Gospel Story Finder

Laura Swenson from Idaho, USA, came home one day frustrated and in tears. She was not married, and her plans for college and the career she had dreamed of were falling apart. “I wondered if I was even going anywhere,” she wrote.

“I was prompted to turn to the Book of Mormon. In the first four verses of 1 Nephi 18, I found an answer to my concerns. These verses describe the ship that Nephi built to carry his family to the promised land. It was ‘of curious workmanship’ and not built ‘after the manner of men’; rather, it was built ‘after the manner which the Lord had shown’ (verses 1–2). Nephi consulted with the Lord often while building the ship. When the ship was finished, ‘it was good, and … the workmanship thereof was exceedingly fine’ (verse 4).

“I realized that my own journey was of ‘curious workmanship.’ It didn’t fit the patterns of men but would get me where I needed to go if I sought the Lord’s guidance. These verses were a beacon of light in a dark moment. My problems didn’t end overnight, but I found the perspective that I needed. I am now in a rewarding career for which I had never planned.”

As a young girl, my grandmother Chasty Olsen Harris was tending some children who were playing in a dry riverbed near their home in Castle Dale, Utah. Suddenly she heard a voice that called her by name and directed her to get the children out of the riverbed and up on the bank. It was a clear day, and there was no sign of rain. She saw no reason to heed the voice and continued to play. The voice spoke to her again, urgently. This time she heeded the warning. Quickly gathering the children, she made a run for the bank. Just as they reached the bank, an enormous wall of water, originating with a cloudburst in the mountains many miles away, swept down the canyon and roared across where the children had played.
8. The eighth purpose or type of revelation consists of those instances where the Spirit impels a person to action.
This is not a case where a person proposes to take a particular action and the Spirit either confirms or restrains. This is a case where revelation comes when it is not being sought and impels some action not proposed. This type of revelation is obviously less common than other types, but its rarity makes it all the more significant.
Except for this type of impelling revelation, my grandmother and the children she was tending would have been lost in the river.

When I completed my graduate studies in May of 1982, I accepted a job offer from a Honolulu law firm after graduation, and spent evenings Monday through Friday, and all day Saturday, at a licensing preparation class. I spent mornings working at the law firm and every afternoon preparing for the class. I saw very little of my wife and 3 year old daughter in those days, and Sister Durrett was pregnant with our second child.

While in the midst of what seemed to be an extremely arduous schedule at the time, I received late one evening a telephone call from my only brother, whom I had not had regular contact with for over two years. He was seeking information about the Church. He had been working as a professional rock and roll musician in Waikiki, and because of his schedule, our paths seldom crossed. It seems that his girlfriend had expressed a feeling of emptiness in her life, and she was resigned to seeking out and attending a church in the upcoming week with or without him. My brother told her that before they sought out a church, they should "check out" my brother's church. He was calling to receive information about the Church—an answer to prayers I had offered since I was baptized some ten years earlier and a literal fulfillment of my Patriarchal Blessing "that some members of my family would join the Church." Of course, the call had to come in the middle of my preparation for the Hawaii state bar examination. But the Spirit made clear that this opportunity would not present itself again, and that it could not be passed up.

I arranged for the fulltime missionaries to meet my brother and his girlfriend on Sunday evening, the only night I was not in class, and we commenced to share the missionary lessons with them every Sunday thereafter.

To make a very sweet story succinct, they shortly embraced the Gospel, and I was able to baptize my only brother and his future wife at Nu'uanu Ward, as soon as we could arrange the wedding which we did in less than a month with the help of Sister Durrett. Several years later I was able to lay my hands upon his head in the circle where he was set apart as a Bishop of the Ewa Beach Ward. Remember, service of lasting value in the Kingdom will rarely be convenient.

A woman I know—I will call her Suzanne—has persisted daily in a very different plan than she ever imagined as a young woman. She has an optimistic and positive attitude, finding joy in the ups and downs of life. She completed her degree in nursing, married, and began her family, which eventually included three daughters. As her second daughter began to grow, Suzanne realized she was not developing normally. After a period of time her daughter was diagnosed with a form of autism that severely affected her social and communication skills. The plan for Suzanne’s family was altered. A few years later Suzanne delivered her third daughter, who eventually was also diagnosed with autism. Suzanne’s husband was a supportive, involved father, and together they altered their plan, knowing that they could handle this challenge. When the girls were ages eleven, thirteen, and eighteen, their father unexpectedly passed away from a heart attack while out on his daily run. Again Suzanne’s plan was greatly altered. She continues to find joy as she has realized that life doesn’t have to be perfect to be wonderful. She is persistent and will continue to persevere over her lifetime.

