Gospel Story Finder

It is not uncommon for family members to have mistaken ideas about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Loving and clear communication can do much to ease any tension that may arise in these situations. I joined the Church when I was a teenager. Shortly after my baptism, I learned that my Catholic grandmother believed I would no longer consider myself her grandson due to my newfound faith. What a relief it was when I was able to clear up this misunderstanding!

One came in the October 1856 general conference as President Brigham Young announced to the congregation that handcart pioneers were still on the trail and late in the season. He declared: “Your faith, religion, and profession of religion, will never save one soul of you in the celestial kingdom of our God, unless you carry out just such principles as I am now teaching you. Go and bring in those people now on the plains, and attend strictly to those things which we call temporal, … otherwise your faith will be in vain.”
We remember with grateful admiration the men who headed off to rescue those suffering Saints. But what did the sisters do?
“Sister [Lucy Meserve] Smith recorded … that after President Young’s exhortation, those in attendance took action. … Women ‘[removed] their petticoats [large underskirts that were part of the fashion of the day and that also provided warmth], stockings, and every thing they could spare, right there in the [old] Tabernacle, and piled [them] into the wagons to send to the Saints in the mountains.’”
Several weeks later, President Brigham Young gathered the Saints again in the old Tabernacle as the rescuers and the handcart companies got closer to Salt Lake City. With great urgency, he pleaded with the Saints—especially the sisters—to nurse the sufferers and feed them and receive them, saying: “Some you will find with their feet frozen to their ankles; some are frozen to their knees and some have their hands frosted. … We want you to receive them as your own children, and to have the same feeling for them.”
Lucy Meserve Smith also recorded:
“We did all we could, with the aid of the good brethren and sisters, to comfort the needy. … They got their hands and feet badly frosted. … We did not cease our exertions [un]til all were made comfortable. …
“I never took more satisfaction and, I might say, pleasure in any labor I ever performed in my life, such a unanimity of feeling prevailed. …
“What comes next for willing hands to do?”

Sabrina Echols, a senior who was introduced to the Church by her friends Darilyn and Eva, said, “Don’t be afraid to try out for something just because you might not make it. Don’t get discouraged. It’s better to try.” Sabrina knows what she says is true from personal experience. She tried out several times to be a cheerleader on the rally squad but didn’t make it. Then she tried out for school mascot and was successful. Now she wears the gold and purple that represent her school.

A wealthy merchant builds a great palace with high walls to protect his beautiful daughter, Danina, from the sadness of the world. One day Danina hears the song of the wind and learns that the world beyond the walls is always changing—sometimes sad and sometimes happy, but different each day. Afterward the palace becomes a prison to Danina, but she keeps the song of the wind alive by humming to herself until they meet again.

One young couple loved playing computer games with each other as their favorite way of dating before they got married. After they were married, their basic needs forced them to talk through a few fundamentals, like actually living with another real person. They soon discovered that they hardly knew each other. Then one of them began computer dating again to escape the demands of paying attention to a live companion under real-life conditions. Before long, sadly, the marriage ended. Their foundation was just too shallow.

