless blue sky.

“It’s such a big place,” said Adam Pitcher, 13. “A massive river, massive canyons, huge rocks. How could there ever be so much rock in one place? It’s strange to imagine a place so big, but so empty.”

“It’s kind of nice to watch the world’s history book open up as you go down the different layers,” said Brother Ivie’s other son, 14-year-old Richard. “Those rocks must be some of the oldest rocks in the world. It makes you think back to the creation. You look from the beginning back up to the tops of the cliffs.”

And then there was always the water. If you got hot or bored you just jumped in the river.

“My dad, my brother Richard, and I would all go floating at the same time,” said Chris Higbee, 12. “At night, Dad and I would sleep next to each other on the deck and Richard would sleep up on the second level. We’d just lie there and talk to each other. It was neat. I’ll tell my kids about it some day.”

“I couldn’t believe it when I saw my Scoutmaster dive off the second deck,” said Andrew Owens, 12. “I didn’t know he could be crazy like that. But he got right in there and did the same things we did. He likes to have fun, too.”

Jim Oldroyd, 12, told of running across flat places on the bank where silt had accumulated.

“At first it was solid, but then we’d keep running on it and it turned into mud,” he said.

“The mud’s buoyant, so you can’t sink, and it’s a lot warmer than the water, because it’s been out in the sun. A warm mud bath was just the thing to get rid of mosquitoes,” Richard Ivie said. “Of course, when you got out you looked like a chocolate statue.”

Mosquitoes were a constant plague to the adventurers. “They were the worst where there were plants and bushes,” said Scott Hafen, 14. “When we tried to pull in to shore and tie up, they’d mob us. And they’d buzz and bite all night long while we were trying to sleep.”

But despite the whining attacks of buzzbombing mosquitoes, everyone who floated the Green would return home enchanted. They’d tell of visiting Geyser Springs and Anvil Bottom, of renaming Trinity Alcove “Cobra Swamp,” in honor of the shape of a nearby rock formation. They’d brag of their climb up the steep sides of Bowknot Bend, where fast winds snatched some of their hats and tossed them thousands of feet down the canyon. And they’d tell how the river makes a nine-mile elbow to come back within 600 yards of where it started.

Jason Von Zomeren, 16, would remember how he cooled off watermelons by floating them next to him in the river. Scott Hanson, assistant adviser to the teachers quorum in the 27th Ward, would remember demonstrating his black powder rifle, teaching the young men how to load and shoot it. Months later he would still be talking about how the river trip had taught everyone to reach out to others.

“It’s a lot easier to get your boat to shore if there’s someone there to throw a line to,” he said.

Even though the Green River seems to meander, the current at the center is an express lane. At the end of four days, the rafts had traveled 68 miles. It was time for the Friday night campfire, the closing ceremony of the trip.

Each boy’s parents had sent a letter for him to read.

“We read the letters and then just thought for a few minutes. Then we bore our testimonies to each other and said how much we’d grown closer by working together,” said Jeff Barrett, 14. “People don’t always tell you how they feel right at the time, but we all did. You told everybody how you felt.”

He remembered one special incident from the trip:

“When we were coming in the last night, there was a storm and it was blowing. We all tried to row against the current and the wind. Our two leaders, the Scoutmaster and my dad, were wearing themselves out trying to get the boat in. We had to take everything down that would prevent us from getting to shore. If we missed the landing, we’d be gone down river for 70 miles more. So we said a prayer for help. After that, the wind died down for a minute and the rain stopped. We made it in before it started up again.”

The next morning, as tubes were deflated and lashings untied, as rafts became mere piles of poles to be loaded onto trucks, Brother Ivie said the journey down the Green could not have been better.

My schoolteacher has a special shelf where she keeps books that she doesn’t want anyone to take home. I saw a book there that I wanted to take home and read that night. I knew I could finish it and bring it back the next day before she missed it.
I read the book that night and put it on my dresser. Later, my sister spilled a glass of water on the book and didn’t tell me. By the time I found out, my teacher’s book was wet and puffy. I was so scared that I started to cry! I was afraid my teacher would be really mad at me. I prayed that she wouldn’t be mad and that she would still trust me. I decided I should pay for the book, and my sister agreed to help pay, too. We put our money in an envelope.
The next morning I wished that I didn’t have to go to school. All morning I practiced in my head how I would apologize to my teacher. Finally I took the book and money to her and explained what had happened. She didn’t get mad at me, and she even gave back the money.
I know that Heavenly Father forgives us and loves us, but it would have been better if I had chosen the right in the first place. I learned a good lesson, but I’m glad that it’s over. Now I am trying to choose the right every day, even when it’s hard.