I particularly remember a Primary teacher reading a story to us from the Improvement Era. I had the Historical Department find it for me, and I found it was worth repeating. The story was taken from the October 1928 Improvement Era and is about Creed Haymond, a young Mormon who applied and was accepted at the University of Pennsylvania. He was an athlete known for his speed, and because of the way he acted and participated, he was chosen to be the captain of the track team.
The annual meet of the Intercollegiate Association of Amateur Athletes of America was held at Harvard Stadium at the end of May of 1919. To Cambridge came the greatest college athletes—1,700 in all. In the tryouts, Penn had qualified 17 men. Cornell, their most feared rival that year, had qualified only 10. The Penn team was in position to be crowned the champions. The scores were made on the first five places—five for first, four for second, three for third, two for fourth, and one for fifth. Naturally, the team that qualified the most men had the greatest opportunity to win the meet.
The Penn coach was in high spirits the night before the meet. He made the rounds of his team members before he retired. He came into Creed’s room and said, “Creed, if we do our best tomorrow, we will run away with it.”
The coach hesitated. “Creed, I’m having the boys take a little sherry wine tonight. I want you to have some, just a little of course.”
“I won’t do it, Coach.”
“But, Creed, I’m not going to get you drunk. I know what you ‘Mormons’ believe. I’m giving you this as a tonic, just to put you all on your metal.”
“It won’t do me any good, Coach; I can’t take it.”
The coach replied, “Remember, Creed, you’re the captain of the team and our best point winner. Fourteen thousand students are looking to you personally to win this meet. If you fail us we’ll lose. I ought to know what is good for you.”
Creed knew that other coaches felt that a little wine was useful when men have trained muscles and nerves almost to the snapping point. He knew also that what the coach was asking him to do was against all that he had been taught from his early childhood. He looked his coach in the eye and said, “I won’t take it.”
The coach replied, “You’re a funny fellow, Creed. You won’t take tea at the training table. You have ideas of your own. Well, I’m going to let you do as you please.”
The coach then left the captain of the team in a state of extreme anxiety. Suppose he made a poor showing tomorrow. What could he say to his coach? He was going up against the fastest men in the world. Nothing less than his best would do. His stubbornness might lose the meet for Penn. His teammates were told what to do, and they had responded. They believed in their coach. What right did he have to disobey? There was only one reason. He had been taught all his life to obey the Word of Wisdom.
It was a critical hour in this young man’s life. With all the spiritual forces of his nature pressing in on him, he knelt down and earnestly asked the Lord to give him a testimony as to the source of this revelation that he had believed in and obeyed. Then he went to his bed and slept in sound slumber.
The next morning the coach came into his room and asked, “How are you feeling, Creed?”
“Fine,” the captain answered cheerfully.
“All of the other fellows are ill. I don’t know what’s the matter with them,” the coach said seriously.
“Maybe it’s the tonic you gave them, Coach.”
“Maybe so,” answered the coach.
Two o’clock found 20,000 spectators in their seats waiting for the meet to begin. As the events got under way, it was plain that something was wrong with the wonderful Penn team. Event after event, the Penn team performed well below what was expected of them. Some members were even too ill to participate.
The 100- and 220-yard dash were Creed’s races. The Penn team desperately needed him to win for them. He was up against the five fastest men in American colleges. As the men took their marks for the 100-yard dash and the pistol was shot, every man sprang forward into the air and touched the earth at a run—that is, all except one—Creed Haymond. The runner using the second lane in the trials—the lane that Creed was running in at this particular event—had kicked a hole for his toe an inch or two behind the spot where Haymond had just chosen for his. They didn’t use starting blocks in those days. With the tremendous thrust that Creed gave, the narrow wedge of earth broke through, and he came down on his knee behind the line.
He got up and tried to make up for the poor start. At 60 yards, he was last in the race. Then he seemed to fly past the fifth man, then the fourth, then the third, then the second. Close to the tape, heart bursting with strain, he swept into that climax with whirlwind swiftness and ran past the final man to victory.
Through some mistake in arrangements, the semifinals for the 220 were not completed until almost the close of the meet. With the same bad breaks that had followed the Penn team all day, Creed Haymond had been placed in the last qualifying heat for the 220-yard dash. Then, five minutes after winning it, he was called upon to start the final 220, the last event of the day. One of the other men who had run in an earlier heat rushed up to him. “Tell the starter you demand a rest before running again. You’re entitled to it under the rules. I’ve hardly caught my breath yet and I ran in the heat before yours.”
Creed went panting to the starter and begged for more time. The official said he would give him 10 minutes. But the crowd was clamoring for the final race to begin. Regretfully he called the men to their marks. Under ordinary conditions Creed would not have feared this race. He was probably the fastest man in the world at that distance, but yet he had already run three races that afternoon—one the heart-stopping 100-yard dash.
The starter ordered the breathless men to their marks, raised his pistol, and with a puff of smoke the race began. This time the Penn captain literally shot from his marks. Soon Creed emerged from the crowd and took the lead. He sprinted all the way up the field, and with a burst of speed and eight yards ahead of the nearest man, he broke the tape, winning the second race—the 220-yard dash.
Penn had lost the meet, but their captain had astounded the fans with his excellent runs.
At the end of that strange day, as Creed Haymond was going to bed, there suddenly came to his memory his question of the night before regarding the divinity of the Word of Wisdom. The procession of that peculiar series of events then passed before his mind—his teammates had taken wine and had failed; his abstinence had brought victories that even amazed himself. The sweet, simple assurance of the Spirit came to him: the Word of Wisdom is of God. (Adapted from Joseph J. Cannon, “Speed and the Spirit,” Improvement Era, Oct. 1928, 1001–7.)