“You’re going where?” The Mexican official seemed genuinely amused.
“Quitovac.”
“But nobody goes to Quitovac,” he laughed. “There’s nothing there.”
“We’re going to the school. To see friends.”
“Okay,” he said, shaking his head. “Go ahead. But if I were you, I’d go to the beach instead.” He was still chuckling as we left.
Americans do come down this way from Tucson, Arizona, across the Tohono O’odham Nation (Papago) Indian Reservation to the Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, through Lukeville, then over the border into Sonoita. Mostly the Americans are tourists or university students on break, looking for the sun. They find it on the beaches of the Gulf of California, which aren’t far away.
But nobody goes to Quitovac. Nobody.
That is, of course, unless you have friends there. And the LDS youth of Tucson have friends in Quitovac, more than 70 of them.
And now, here we were.
We turned from one dirt road to another, came over a small hill, and there, in the middle of nowhere, was the village. Now, months after Christmas, would the children even remember the earlier visit? Now, when the sun was hot and winds calm, would the friendship still be there?
The answer was quick in coming. The dust from our arriving vehicles had hardly settled when we were mobbed by children. Yes, we brought some supplies, some candy, some food. But again what mattered was the sharing. Children who didn’t speak English guided teenagers who didn’t speak Spanish around their school, their classrooms, their playground. Kids watched Brian, who brought along a tool kit, fix a broken swing and re-attach fiberglass panels on the pavilion.
Michael and Susanne organized volleyball and basketball games. Danyel gave piggyback rides. Crystal Smith, 15, of the Sonora 18th Ward, Tucson Stake, became an instant celebrity with school officials because she speaks Spanish and could act as an interpreter.
We were shown the school’s new hand-operated mimeograph machine. A flag ceremony and school assembly were held in our honor. And the principal presented a letter of thanks to the LDS youth.
But it was Walt Stone, a seminary teacher who accompanied the group, who summarized what meeting with the children of Alberque School taught us. “These kids have dignity,” he said. “Everything they own fits on the half of the bed they sleep in. But they share whatever they have.”
An example: “One boy brought out his bag of marbles—the only marbles in the school,” Walt said. “A bunch of us joined him in a game. Nobody argued about winning anything; they just had fun. And when the game was over, the marbles went back in the bag, and he put them back on his bed. He knew they would be safe.”
Many times we saw older children looking out for others, making sure the youngest (some are little more than one year old) weren’t neglected. If anyone tripped and skinned a knee, others were instantly there to help. When teachers asked students to do something, it was immediately taken care of. Students marched, stood at attention, posed with us for a school photo, hugged us over and over again, and literally clung to the teenagers when it was finally time to leave.
All the way home, the youth talked about their day in the sun.
“That was great, even better than Christmas,” Brian said.
“What you never forget are their faces,” Danyel added. “There’s such joy in their faces. Designer jeans and worldly things don’t really matter down here. What’s important is to enjoy life, and to share your joy with others.”
Nobody goes to Quitovac, the Mexican official said. But he was absolutely wrong. Friends come to Quitovac. And their friendship shines all the brighter when they leave. The tourists and the students who drive to the beach seeking the sun take the wrong road. The brightest light is found where people help each other. It’s the light of Christlike service, and it’s a light that shines brighter than any sun.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow probably understood this when he penned the poem “Christmas Bells” that would be set to music and become a favorite Christmas carol—the refrain of which I mentioned earlier.

Mr. Longfellow used church bells ringing on Christmas Day as the setting for a poem he wrote during the Civil War. The fighting had been fierce and touched the lives of the Longfellow family personally. Mr. Longfellow’s son Charles, who had enlisted in the Union Army at 17 years of age, had arrived home about two weeks prior to Christmas 1863 after being critically injured in a battle.6 While Charles eventually recovered from his wounds, his father was likely concerned about the long-term health of his son and of his country. In addition to these concerns, Mr. Longfellow continued to feel the grave loss of his beloved wife, Francis Appleton Longfellow, also known as Fanny. In 1861, the same year the Civil War broke out, Fanny died from injuries she sustained when her light summer dress ignited in their home. The light weight of the fabric and the hoops she wore allowed ample oxygen to feed the flames, and Mrs. Longfellow was quickly engulfed. Mr. Longfellow attempted to extinguish the fire and was himself burned in the process. With her death he was left to raise five children and manage the affairs of his home as a single parent.7 The death of his wife and his son’s critical injuries were not the only tragedies in Mr. Longfellow’s life. Fanny was Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s second wife, and together they had a daughter also named Frances who died when she was 17 months old.8 His first wife, Mary Potter Longfellow, died just over a month after she miscarried during her sixth month of pregnancy.9 This was a man who had every reason to pity himself and feel cranky about his condition, and yet he declared in beautiful verse:

In 1958 a group of MIT students who decided to measure the distance across the Harvard Bridge that spans the Charles River between Boston and Cambridge, Massachusetts. Exactly how they came to the decision that this action was needed is not clear but I suspect a certain level of alcohol, perhaps a substantial level of alcohol, was part of the decision process. The choice of measurement was probably also influenced by alcohol. The measurement was not in feet, inches, meters, not in any standard unit of measure but in terms of the height of a fellow classmate. His name was Oliver R. Smoots and this is what the students decided to do with him in order to measure the length of the Harvard Bridge. Smoots was placed horizontally on the bridge and every time he was laid down the distance between the bottom of his feet and the top of his head was marked. The distance between his feet and head was labeled a "Smoots" . And on this particular night the Harvard Bridge was measured in Smoots. I believe that a "Smoot"  is roughly 5 feet 7 inches in length.