I was having a hard day and had some troubling questions on my mind, so I decided to read my scriptures. Suddenly I felt like I should read the New Era, so I started reading the June issue and read “My Journey to Faith.” The last sentence really stood out to me: “I know that Heavenly Father loves each one of us and answers our prayers if we have faith in Him.” So I decided to pray about what was worrying me and trust that God would help me. Ever since, I’ve been at peace. Thank you so much!Karen A., Wyoming

As I spoke in general conference 25 years ago, I introduced a visual aid who stood beside me. It was my eldest grandson. He had recently received the Aaronic Priesthood and been ordained a deacon. I took the opportunity on that occasion to address my remarks to him on the importance of receiving the Aaronic Priesthood.
I said to my grandson:
“I am not overly pleased with worldly conditions that you and other young men are inheriting as you assume your role in moving toward manhood. While those of us who are older have been of an age and position to influence the world, I believe we’ve greatly failed you in what we have allowed the conditions in the world to become. This places you in a position where many of those with whom you must associate have not been reared with an understanding of or respect for traditional values. Thus, peer pressure becomes much more difficult and extreme.
“We have brought into our homes radios, record players, and television sets. While each has the potential of providing wholesome entertainment, so much of what has been produced for our listening and watching pleasure is not of the caliber to inspire and encourage young men. In fact, most of what is produced is degrading. The flip of a switch right in your own home has the potential of destroying within you a sense of what is right and what is wrong” (“I Confer the Priesthood of Aaron,” Ensign, Nov. 1985, 46).
I also taught my grandson Terry four lessons based on the story of Daniel in the Old Testament. I told him to (1) keep his body healthy and clean, (2) develop his mind and become wise, (3) be strong and resist temptation in a world filled with it, and (4) trust in the Lord, especially when you need His protection.
I closed my counsel to Terry with these words: “These stories in the scriptures will never grow old. They will be just as exciting for you when you are reading them as a deacon, a teacher, a priest, a missionary, a home teacher, an elders quorum president, or whatever the Lord calls on you to do. They will teach you to have faith, courage, love for your fellowmen, confidence, and trust in the Lord” (Ensign, Nov. 1985, 48).
I am happy to report that Terry has been faithful to the charge I gave him 25 years ago. He later received the Melchizedek Priesthood, served a faithful mission, currently serves as an elders quorum president, and of course is a father of a beautiful daughter.

Our first meeting occurred 30 years ago. I was a newly appointed secretary to the stake MIA. She was a board member from one of the wards. My job was to call the roll at our stake leadership meeting. In those days when we had a standing roll call, I remember a particular evening when I was calling out the various wards. I had no difficulty in making an accurate count of the young men in attendance; then I started on the young women’s roll. Suddenly my eyes met a charming, beautiful young woman. I completely lost my ability to count. I confess to the Church Historian today that those records that are in the archives of the Church are not accurate for that particular meeting.
Eight months later I was kneeling at an altar in the house of the Lord, holding her hand, and hearing the most glorious words ever to be uttered on earth, “For time and all eternity.” I realized that I was receiving the greatest gift of God. I was being sealed in marriage by one having the authority to act for the Lord in uniting myself and my lovely companion together for time and all eternity, if I would but live worthy of her. We had only been married a few days before I found out I had married a woman with great empathy in her heart for her fellowmen. All of those wonderful aromas which came from the air around her kitchen were not all intended for me, for when she would find someone in need, she could not rest until she had made an effort to supply a relief.

I have learned so much from so many of the faithful saints throughout our Area who have endeavoured to become self-reliant. I would like to share with you the story of Thatayaone Pule, who resides in Kanye, Botswana. I have known him ever since he was in Primary and have watched him grow up in the Church.