As a teenage boy, I struggled a lot with my identity. I wondered why I was on this earth and who I was supposed to become. When I was about 13, the principal of my school gave every student a copy of the New Testament with English and Japanese side-by-side. “It isn’t for religious purposes,” he said. “It is a very good translation, so use it to study English.” When I opened it up though, it gave scripture references for when you feel lonely, need answers to your questions, or are struggling. I could relate to all of those situations!
I read about Jesus Christ. “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). “Take up [your] cross, and follow me” (Matthew 16:24). The words resonated with me even though I didn’t fully understand them. I wondered who Jesus Christ is and what it means to have Him as a Savior. I wondered if I was the only one feeling such a connection to what was supposed to be a textbook.
A few years later I met some missionaries for the first time. My parents had warned me about the young Christians who were going around preaching. As I was walking home, a tall American missionary with a kind smile stopped me. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid he would talk about his church. If he had, I might have run the other way! All he asked was how to find the post office. I told him and then walked home.
As I walked away, I felt something. If I see the missionaries again, I thought, I will talk to them.
Not long after that, I ran into a different set of missionaries. I was shocked that God would hear and answer the prayers of a boy like me, until I read about Joseph Smith. I had read in the New Testament to pray always, but God appearing to a man? It felt both radical and right. Rather than run away, I set up an appointment to have them teach me.
A month into meeting with the missionaries, they invited me to be baptized. I didn’t want to turn them down, but I was hesitant to leave the tradition of my parents and everyone around me. There were two paths before me, and I knew there was only one way to know which one to take—I had to pray like Joseph Smith. I asked Heavenly Father, in the name of Jesus Christ, if the things the missionaries had been teaching me were true.
That was my turning point. From then on, I knew for myself that the restored gospel is true. No one could take that knowledge away from me. I knew which path to follow, and nothing could change that.
I had many questions when I was younger. I learned that I am a child of God, He loves me, He has a plan for me, and He wants to answer my prayers. This knowledge changed my entire perspective on life. I learned that who I am and what I do is significant.
Before I learned that I was a child of God, I wanted to blend in with everyone. I was afraid of standing out. But after I learned that I am a child of God, I realized I can stand out; I can be different.
Praying and realizing that I am a son of God gave me the courage to explain my feelings to my parents, but they didn’t quite understand. They thought I was rebellious and too immature to make the decision to be baptized. They were embarrassed that their son was following this strange religion rather than their traditions. I knew who I was and what I wanted, but I also wanted to honor my parents and hoped they would honor my religion.
I explained my situation to the sister missionaries. They had an idea—they could come talk to my parents so that they would feel better about this religion. I told them I was afraid my parents wouldn’t want to talk to them. Then one of the sisters suggested that we fast together.
When I didn’t eat breakfast, my mom was worried. “Why didn’t you eat?” she asked. I explained that I was fasting, and that made her even more concerned.
“First you are going to this no-man’s land of religion, and now you are not eating. I’m worried. I’m shocked! I’m going to call those missionaries.”
She did call the sisters, and somehow they got themselves invited to our house for dinner!
We had a great time. The missionaries taught my parents the hymn “I Am a Child of God” (Hymns, no. 301), and we sang it together. My father loved that. After dinner with the sisters, neither of my parents was worried about me going to church. And I felt I was able to honor them by living the gospel because it really encompassed everything they had taught me. I thought if I loved them long enough and treated them kind enough, eventually they would understand. It took 35 years after my baptism, but my mother was baptized and went through the temple just a few years ago!
Knowing that I’m a child of God has impacted many of my life decisions. I also know that as we follow the Spirit and do what Heavenly Father asks of us, even when it seems hard, He will bless us. That is always the best choice.

I was born in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. As the eldest of eight children, I left school when I was twelve years old to help support my family. After I grew up and married, my wife, Ruda, encouraged me to go back to school, and I earned my high school diploma and a bachelor’s degree in accounting.
But even when I was the financial management comptroller for Petrobras, the biggest oil company in Brazil, and I had the respect of my colleagues, I was not satisfied. I did not feel happy; I felt confused. I thought that the solution would be religion.
I had a wonderful wife and two children, Marcus and Marisa. (Later, another son and daughter, Raphael and Aline, were born.) We were not involved in a church at that time, and I told my wife that it would be best for us and for our children to find one. Many of my friends at work were members of different religions, so my family and I went to five or six different churches.
One day we found on our door a card with a picture of Jesus Christ on one side and the name The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on the other. I had never heard of this Church, and I asked my assistant at work, “What is this Church?”
He said, “Boss, don’t go there.”
But Heavenly Father had heard my family’s prayers. A few days later, in April of 1972, the missionaries knocked at our door. That changed our lives. We received all the discussions in one night. I asked and asked and asked questions. The missionaries answered my questions about the Church and about God and Jesus Christ and about the standing of black people in the Church. Elder Steve Richards and Elder Thomas McIntire were two very special missionaries, and they were prepared for that moment. All my questions were answered. The Holy Ghost testified all the time that these things were true.
When they left my house, I was completely changed. With reverence and respect, my family attended the meetings and activities, but we postponed baptism because of fear of negative reactions from our extended families.
Then we attended a district conference in Rio de Janeiro. The inspired messages from the pulpit prepared our hearts for an unforgettable moment. The counselor in the mission presidency bore his testimony about Jesus Christ, after which the congregation sang “I Need Thee Every Hour.” In that moment, the Holy Ghost reconfirmed the truthfulness of the things we already knew: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the Lord’s kingdom on earth, the road back to the celestial mansion of our Eternal Father.
My wife and I and Marcus—Marisa wasn’t old enough yet—were baptized July 2, 1972, the most important date in our lives. All the members of our branch attended our baptisms.
I had respect for all the doctrine and for the priesthood. Because I couldn’t hold the priesthood at that time, people often asked me, “What about the priesthood?” I told them that I had complete acceptance of it.
During the cornerstone laying of the São Paulo Temple, President Spencer W. Kimball motioned for me to come to him. I looked around to see whom he was looking at. He repeated the gesture. I did not understand. Elder James E. Faust looked at me and mouthed, “Come here. He wants to talk to you.” I went. President Kimball shook my hand and took hold of my arm and said, “Brother, what is necessary for you is faithfulness. Remain faithful, and you will enjoy all the blessings of the Church.”
A little more than a year later, in June 1978, we received a telephone call from a friend in Salt Lake City, Utah, telling us that President Kimball had announced the revelation* that all worthy males could hold the priesthood. I shall not forget that day. My wife cried. I cried. We knelt to thank our Heavenly Father. After that, the phone rang many, many times. Friends from the United States and Brazil called us.
The hand of the Lord is resting upon Brazil. It is a special country. We have many challenges, but we have a very special people who are friendly and accepting of the missionaries’ message.