I first discovered this unique measurement when I was jogging over the bridge and saw the distinctive and rather odd markings. First, five stoops were marked then ten stoops until I reached the end of the bridge where I discovered the Harvard Bridge is 364.4 Smoots in length "Plus or minus one ear."  There is no indication about whose ear was used but I assume it was Mr. Smoots. This event is has been reenacted multiple times. The tradition is over 50 years old.

Does it matter how a bridge is measured, or for that matter, how we measure our lives and the direction of our lives? I believe it does. For example when I flew to Honolulu this weekend I traveled about 3100 miles between Salt Lake City, Utah and Honolulu, Hawaii. The pilot of the plane calculated the distance of the flight, the weight of the plane, and the expected temperature and head and tail winds the flight would face. He then calculated how much fuel he needed. When I am in the middle of the Pacific Ocean I want to make sure our pilot did his calculations correctly. But what if instead of measure in miles the pilot had measured the distance in Smoots? If the plane had started out from Salt Lake and been off target because Smoots are imprecise I might not be here today. I want my pilots to use the best and most accurate method to calculate the jet fuel need to fly to Hawaii from the mainland.

Now think about being off in how you measure your life by just a small amount. Perhaps you miss judge by only one "Smoot"  or some other inappropriate measure the results could even be more disastrous. In this case the trip, the trip of life, is not 3100 miles here the trip covers eternity. And the implication of missing something that has eternal implications is almost impossible to comprehend. We need to clarify what we use to measure and validate our lives. I hope as fun as it might sound to use Smoots to measure distance the process is simply too crude to be of any significant use.

One winter morning I awoke to several inches of snow. A native of central California, I was not accustomed to snow and was dreading the uphill walk to the temple. But instead of rationalizing and staying home, I put on warm boots, carried my church shoes, and started my walk to the temple.
When I arrived, I was greeted by a familiar temple worker who was pleased to see that I had made the trek despite the gloomy weather. Once inside, I felt a sense of triumph mixed with gratitude. I realized, just as the prophet had asked, that I had become “a temple-attending and a temple-loving” person.

Ray Ivie, however, still loves rivers.

Brother Ivie is a spry little man, wiry and elfish, an electrical engineer by trade. Mention a river to him, and his eyes come alive. His already animated face becomes even more eager. His pulse picks up so fast that yours races with it. Listen to him speak, and the fascination for rivers is rekindled in you once again.

Ray Ivie is also the Scoutmaster of Troop 477 chartered to the 77th Ward of the Orem Utah South Stake. A couple of years ago he and his Scouts had built some pioneering projects, lashing poles together with rope to form furniture, camp equipment, even towers.

“We had poles and ropes,” he said. “And we’d been talking about a river trip, but we didn’t have any canoes. One of the projects mentioned in the pioneering merit badge book is to build a raft. I don’t think they had anything elaborate in mind, but it started me thinking, hey, we could do that; it wouldn’t cost much.”

That’s what happens when an engineer gets loose. Soon the boys in Brother Ivie’s troop were fashioning willow sticks into model rafts.

“We did some calculating of flotation needed for the weight we planned to carry, what we’d need to do in terms of water displacement,” Brother Ivie said. “We figured out that inner tubes would give adequate flotation, and we found some businesses where tubes with holes in them were just throw-aways. For the cost of patching materials and the time spent a couple of Saturdays fixing the tubes, we had the materials we would need.” The two-level rafts were designed with inner tubes lashed together underneath a log framework.

“The whole principle of pioneering is to use what’s available,” Brother Ivie added. “Teaching the boys about that is much more valuable than hiring some commercial company to ferry them down the river. And when you know you’re going to be floating on your own raft, you make sure it’s well built. It’s not like some tower you sit on for a minute. If a raft falls apart, you’re in the drink.”