His parents were not members of the Church, so he went through the youth program being ministered to by others who treated him like their own son. At the age of 19 he served a mission. After his mission he returned home and got married immediately. Since he and his wife, Lesego, were so young and at that stage had not completed their tertiary education, the two of them did odd jobs together like clearing people’s yards and washing their laundry, in order to earn an income. They went on to buy and sell fruits and vegetables. With their savings, they opened a little internet café. He later got a job as a security camera installer. Because of his reliability, he was promoted to become a supervisor and four years later he was promoted to become site manager. This did not stop him from continuing his self-reliance endeavours. He then got into breeding dogs and this led him to his true passion—that of farming! He sold his dogs, and with the income he bought goats and later cattle.

Eventually, Thatayaone bought himself a huge piece of farmland where he is currently ploughing maize, watermelons, beans and sorghum. As their circumstances improved, Sister Pule went on to study for a diploma in business management.

This good family has learned to apply the things learned at church in their daily lives. Thatayaone has been serving as bishop for the past few years and has become a great blessing to his family, the members of the Church and many others in the community who have turned to him for guidance when it comes to self-reliance matters. In one of my conversations with Bishop Pule I asked him how all this started, and his answer was: “it all started after I attended a provident living workshop on mission.”

As a boy, I was baptized with my family in 1971. For years we were very active as a family in Church. Then, little by little, we stopped attending meetings. My family began to have many problems that resulted in my parents’ separation.

After a long period of time I began to attend church again. One of my friends from seminary days had found me and encouraged me back into activity. I began to read the scriptures and Church books—especially the Liahona (Spanish)—and I developed the desire to serve a mission.

As part of my mission preparation I read the Book of Mormon all the way through. This special book of scripture became my constant companion and was a great help to me.

I am now serving a mission and I love the work. My parents are back together and my younger brother and sister are planning to go on missions. The trials still keep coming, but with the gospel we can overcome them.

Based on my own experience, I would encourage all of the young men of the Church to prepare now for a mission. One of the best ways to prepare is to read the Book of Mormon and the Church magazine. Do not hesitate to accept a mission call. You will never regret it.
Elder E. Jorge Luis LeonArgentina Buenos Aires South Mission

Of all the hundreds of papers, quizzes, and exams from my undergraduate degree, I am holding in my hand the only thing I saved from my entire undergraduate experience. This is a Chemistry 105 exam. I vividly remember watching the professor handing a big stack of exams to the person on the front row and saying, "Find your exam and pass the pile along." This was long before FERPA laws protecting privacy, so public humiliation or adoration (depending on how you performed) was always a looming possibility. I hastily retrieved my exam and hurried out of class. As I was walking out of the building, I quickly glanced at the exam and saw the number 76 scrawled across the top in red pen. "76?" I quickly stuffed the exam into my backpack. I felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach. My mind raced, and I started thinking that obviously I wasn't smart enough to be at a university, for surely everyone else in the class scored much higher than I did. I envisioned my fellow classmates celebrating together at the student center, toasting their success with chocolate milk. The number 76 kept flashing over and over in my mind as I walked toward my apartment by going down the stairs south of campus leading to a botanical pond. Nearing the bottom of the stairs, I pulled the dreaded exam from my backpack, hoping that I somehow read my score incorrectly. But sure enough, that red 76 was still there. But then I saw something I hadn't noticed before. My heart raced when I saw a tiny minus sign. You see, I didn't get a 76 on this exam; I missed 76! And sure enough, in the corner was the number 24. Surely this is the lowest score in school history given to someone who actually tried to do well. I was so stunned that my first impulse was to jump into the botanical pond, swim to the bottom, and hide from the entire world. Little did I know that botanical pond was less than three feet deep. So that plan would have also received a score of 24 as it too would have been doomed to failure.

Now you may ask, "Why in the world did you save that particular exam as your only memento of your undergraduate academic experience?" It is because this experience impacted and shaped me in significant ways--ways I hope to always remember. I am not proud of failing (or failing with such absolute certainty). What happened next, however, was something that required pioneer-like courage. Somehow, I resisted the overwhelming urge to pack all my belongings into my car and drive home and leave school and all my humiliation in the rear-view mirror. It was during this time that I came across a quote that was attributed to Winston Churchill that read, "Success is not final, failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts."[11] I climbed up on Winston's shoulders and strained to see beyond this setback. But it took every bit of courage I had to get up, dust off my pride, place my ego in check, return to class, and get back to work. And because I couldn't muster that type of courage on my own, I climbed up on the shoulders of the pioneer Saints and listened to them invite me yet again to "Come, Come, ye Saints... Gird up your loins; fresh courage take. Our God will never us forsake; and soon we'll have this tale to tell-- All is well! All is well!"