From the age of five, all I wanted to do after I left school was to join the army. I was obsessed with everything to do with it; books and films, and particularly anything to do with the modern British Army. At age 14, I joined the Air Training Corps (ATC). But why join the Air Force cadets? My school was visited by a senior member of the recruitment section of the ATC; following their presentation, it became clear that joining the ATC was the only option open to me at the time, I just jumped at the chance.
The ATC was completely different from the army cadets; the only similarity was the marching and access to guns, for shooting on the range and for ceremonial purposes. An advantage of the ATC was that on several occasions I got to fly in a Chipmunk, a two-seater aeroplane, and in gliders—so much fun.
By the time I was sixteen I was once more focussed on the army. Because of this, I got very low marks in school exams. But I did not care because I knew what I wanted to do. As soon as I turned 17, I was ready to join the army. I took the entrance exam and passed. All that remained was the medical, but that was a disaster! I failed because I was two stones overweight. For the next five weeks I worked harder than ever to lose the weight and, thankfully, I succeeded.
When I returned for the follow-up medical, the doctor could not believe I was the same person. After signing some papers, I was given a date and a place to attend for training. As I was under 18, my mum had very reluctantly signed the consent form, though after failing my first medical she had hoped that I would change my mind—but, no chance.
Departure day finally came. I said farewell to my family and made my way to Sutton Coldfield, the army’s selection centre in the North of England. The five-day selection process was gruelling, mentally, and physically. I wanted to join the infantry, the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers. I was drawn to that wonderful part of the cap badge, the red and white hackle. It made the wearer stand out in a crowd, just like a peacock, and at my age at the time, every young man was a bit of a peacock.
Once selection was over, I was sent with several other young men to Bassingbourn barracks in Hertfordshire for thirteen weeks of intensive training. The training as an infantryman was tough, involving a lot of running and strength-based activities. Luckily for me, after I had lost the weight, I continued to work out, so I was no stranger to vigorous exercise.
During the thirteenth week we had our final test, a 20-mile speed march, carrying a full pack on our backs. It was a killer, but I made it. Out of an initial class of 40 recruits, I passed with nineteen others. It was a proud day for me and my family, including my mum. The rest of my career was served with the 2nd Battalion Royal Regiment of Fusiliers in places such as Northern Ireland, Germany and various European countries.