After reviewing safety procedures and checking with Green River (Utah) State Park officials, Troop 477 set sail in the summer of 1983. The trip was so memorable that Brother Ivie and his boys automatically talked with friends and family about what they had done, inviting others to go with them the next year. Brother Ivie gave them copies of his assembly and instruction manual, “The PT-13 (Patrol Transport, 13-tube, 13-foot pole, Live-aboard Ship).” By the following summer, two more troops (from the Orem 15th and 27th Wards) manning a total of five rafts were scheduled for the second flotilla.

After a nine-hour journey by night, we arrived in Juliaca, Peru. It was Thursday, and we still needed to get stamps in our passports and exit permits so that we could leave the country. The following day was a national holiday, and government offices would be closed for the rest of the weekend, so we arrived in line at the Bank of the Nation that morning to ensure that we would have sufficient time before all offices closed at noon.

When we finally got to the counter at 11:00 a.m., the gentleman expressed concern. “Sorry,” he said. “We don’t process these kinds of documents here. You will have to go to our office in Puno.” We were both surprised and frustrated—Puno was 45 minutes away.

After struggling to find a taxi, we made it to the office in Puno by 1:30 p.m. The doors were already closed. I knocked the iron doorknockers together as hard as I could. A very upset man opened the door and asked, “What do you want?” I said a silent, fervent prayer and looked this stranger in the eyes. “Sir,” I said, “I’m a Mormon, I’m going to get married in the temple in São Paulo, Brazil, and you can help me.” His hostile attitude changed. “I’m so sorry, sir,” he said, “but everything closed over an hour ago, and almost everyone has already left.” I responded, “Let me in and let my God help me find what I’m seeking.” He let me in.

After finding the manager, Rosa, I explained our situation. She politely responded, “Those forms are processed by three different employees, and I think everyone has left.” But all three men were still there, and she enlisted them to stay late to help me.

The first man asked me for forms I didn’t have. “You’re supposed to have gone to the Ministry of Economy, bought six forms, and brought them here for processing,” he explained. “You have to wait until Monday.”

I froze—I couldn’t believe it! Again I said a silent prayer. “Sir,” I said, “I’m Mormon, and I am going to the temple in São Paulo, Brazil, to be married. And you can help me.” He no longer seemed to be in a hurry. He looked in every drawer and finally located the longed-for forms. The next clerk quickly checked them and stamped our passports.

At the next window, as I paid the exit tax in U.S. dollars, the cashier seemed to take great pleasure in saying, “I’m sorry. See this sign?” A sign on the wall read, “Dollars not accepted.” Our plan was about to fail—there was nothing I could do.

“Take the payment,” I heard Rosa say from behind us. The cashier accepted the money and gave me the documents. We were on our way!