I occasionally look at this exam and remember that "failure is not fatal" and that it's the "courage to continue that counts." I remember that every storm will eventually break if you just hold on long enough. I remember that learning is a process and not an event and that I could do difficult things even when it takes more time, strength, effort, and courage than I think or feel I have. Most importantly, I am reminded that life is not determined by a singular performance, and there are times when you need to be courageous. So when your mettle is tested, please climb up on the shoulders of those who came before you so you can see further and know that it's "not so bad! Not so bad!"

It’s easy to get lost in Madrid.
I know I’m in trouble as soon as I get off the train. I give the address of the chapel to a cab driver, and he rubs the back of his neck while slowly shaking his head. He’s never heard of that part of the city. He’s never heard of that street. And he’s especially never heard of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “What’s that?” he asks.
An hour later, we’re still driving around looking. Oh, we’ve passed some marvelous sites along the way—incredibly majestic, centuries-old buildings; statues; fountains; tree-lined avenues; ornate bridges. And the driver has learned a lot more about the Church. But we still can’t find the chapel.
After stopping to ask about 27 different people, we approach the right neighborhood. Suddenly, a nice-looking boy, probably about 17, runs out in the street to stop us. They’ve been waiting for me in the chapel, he explains, and have posted people at various street corners to see if they could spot me coming. They know it’s not easy in their city.
“It’s difficult here because the members are so spread out,” says Paloma Bosch, 17, in the interview that began as soon as I arrived. “If you fall, it’s easy to fall quickly because there aren’t many around to help you. But we try to look out for each other.”
I believed her. They’d looked out for me.

When we moved to Provo thirty years ago, I was in my twenties. Our oldest son was two, and our youngest son was just a few weeks old. I had been a member of the Church for less than ten years.
Shortly after arriving in Provo, I met Bertha. Bertha was in her sixties. I knew a little bit about Bertha. I knew she lived in our stake. I knew she was respected by those who knew her. I also knew that she was a leader and a woman of service. People sought her advice.
I remember attending a stake Relief Society function at which Bertha was one of the women on a panel that was answering questions and giving advice to those in attendance on a variety of topics. I noticed that Bertha was being asked for a lot of advice about raising children. I soon discovered why. She was the mother of thirteen children. I appreciated her responses to the questions. She seemed to have all the wisdom and experience that I lacked.
Another thing I knew about Bertha was that she seemed to like walking. Sometimes I would see her walking in the neighborhood. One morning while I was walking with my friend, she asked me if it would be okay if Bertha joined us occasionally on our walks. I told her that was fine. But privately, the thought of walking with Bertha intimidated me somewhat, mainly because I held her in such high esteem.
A few days later my friend invited Bertha to walk with us. Before Bertha met us for our walk that morning, my friend told me a couple of things about Bertha that she thought would be helpful to me. She told me that Bertha sometimes had a little difficulty hearing and that her shins sometimes bothered her—especially when walking uphill. I thought these things were good to know.
Our walking route that day began in the Tree Streets south of the Provo Temple. We headed toward the temple, which is a steady uphill walk. I don’t remember much of our conversation that day. I remember only the question I asked Bertha once we reached the top of the road by the temple and began our steady descent toward home.
Remembering that Bertha’s shins sometimes bothered her, I asked, “Bertha, how are your shins?”
There was a bit of an awkward pause, and then, with much earnestness, Bertha replied, “I’m working on them, and hopefully they are improving every day.”
I responded, “Oh, that’s good. Thankfully it’s all downhill from here.”
I was feeling pretty magnanimous about my expressed concern for Bertha. For a couple of minutes we walked along in a somewhat awkward silence.
Then my friend suddenly got a relieved look on her face and, turning to me, exclaimed, “You said shins, didn’t you?”
My first thought was, “Yes, of course I said shins.” Then it occurred to me that they had both thought I had asked Bertha how her sins were doing!
I was mortified! There I was, this inexperienced young mother, asking Bertha, this accomplished and wise woman, how her sins were doing! How impertinent I must have seemed, especially to have commented that it’s all downhill from here—as if implying that once you hit a certain age, it can only be downhill.
I really don’t know what Bertha thought of me. I do know that I was grateful that my friend clarified the misunderstanding that I had unintentionally caused.
That experience and many others like it have taught me the critical importance of effective communication.