Several boys were kneeling in a circle on the sidewalk in front of David’s house, laughing and shouting. He watched them through the window. New in the neighborhood, he thought that this would be a good time to go out and make some friends. When the screen banged shut behind him, the boys looked up.
“Hi.” David combed his brown hair to one side with his fingers. “My name’s David. I just moved in. What are you doing?”
“We’re playing Grasshopper Gladiators,” a boy with reddish hair and freckles told him.
“I’ve never heard of that before,” David said. “How do you play?”
“You have to catch a grasshopper first,” said another boy. David had seen most of them at school, but he hadn’t been there long enough to learn their names. And right now they were more interested in their game than they were in him.
There were a lot of weeds around his new house. It had stood empty for quite a while before his parents bought it. It shouldn’t be too hard to find a grasshopper in all these weeds. He walked slowly through them till he heard a low buzzing sound to his right. Perched on a tall blade of grass was a brown grasshopper at least an inch long. David stopped and moved his cupped hands slowly toward it. When they were about three inches from it, he snatched at it. He felt it hit against the inside of his hands and then stand motionless. Experience had taught him that if he wasn’t very careful, when he opened his hands to look at his catch, it would be gone in a flash.
He waited a few more seconds. When he didn’t feel it jump again, he moved his left thumb, making a small opening. Then he tipped his hands until the warm afternoon sun entered the opening and made it easier for him to see the small creature.
He had read that grasshoppers have two hard lips and sharp biting jaws to help them tear off bits of plants for food. It’s a good thing it’s so much smaller than I am, he thought. Otherwise I might be in for a good bite.
David remembered the night his family had been reading about John the Baptist in Mark 3 in the New Testament. John had grown up eating locusts and honey. Mom had explained that locusts were a type of grasshopper. She had been told by someone who had eaten them that they tasted something like shrimp.
I like shrimp a lot, David thought, but I don’t know if I could eat a grasshopper. The grasshopper hopped toward the opening. David moved his left thumb quickly to keep it from jumping out. Its feet tickled. “I caught one,” he yelled as he approached the boys on the sidewalk.
“Good,” said the redhead. “Mark needs a challenger.” He nodded his head toward the boy who had told David to catch one.
The boys opened up to let David into the ring. What he saw made his stomach knot. In the center of the boys’ circle were grasshopper legs, wings, heads, and bodies. Two grasshoppers were still alive but had been stripped of their back two sets of legs and wings. They struggled helplessly before the laughing boys.
“What are you doing?” David choked out.
“What does it look like we’re doing?” the redhead retorted. “We’re making Roman gladiators out of them. We take turns pulling something off the other guy’s grasshopper. The guy whose grasshopper lives the longest wins.”
David watched in horror as one of the struggling grasshoppers stopped moving.
“I’m the winner!” the redhead chortled.
“That gives Jerry a score of six,” Mark said, marking a line under the initial J. S. on the sidewalk with chalk. “Is the new kid going to challenge me next?”
“No!” David shouted. “That’s mean.”
“You mean, mean boys,” Mark mimicked in a whiny voice. “Now you’ve gone and upset the new boy. How could you be so mean?”
“Oh, go away and leave us alone,” said Jerry, rising to his feet. He was a good head taller than David and was scowling at him. “What are you, anyway—a grasshopper lover? Come on, Mark, Steve will challenge you. You have a hopper left, haven’t you, Steve?”
A slightly built boy with blond hair answered. “Yeah, I have one. Hey, David, they’re only grasshoppers. It isn’t like we’re really hurting anything.”
“No.” David freed his grasshopper. “It isn’t right.”
He turned his back on the other boys and walked toward his house. He wanted to run from the jeering that followed him but forced himself to walk slowly. He didn’t want them to think that he was afraid of them.
Mom came into the living room from the kitchen. “Did you meet some of the neighbor boys?” she called cheerfully.
“I wish we’d never moved here,” he muttered.
“Why? What happened?”
“See those boys on the sidewalk?” His mother nodded. “They’re making a game out of tearing grasshoppers apart.”
“Oh, no!” His mother hesitated. “Do you want me to ask them to stop?”
David shook his head. “I already did. They just laughed at me and called me a grasshopper lover.”
“It isn’t a good way to get introduced into the neighborhood, is it?” Mom asked understandingly.
“I don’t care if they don’t like me,” David told her. “Who wants to be friends with guys like that.”
He went down the hall to his room and threw himself across his bed. The truth was, he did care. He wanted to have friends. But he couldn’t stand by and watch those boys destroy small, helpless creatures.
Mom had never let him kill even a spider. She had insisted that spiders are good and had a place in God’s world. She helped him catch them in paper cups and set them free outside. The same was true with bees and wasps.
Together they had watched a butterfly emerge from its cocoon. Its wings looked damp and crumpled at first. Then, ever so slowly, they unfolded and the butterfly pumped them up with fluid and fanned them slowly. Finally it flew away.
Dad had read him the story in Moses 7 in the Pearl of Great Price about Enoch hearing the earth cry out because of the wickedness of the people. And when they worked in the flower garden together, his mother sometimes said, “I hope that this little corner of the earth is feeling joy because of our efforts.”
In a family home evening he had learned the story in Matthew 21 [Matt. 21], Luke 19, and John 12 in the New Testament of Jesus entering Jerusalem riding on the colt. The people greeted Him with branches of palm trees and called out “Hosanna.” The Pharisees told Him to make the people stop. But Jesus said that “the stones would immediately cry out” hosannas if the people were silenced.
Dad had said that in some ways the earth’s spirit was like ours. Its body needs proper care if its spirit is to be happy. And all the creatures of the earth have spirits and can experience joy. David had even been afraid to pick flowers at one time. But then he’d realized that the joy plants experience must be connected to their service to man.
He loved to read stories about Native Americans. They gave a prayer of thanksgiving to the spirit of an animal after they killed it for food. And they thanked it for its gift of life.
Who needs friends like Mark and Jerry and those other boys, David thought again. I’d rather be alone.
“Come on, David, it’s time to get up,” Mom called from his bedroom doorway Sunday morning.
Oh, great! David thought. Church! It had been bad enough the past few days at school with Mark and Jerry and their gang calling him “grasshopper lover” during recess. No one had dared to pay any attention to him, at least not in a friendly way. Jerry and Mark seemed to lead the whole sixth grade. He could find some remote corner during recess and lunch most of the time. Walking home from school was the hardest. With a bunch of other kids, they usually waited and teased him all the way home. And he’d learned that Mark, Jerry, and Steve were in his ward at church. He pulled the pillow over his head.
“David,” Mom called a few minutes later. “Come on, breakfast is ready.”
“I’m not hungry,” David called. “Eat without me.”
He knew better than to think that that would keep Mom away. Less than a minute later she was back in his doorway. “What’s the matter, David?” she asked. “Don’t you feel well?”
It would be easy to tell her I’m sick, he thought, but that wouldn’t be true. Besides, I like church. I’m not going to let a few tough guys keep me from going. Aloud, he said, “I’m coming, Mom. I’ll be all right once I get going.”
It wasn’t hard to figure out where the Valiants sat. Jerry and Mark sat together at one end of the row, glaring at him. He sat on the opposite end. Steve came in during the opening song. There were only two seats left. One was in the middle of the girls. One was by him. David watched Steve’s look of bewilderment with slight amusement. Which would he be hassled the most for—sitting by the girls or by a grasshopper lover?
Steve only hesitated for a moment before slipping in next to David. “Hi,” he whispered under his breath, then joined in the song while Mark and Jerry talked and pointed their way.
When they were dismissed to class, Jerry and Mark elbowed their way to the chairs on the back row. They tipped their chairs against the back wall and called to Steve to join them. He looked at them and then at David sitting on the front row. He surprised David by sitting by him. “I’m glad you like grasshoppers,” he whispered. “I wish I’d stood up to those guys like you did.”
David felt a glow inside. He turned and gave Steve a grin. “It’s easier to stand up to people you don’t know.”
After she introduced herself and the rest of the class members to David, Sister Newell said, “Today I want to talk about the story of Korihor from the Book of Mormon. Who can tell me something about Korihor.”
“He was an antichrist,” one of the girls behind David volunteered.
“That’s right, Mary,” Sister Newell replied. “He was an antichrist. What does that mean?”
“It means that he didn’t believe that Jesus Christ was real,” Mary answered.
“Thank you, Mary. Does anyone besides Mary remember something about Korihor?”
David loved that story. He knew it by heart. But he didn’t want to look like a know-it-all or a show-off his first day of Primary.
The rest of the class was silent, too. Then Jerry blurted out from the back row. “Hey, wasn’t he the guy that got stomped to death?”
“Yes,” Sister Newell answered. “He was trampled to death. Open your Book of Mormon to Alma 30. Skim through the chapter if you need to, and find why Korihor was struck dumb.”
David stopped worrying about looking like a know-it-all. He loved this story and wanted to share what he had learned from it with others. Maybe Jerry and Mark would listen to Alma’s words, even if they wouldn’t listen to his. He raised his hand.
“David,” Sister Newell called.
David jabbed his finger along the pages in his Book of Mormon as he answered. “Starting in verse 37, Alma asks Korihor if he believes in God. Korihor tells him, ‘No.’ Alma testifies that there is a God and a Christ and tells Korihor that evidence that God lives is all around him. Korihor tells Alma that if there is a God, He should give a sign that He has power. Verse 44 reads, ‘But Alma said unto him: Thou hast had signs enough; will ye tempt your God? Will ye say, Show unto me a sign, when ye have the testimony of all these thy brethren, and also all the holy prophets? The scriptures are laid before thee, yea, and all things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator.’
“Then Alma told Korihor that because he would not accept the testimonies of other people and of all creation around him, he would be struck dumb.”
“That’s right, David. Thank you. What can we learn from this story?”
Steve raised his hand. “I think that it’s teaching us the importance of listening to the testimonies of other people. We should also treat everything around us on earth like it is a testimony of God and Christ. Even grasshoppers.”
The fidgeting on the back row stopped. There was a thud as the front legs of Jerry’s and Mark’s chairs hit the floor.
“You mean Korihor became dumb and was trampled to death because he didn’t respect bugs?” Jerry snorted.
“I’m not sure what bugs and grasshoppers have to do with the story of Korihor,” Sister Newell answered, “but I do know that he didn’t accept that these kinds of things bore testimony of the Savior and our Heavenly Father. You’ll notice in verse 59 that Korihor was trampled by the Zoramites. These were Nephites who lost the companionship of the Holy Ghost. Loss of the Holy Ghost takes away our respect for all forms of life. Otherwise they would not have trampled him.”
Then the bell rang for Sharing Time. Jerry and Mark didn’t push their way past everyone else this time. They even asked David and Steve if they could sit by them in the Primary room.
After church, Jerry, Mark, and Steve waited for David in the foyer. “Do you want to walk home with us?” Jerry asked him.
“Is it all right?” David asked his parents.
“Sure,” Dad said. “We’ll see you in a little while.”
No one said anything for the first block. Then Jerry broke the silence. “I guess Grasshopper Gladiators is a pretty mean game,” he said. “I’m not going to play it anymore.”
“Me either,” Mark agreed. “I just never thought of bugs and things as being a testimony of Jesus before.”
“I’d sure hate to end up like Korihor or those Zoramites,” Jerry added.
“Me, too,” Mark agreed. “Maybe grasshopper lover isn’t such a bad nickname, after all—but I think I’ll just call you David now.”