Elaine S. McKay tells the story of this remarkable woman, Aunt Carrie, in the Ensign.
Aunt Carrie would not have expected to be remembered by anyone but her family. She lived quietly in a small Utah community. [In fact, the family home is still standing just down the road from our home.] To anyone outside an area twelve miles square, she was and is a stranger. And yet, there is something familiar about her uncommon courage. She is like our mother, our grandmother, an aunt, a niece or sister. Aunt Carrie represents countless women, unknown and unsung, who patiently do the thing that needs to be done and who in reality accomplish the important work of the world. She reminds us that deeds need not be great to be heroic. . . .
. . . On 26 January 1895 George [Reese Harman] and Caroline were married in the Salt Lake Temple. [Caroline was twenty-two.] During the next fourteen years they bought land, built a home, and became parents of seven children. Happiness grew out of industry, and they sorrowed only at the loss of their eldest child, George Luther, who died when he was four months old. . . .
During irrigation turns, George often worked at night. One evening, wet and chilled, he caught a cold which developed into pleurisy. He died 12 August 1912, and Caroline, at 39, was left with the responsibility of a farm and six children. Her oldest daughter, Annie, was fifteen; the baby, Maurice, had just turned three.
Four months later Caroline’s sorrow deepened as she endured the death of her mother. But Caroline rallied to the responsibilities of life. Each day she arose at 5:00 a.m.—to tend to household duties and to work in the fields and orchards. During the weekly irrigation turns, she would make beds in the wagon, hitch up the horses, and drive with her young sons to the fields to set the water. Three or four times during the night, Caroline would awaken the boys and help them “change” the water. Only during haying season did they hire help. Caroline wanted her family to develop and use its own resources . . . .
During World War I, Caroline’s Relief Society responsibilities multiplied. In 1914, the sisters began meeting one day a week to knit sweaters for soldiers, roll bandages, and prepare other Red Cross supplies to be shipped overseas. In 1917, Caroline became Relief Society president of the Granger Ward.
When the war ended, the deadly flu epidemic followed the soldiers home. Funerals were frequent. The Granger Relief Society made burial clothing, lined caskets, draped the chapel podium in white, cared for the sick, and comforted the bereaved.
David and Grace [her sister and brother-in-law] were both stricken. In January of 1919, Grace gave birth to a son; a few hours later, weakened by the flu, she died. Grieving for her beloved sister, Caroline brought to her own home a six-hour-old baby boy—her sister’s child, but a child whom she would always look upon as her own.
Less than a month after Grace’s death, . . . .in February, her daughter Annie died of the flu, a month before she expected her first child. . . .
When Annie, with her unborn child, died, Caroline’s health broke. Weeks later, she arose from her bed, calm and determined. The doctor diagnosed her illness as sugar diabetes. From that time on, she gave herself three insulin shots daily and carefully weighed her food. It was a private matter; she never spoke of her health. In the years to come, she maintained energy, strength, a cheerful countenance, and an indomitable sense of humor.
Following Grace’s death, David came to Caroline’s home each day to see his baby son, Pete. . . . David’s nine children needed a mother and he, a wife. On 29 October 1919, David and Caroline were married in the Salt Lake Temple. So, seven years after George’s death, Caroline and her five children came to live in the big house on 3600 West and 4100 South.
For many years this house was a central gathering place for neighborhood children who liked teeter-totters, swings made of rubber tires, kick-the-can games, and run-sheepie-run. Like all visitors, the children seldom left without a “bit to eat.” . . .
But at least twice a day the house was quiet. At breakfast and dinner time, all the leaves of the sixteen-foot-square table came out of the closet, the meal was spread, and it was time for family prayer. The huge Harman household tolerated teasing, wrestling, and noise. But quarrels were not permitted. Family members felt a unity that had begun long before David and Caroline married. Caroline honored David as patriarch, supported him as first counselor in the bishopric, and loved him deeply.
In the spring of 1924, an itching rash spread over David’s body. Despite his discomfort, he worked long hours. While dipping sacks of potatoes (or wheat, depending on the account) in a solution to prevent the disease, he noted that the rash on his hands healed. After checking with a doctor, David decided to bathe in the solution. Accounts differ as to what and how much he used, but the result was the solution literally ate him alive. His skin came off on clothing and bed sheets; his tongue and teeth fell out; his internal organs were burned beyond use. After one week, during which David never lost consciousness, he passed away from this world.
David died with great courage and little complaint. Caroline lived in the same manner. At age 51, she was again a widow. She was now responsible for fourteen children, the youngest of whom was five-year-old Pete. She suffered complications from Diabetes. She was also Relief Society president of a ward with 948 members, 22 of whom were widows; and for Caroline, who served in the days before Welfare Services, this meant “mothering” the entire twelve-mile-square ward. Her way was not to ask for help, but to give it. Always someone was being born or someone was dying; someone was ill or unhappy or hungry. Caroline knew what to do about illness, childbirth, and death. And she knew how to find happiness. When others were wild with grief, she was there to make beds, mop floors, fix meals, and sit up through the night with the bereaved to comfort them with her quiet strength. She became known throughout the territory as Aunt Carrie—kind, cheerful, loving, wise.
How did she do it all with her large family? She did it with her large family. Year after year, the Harman sons drove her in a horse and buggy to visit every home in the ward—many times. Her black buggy would go to the houses of those who had “enough and to spare” to gather goods to be shared with those who had little or nothing. The Harman girls frequently cooked and served meals to neighbors in need, and the boys stayed overnight with the aged or afflicted when Aunt Carrie could not be there.
Aunt Carrie was a resourceful manager, and the children learned her ways. They had no money to spend, but the Harmans did not think of themselves as being “poor.” They made bread, butter, cheese, horse radish, corned beef, apple cider, vinegar, and soap. Both sons and daughters farmed the land and cared for their animals, their orchard , and their garden. Every fall they bottled fruit, meat, and tomatoes and buried turnips, parsnips, carrots, and potatoes beneath the sawdust in the basement ice room. The girls sewed their few articles of clothing and kept their home scrubbed and orderly. If their chores were not done before the school bus came, they finished their tasks and walked to school. Aunt Carrie believed that idleness was a sin and taught that selfishness was the seed of misery. Everyone in the family learned to work—and more important, they learned to share.
Within [a few weeks following a third marriage on 11 March 1925, her new husband] Eugene suffered a stroke, and became an invalid. For five years until his death in October 1930, Aunt Carrie prepared his food, helped him bathe and dress, and ministered to his many needs.
In 1929 Aunt Carrie was released as president of the Relief Society. She has served in that organization under three bishops for some eighteen years. . . .
Aunt Carrie devoted much of her time to developing her chicken business. Her chickens had become a symbol of her doctrine of hard work and independence. During the worst of the Great Depression, the well which provided water for the house and chicken coops went dry. Aunt Carrie refused the help of the government programs under which she qualified for a new well; so Pete, Jack, and Jake carried water from across the road. Carrying water for the house was one thing, but quenching the thirst of hundreds of chickens was quite another. Finally, when Aunt Carrie had saved sufficient funds, she had the well repaired.
Years later, when all the children were gone, the pump sometimes failed. During winter time, Aunt Carrie would scoop snow into a big oval “boiler,” melt it on the back of her coal stove, and carry warm water to her flock. . . .
. . . Aunt Carrie expected everything around her to be productive, and she would not have a lazy chicken. A hen who lacked commitment was invited for Sunday dinner . . . .
[As she neared the end of her life, Aunt Carrie said,] “I can face Grace . . . because I know that I did all she would have done if I had been called away and she had stayed. I have no regrets. Of course,” she added quietly, “in some ways all our children could do better. And they will. We taught them right.” . . .
. . . Aunt Carrie, . . . according to her son Leon Weston (Pete) Harman, “had every reason to be waited on. Yet she continually served others. She never complained. She never quit. Aunt Carrie asked for so little, and gave so much.”

Before I address some of these, let me share an experience that has profoundly and increasingly influenced me as I have grown older. Some of the most important lessons in life are not fully appreciated until a long time has elapsed. This personal experience was one of them.

While serving as a young missionary in Scotland, I was visiting with my mission president, Bernard P. Brockbank, who later became a general authority. Like almost all mission presidents, he had a tremendous, positive influence and impact on his missionaries. I tried always to listen carefully to his counsel and teaching, even when I did not understand or appreciate fully what he was trying to share and why.

I was serving as a District Leader and had come to discuss with the president one of the missionaries for whom I had responsibility and a particular problem this elder faced. I wanted to be more helpful to my associate than I had been and the president made some practical and positive suggestions. He then grew pensive and looked at the "board" on his office wall where all of the missionaries in the mission had their pictures posted and segregated into companionships, districts, and zones. I'll never forget that President Brockbank, without identifying any specific individual, said sadly that some of the missionaries whose pictures we could see on his wall would be lost to Church activity in the years ahead.

I don't remember if I said anything. I hope I didn't, but I do remember being absolutely sure at the time that he was wrong. I knew virtually all of these missionaries at least a little and could not conceive of a single one, even those with problems or special challenges, who would not remain true and faithful. Over the years, sadly, there have not been many, but there have been a few who did not remain faithful to their covenants, enough to demonstrate that the president's prophecy was true. Happily, some have put their lives back in order but others have yet to do so.

As I have reflected on my experience with my mission president and observed firsthand the truth of his sad predictions, I have recently understood more clearly that his observation of the missionary board that day may have been meant as a direct warning to me and not just a casual lament about others as I had assumed at the time.