“Saturday’s activity will be a daddy-daughter cooking class,” Sister Marshall announced.
A wave of excited murmurs rolled through our Primary group. I suppose every girl was imagining bubbling desserts, fun games, and two whole hours with her dad. Every girl but me, that is. I didn’t have a dad—not even a shared-visitation dad like the ones some girls at school talked about. Instead of excitement, an anxious knot twisted in my stomach. I felt my face flush hot with emotion, and I clenched my teeth, fighting to force back tears.
Sister Marshall must have noticed my reaction. Once the meeting was over, she gently placed her hand on my shoulder. “Feel free to bring your mom, Tess.” She meant well, but those simple words were enough to set my tears free. I dropped my head so she wouldn’t notice and turned away.
“It’s OK,” I told myself. “You don’t have to go to that silly activity anyway.” But I knew it was a lie. I would have given anything to be part of a family that didn’t need special instructions from Sister Marshall—a family like the others that I saw dotting the rows of the chapel every Sunday. But my dad had left my mom, sister, and me when I was just a baby. We hadn’t heard from him in years, and I knew there was no way he was going to magically reappear just in time for Saturday’s activity.
“Get over it!” I ordered myself for at least the hundredth time since our baptism three years before. Our family was so much stronger now that we had a testimony of Heavenly Father’s plan, and I was grateful for all the gospel had given us. Still, it hadn’t been easy stepping into a group of friends who had been together since they were little—sharing baptisms, Primary activities, ward socials. I was the new girl, and although the others really tried to make me feel included, I still felt that I was different. I sometimes felt like a puzzle with one center piece missing.
“How was class?” Mom asked cheerfully as we drove home. She was a different person since our baptism—happier and more confident.
“Great,” I fibbed. Probably better not to worry her about the cooking class. After all, there was nothing she could do about it.
The week passed quickly. Schoolwork, chores, and friends kept me busy and allowed me to forget about Saturday’s activity. That is, until the phone rang Friday night.
“It’s for you,” my sister said, holding out the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Tess. This is Brother Erickson.” Brother Erickson was our home teacher. He owned an ice-cream shop in town and sometimes brought containers of mint chip or cherry chocolate to our house. He often made me laugh with his twinkling eyes and quick smile. But I couldn’t imagine why he would be calling me.
His voice was cheerful and strong. “I was wondering if you’d let me join you at the cooking class tomorrow.”
I held my breath and peeked into the kitchen where my mom was washing the dinner dishes. I smiled at the mounds of bubbles clinging to her arms. “She couldn’t have told him,” I thought. “She didn’t even know.” I wondered if Sister Marshall had called him.
“I read about it in the bulletin last Sunday,” he continued. “It sounds like fun.”
“Oh yeah, the bulletin.”
“So? Think you can handle toting an old man like me around your party?”
“You don’t have to—” I started.
“I want to!” Then he was silent for a moment. “Please.”
“Well, OK.” To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure it would be OK. I mean, I didn’t know him that well. But my new excitement for going to the activity outweighed any doubt.
Saturday came, and when Mom dropped me off at the church, Brother Erickson was waiting for me in a bright red apron. His smile eased my worries as we joined the other fathers and daughters. We had a blast learning how to make cherry cobbler and homemade whipping cream in our crowded meetinghouse kitchen. He never once made me feel like he was doing me a favor or just fulfilling his calling.
When Mom came to pick me up, Brother Erickson gave me a big high five. “Thanks for letting me come. I had a great time!” I knew that he really meant it.
Years passed, and Brother Erickson remained our home teacher. In addition to his visits, he invited my family over for many game nights at his house. He joined me at more father-daughter activities and gave me my first real job at his ice-cream store when I turned 16.
After college when I was getting married in the Los Angeles California Temple, I asked Brother Erickson to serve as a witness. When I walked into the sealing room, I saw him sitting in the chair typically reserved for the father of the bride. He smiled his silly smile at me, and I knew that he was exactly where he should be. After all, he was no ordinary home teacher. He had become my very close friend.

Service requires unselfishness, sharing, and giving. My wife and I learned a valuable lesson during our time of service in Africa. We were assigned to a district conference in Jinja, Uganda. Early Saturday morning before our meetings began, we took the opportunity to tour a new chapel in the area. As we arrived at the building, we were greeted by a young boy of three to four years of age. He had come to the Church grounds to see what was going on. Struck by his broad smile, Sister Snow reached in her purse and handed him a wrapped piece of hard butterscotch candy. He was delighted.

We spent a few minutes touring the chapel before returning outside. We were met by more than a dozen smiling children, who each wanted to meet the new neighborhood candy lady.

Phyllis was heartbroken, as she had given the boy her last piece of candy. She disappointedly gestured to the children there was no more. The small boy who initially greeted us then handed the candy back to Sister Snow, gesturing for her to unwrap it. With a heavy heart, Phyllis did so, fully expecting the boy to pop the butterscotch candy into his mouth in full view of his envious friends.

Instead, to our great surprise, he went to each of his friends, who stuck out their tongues and received one delicious lick of the butterscotch candy. The young boy continued around the circle, occasionally taking his own lick, until the candy was gone.

Now, one can argue the lack of sanitation with this gesture of sharing, but no one can dispute the example set by this young boy. Unselfishness, sharing, and giving are essential to service. This child learned that lesson well.

It is a wonderful blessing to have been raised hearing stories of pioneer ancestors on both sides of my family and from many other families as well. Not all of these stories were of major trials and tribulations. Sometimes they concerned funny little incidents of everyday life. Listen to this entry from the journal of Henrietta Williams as she crossed the plains.

They knew that I was no cook, but left that job for me. I built a fire after gathering buffalo chips, and getting it started, the wind playing with it as it pleased. I put the dutch oven on to heat with the cover by the side of it. I made a pie of dried apples, putting it into the oven, the lid still heating, and turned toward the wagon several yards away from the fire for safety. A nice cow sneaked up and helped herself to the pie and sneaked off, when a girl called to me to look at my rice. I had a hard time cooking the biscuits as I was jumping in and out of the wagon, climbing over the provision box, watching my baby girl and getting what [my husband] wanted as it was his misfortune never to find anything that he was looking for. The fire had its own way of burning. I thought, “Oh, Zion, will we ever reach thee?”

The youth of the Harbor Ward, Palos Verdes Stake, California, have been going down to help members of the Mexico Tijuana Stake for about ten years. They’ve built and repaired homes, renovated chapels, and done roofing and landscaping. This year the youth from Tijuana returned the favor.
As part of a neighborhood antigraffiti campaign, the Tijuana Saints came north to work with the Palos Verdes Stake to paint and clean a high school in Wilmington. The project was so unique it got lots of media coverage.
The Mexican youth were granted weekend visitors’ passes. They spent hours cleaning debris from the Banning High campus courtyard and repainting graffiti-marred walls. After the work was finished, the youth got together for a night of multicultural food and entertainment. The Tijuana Saints performed several ethnic dances and musical numbers. They stayed in members’ homes, and on Sunday morning had a joint sacrament meeting.
“They are really a model group of Latter-day Saints,” said Bishop David Bond of the Harbor Ward. “They did a lot of good for our ward.”

I grew up in beautiful Jamaica; it was fun and wonderful. However, when I started high school, some classmates and friends could not understand my decision to be a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. “How could you join that church?” they would ask. “How could you believe that story?”—referring to the First Vision. “How could you read that book?”—referring to the Book of Mormon. “Do you really believe all that?” And “Why are you wasting your life away?”

It was painful, especially when it came from people I cared about.

But what they didn’t know was this: I had an experience with the Holy Ghost. As that testimony filled my heart, it dulled the pain of days, and “for one brief moment, heaven’s view [appeared] before my gaze.”

Jamaica is to me like Palmyra was to Joseph Smith. It is my Sacred Grove. I do not know the exact spot where Joseph knelt to pray in the Sacred Grove, but I know exactly where I was when my Sacred Grove became a reality. It happened at Four Grove Road, Mandeville, Jamaica, in my bathroom, at 6:00 a.m. on a Wednesday three years after my baptism. This sacred experience happened because two weeks earlier an inspired sister missionary invited me to read the Book of Mormon. Sister Audrey Krauss is attending this conference today with her family, and I forever love her.

That experience changed me.

Last year I was on the school bus when some older kids asked me if I knew how to read. I told them that I did, and they said, “If you know how to read, read that word written on the bus.” So I did, and to my surprise it was a bad word! I felt so bad, because I want to make Jesus happy, and I know that saying bad words makes Him sad.
I talked to my mom, and now if someone asks me to read something, first I read it in my mind. Then if it is not a bad word, I read it out loud. I want to keep the commandments and follow Heavenly Father’s plan.

Karen
Karen, 18, has been a nanny for nine weeks. She has decided that the job is not what she is looking for and is planning to go to school when she returns home.
“I love kids, and I’ve been baby-sitting since I was 11. After graduated from high school, I couldn’t decide whether to go to college or what to do. I called a nanny agency and asked them to send me an application.
“My sister had a friend who had been a nanny and hated it. I avoided talking about the subject with her. I didn’t want to know about it from someone who hated it. Now I wish I had asked her more about it before I came out.
“I thought I would have to do the shopping, run small errands, take the kids to school, and such. I knew I would have to do the laundry, but I’ve never had to do laundry for six people before. I thought I’d have to make the kids’ beds and straighten their rooms, dust and vacuum, and clean the kitchen. I agreed to all of that. But when I got out here, I had to clean the parents’ bedroom too, change the sheets, and clean up after them. I felt like saying, ‘You’re 40 years old. Pick up after yourself.’
“They told me they had two guinea pigs and said I wouldn’t have to care for them. But I do. Anything else in the house that needs to be done I just do because it bothers me. When I’m cleaning her house, I keep thinking I should be home cleaning my mother’s house instead of working for this woman I don’t even know. Why am I here? A lot of girls are running away from something. I had everything at home. Every time I think about it, I ask myself, why did I come?
“I thought there would be lots of things to do here, but I don’t know the area. It’s hard to find your way around. It’s hard to think of things to do when you don’t know what is available. On my evenings off, I just go to bed, I’m so tired.
“If I were to give advice to a friend who was thinking about being a nanny, I would sit her down and explain that she would have a lot of responsibility for the kids. The family I work for seem to take parenting as a hobby. They are part-time parents. The kids are not well disciplined. They get anything they want. And there is housework to do all the time. I would tell her to go to college or get an apartment, but don’t jump out of the frying pan into the fire. You have to be very stable and ready to take on a lot of responsibility to be a nanny.
“I’m going home and going to college. I didn’t want to go to college, but education is so important. I realize now that I don’t want to clean someone else’s house. I want to be skilled in something.”