Last summer the priests quorum of the Eagle Eighth Ward in Eagle, Idaho, took part in a four-day high-adventure service project on the Duck Valley Indian Reservation. Over the course of the four days the young men painted two homes, built wheelchair ramps and railings for four homes, replaced the windows in the home of a local minister, and built a sand volleyball court, fire pit, two tables, and two barbecue grills at the branch meetinghouse. At an inter-tribe rodeo, the priests also distributed over 420 blankets, boots, and winter coats that had been collected by one of the priests for his Eagle Scout project.
The young men and their leaders also visited local members’ homes and shared spiritual lessons. On Sunday, local leaders asked them to provide talks and lessons for the branch services. Trent Anderson, one of the priests, said of the experience, “This high adventure helped me learn more about charity, service, and the culture of another people. We finished all the work we had expected and even some other projects given us while we were there. It helped our testimonies grow by trusting in the Lord and in His power.”

His invitation stuck with me, and ever since then, I have been seeking to know for myself. I have been trying to know—really know—that President Nelson is God’s prophet here on the earth.
And let me tell you, it has been quite the journey.
Study and prayer have played a big role in this process. For example, I decided to read all of President Nelson’s general conference talks since he became a General Authority (there are a lot of them). I also studied all the devotional addresses he has given to young adults, university students, and other audiences. This helped me know more about President Nelson and what is important to him.
I also searched the scriptures for guidance. One verse that stuck out was Matthew 7:16, where Christ gives us the ultimate way to discern whether someone is His prophet: “Ye shall know them by their fruits.”
When I read this, I realized that the best way to know if President Nelson is a prophet is to follow his teachings and then watch for the fruits. I decided to study each general conference talk President Nelson has given since becoming the prophet and identify at least one thing in each talk that he has asked us to do. Here are just a few examples:
October 2020: “As you study your scriptures during the next six months, I encourage you to make a list of all that the Lord has promised He will do for covenant Israel. … Ponder these promises. Talk about them with your family and friends. Then live and watch for these promises to be fulfilled in your own life.” 1
April 2020: “Let us fast, pray, and unite our faith once again. Let us prayerfully plead for relief from this global pandemic.” 2
October 2019: “I entreat you to study prayerfully all the truths you can find about priesthood power. … As your understanding increases and as you exercise faith in the Lord and His priesthood power, your ability to draw upon this spiritual treasure that the Lord has made available will increase.” 3
April 2019: “Identify what stops you from repenting. And then, change! Repent!” 4
October 2018: “I promise you that if we will do our best to restore the correct name of the Lord’s Church, He whose Church this is will pour down His power and blessings upon the heads of the Latter-day Saints, the likes of which we have never seen.” 5
April 2018: “I plead with you to increase your spiritual capacity to receive revelation.” 6
As I reviewed these invitations from President Nelson, I realized that I didn’t take all of them seriously when I first heard them. In some cases, I had even forgotten the invitation altogether. I resolved to do better and set specific goals for myself to follow President Nelson’s counsel.
As a result, I have experienced many fruits. I feel an extra measure of priesthood power; I feel closer to my family; and I feel closer to my Savior, Jesus Christ. I am definitely not perfect and still have a long way to go in following all of President Nelson’s counsel, but my efforts thus far have only made my life better.
In order to understand the answers I’ve received, it has been useful for me to study teachings about personal revelation from Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. He likens the first pattern of revelation to a light switch, which allows light to flood a room immediately. Similarly, revelation can come suddenly, in one moment. And the second pattern of revelation he likens to a sunrise, in which the light comes more gradually and steadily. 7
For me, as I’ve been studying President Nelson and his teachings, I have noticed the sun rising gradually.
As I’ve studied, as I’ve prayed, and as I’ve done what President Nelson has asked me to do, my faith has grown “line upon line, precept upon precept” (see 2 Nephi 28:30). I may not have experienced a light-switch moment of revelation, but as a result of my praying and studying, I can truly say that I have faith that President Nelson is the Lord’s prophet here on the earth.
Finding answers to our questions will take work on our part, but I know that all of us can receive a personal witness of President Nelson’s divine calling and answers to any other questions we might have about the gospel.
Throughout this experience, I have learned and gained so much faith. And I am forever grateful that the Lord has blessed us with modern prophets on the earth. I know that if we hearken unto their words, great blessings are in store for both us and our families.