The story is told of a 14-year-old boy who had come to Nauvoo in search of his brother who lived near there. The young boy had arrived in winter with no money and no friends. When he inquired about his brother, the boy was taken to a large house that looked like a hotel. There he met a man who said, “Come in, son, we’ll take care of you.”
The boy accepted and was brought into the house, where he was fed, warmed, and given a bed to sleep in.
The next day it was bitter cold, but in spite of that, the boy prepared himself to walk the eight miles to where his brother was staying.
When the man of the house saw this, he told the young boy to stay for a while. He said there would be a team coming soon and that he could ride back with them.
When the boy protested, saying that he had no money, the man told him not to worry about that, that they would take care of him.
Later the boy learned that the man of the house was none other than Joseph Smith, the Mormon prophet. This boy remembered this act of charity for the rest of his life.2

The journey to her parents’ home some five hundred miles away seemed impossible. The distance was disheartening, and she had no provisions. To make matters worse, it was winter. But those fears were nothing compared to the thought of traveling alone through a war zone. Alexandria remembers sitting alone in the snow, hungry and weak, with cold tears on her cheeks. She was inconsolable until, remembering her mother’s prayers, she decided to offer her first: “Help me. Help me find my way home.” She wasn’t sure her prayer had been heard, but she nevertheless began the dangerous trek.
The winter days passed slowly. As if in answer to her prayer, someone along the way gave her a map. That spark of hope kept her going, from farm to farm and town to town, day after day. At dusk she pleaded with strangers for a place to sleep—floor or barn, it didn’t matter, as long as it was inside, so she wouldn’t get caught—and shot—for breaking curfew. Food was so scarce that she had nothing to eat but the meager scraps of stale bread and potato peelings that she scrounged from scrap buckets after her hosts had retired to bed. At first light she would resume her journey, often with her clothing wet because of the damp, leaking barns in which she had slept.
Late one afternoon, after an unusually long walk in deep snow, Alexandria was exhausted and knew she would not reach the next town on her own before curfew. She was afraid because she had learned that German soldiers were in the area. Suddenly, three horse-drawn hay wagons driven by German soldiers appeared on the narrow road. As Alexandria hid nearby, she got an idea. If she hopped onto one of the wagons without being seen, she could make it to the next town before dark. The last wagon passed, and she put her desperate plan into action. Running with all her strength, she managed to grab a pole attached to the back of the wagon and climb aboard.
Alexandria rode in relative comfort until, a few miles later, the wagons came to an abrupt halt. She froze with fear. At the sound of approaching footsteps, she closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. “Please help me, dear God!” The footsteps came closer, then stopped right next to her. Alexandria lifted her head to look into the compassionate eyes of a young soldier who motioned for her to remain still. Then he turned to rejoin his comrades without making his discovery known. The company moved on, and Alexandria safely reached the next town.
“I know Father in Heaven was watching over me and was helping me,” she says, her eyes misty with emotion.
After weeks of traveling, Alexandria arrived home, thin and weak but overjoyed to see her family again.

I became good friends with a girl named Julia. We decided to be “buddies” at girls camp. Even though I don’t like camping or hiking very much, I really enjoyed the entire experience. There was a different feeling at this camp. Our counselors made a special effort to see that we were having a good time and that everyone was included in all the activities we participated in. During the week, we had devotionals, a nature walk to learn about different plants, a first-aid class, and campfire skits. There was also a service project that everyone in the camp happily participated in. In fact, the service project table was always crowded with volunteers. All through the week there was a sense of organization, cooperation, and friendship.
On Saturday morning, the last day, everyone got together around the campfire, and whoever wanted to stood up and told the others of their testimony of the Church and expressed their gratitude for their family, friends, and what a great and memorable experience they had at camp. Most of them cried while they talked, and I cried along with them. I was surprised to see my sister go up on stage. She said how happy she was to come to this Church and how thankful she was for her family, especially me. That was one of the first times she had ever expressed her love for me as her sister. Once she sat down, I got up and sat next to her. I told her how grateful I was for what she said, and we cried together. We really made a special connection.

Members from the Brandon Florida Stake, an area near Tampa, were on the phone with members in the Port Charlotte Ward as soon as they heard Port Charlotte was receiving the brunt of the storm. They arrived before relief workers had time to set up camp, so they began clearing the grounds around the meetinghouse using tools and machinery from the local Church farm. They then went to members’ homes to assess their needs.

All members in all areas of Florida were accounted for with no reports of injury, though some lost their homes. All missionaries were evacuated before the storm hit, but they later returned to help in the relief efforts. At least seven meetinghouses were damaged, but repairs are underway or already completed.

While the member volunteers helped clear people’s property, counselors from LDS Family Services in Salt Lake City were helping clear people’s minds. “In these abnormal situations a lot of what we do is reestablish family patterns and instill hope in the community,” Doug LeCheminant, program specialist for LDS Family Services, said. They have also helped in such situations as the September 11 tragedy and the Kosovo refugee crisis.