“Peter, give me that thumbtack!” The Primary class fell silent, every eye on Peter.
He surrendered the thumbtack, protesting, “Jeffrey started it!”
Sister Brock glanced at the boy next to Peter. He was sitting quietly with his scriptures open. She turned back to Peter. “Young man,” she scolded, “this is your last warning. I’ll have no more troublemaking!” She turned and hurried back to the blackboard.
Jeffrey smirked at Peter, flashing the thumbtack he’d been hiding in his pocket. Peter lunged for it. Sister Brock turned just as Peter slammed into Jeffrey, sending both boys crashing to the floor.
Peter’s triumph of getting even with Jeffrey quickly faded in the tomblike silence in the den at home. He squirmed under his father’s penetrating gaze. From His picture on the wall, the Savior seemed to be looking gravely down at him also.
Peter looked away. Even though Sister Brock had learned the truth after class—and Jeffrey was being talked to by his father—Peter knew that his temper had gotten him in trouble far too often.
Minutes passed. The only sound was the ticking of the wall clock. Why doesn’t he say something? Peter wondered as his father seemed lost in thought. Maybe he’s forgotten I’m here.
Dad’s voice interrupted Peter’s thoughts. “Peter, let’s pray.” His father had already knelt. Quickly Peter slid to his knees.
After praying for help to solve their problem, they both sat down. Then Dad leaned forward, his eyes measuring Peter. “Peter,” he said, “I want you to try an experiment. For the next three days, you are to try to follow Jesus’ example whenever you get angry. Do you think you’re strong enough?”
“Strong enough?”
“Yes, Peter, strong enough.”
“But, Dad,” Peter objected, “Jesus never acted strong and tough.”
Dad seemed disappointed. “It takes a lot of strength to love and forgive others.”
Peter grumbled, “I know we should love others—but our enemies? And only cowards would turn the other cheek.”
Again, silence. Grown-ups were sure confusing.
“Well, Peter?”
“Well, what?”
“Are you strong enough?”
Peter gave up. “Sure,” he declared. “All I’ll have to do is nothing.”
“Glad to hear you’ll try this experiment. I think you’ll find that Jesus Christ was no coward.” Dad stood, offering his hand, “You can report to me on Wednesday after Scouts, OK?”
Peter shook his hand, smiling in relief. This would be a snap!
His first test came Monday after school. When he opened his bedroom door, his little sister, Amanda, and her friend Alex jumped in alarm. Plastic model pieces flew everywhere.
“My race car!” Peter shouted. “I’ve told you to leave my things alone!” He grabbed for Amanda, but she and Alex bolted for the door.
“You’re going to be sorry,” Peter fumed, steadying himself against his desk. His glance fell on his picture of the Savior with happy children around Him. Peter groaned. The experiment!
He breathed deeply, trying to calm down. How do I know what Jesus would do? he thought crossly. The Bible didn’ttell us anything about Jesus having a little sister who wrecked His stuff!
All at once, Jesus’ crucifixion came to Peter’s mind. No, just people wrecking His life! he realized. Even when the soldiers killed Him, Jesus didn’t get mad. Instead, He asked Heavenly Father to forgive them. A quiet feeling settled on Peter. He began to feel sorry for getting angry at Amanda. He went to find her.
As soon as Amanda saw him, she began whimpering, “We didn’t mean to break it, Peter. It just slipped. …”
“I know,” Peter said softly. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. Come help me rebuild it, then I’ll show you how it works, OK?” The joy on Amanda’s face matched the warm glow in his heart.
His success carried him all the way to Wednesday morning, when Brad Duncan came back to school. The moment Brad dunked him at the drinking fountain, Peter knew that chicken pox had not improved Brad’s personality.
As Peter came up sputtering, his friend Jeremy grabbed his arm and shouted, “Come on—let’s get him!”
“Aw, let him go,” Peter answered.
“Let him go! Are you crazy?”
I must be, Peter thought. What could he say—Well, Jer, there’s this experiment … ? No, that’d really sound stupid. “Look,” he hedged, “it just isn’t worth the bother.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Jeremy challenged. “You getting wimpy or something?” When Peter didn’t answer, Jeremy shook his head in disgust and walked off.
Miserable, Peter went to class. Everyone had lined up at the door. Wednesday was library day. Peter noticed Jeremy whispering with some other kids. They gave Peter weird looks. Great! thought Peter. Now everyone thinks I’m a coward. He wondered if the Savior had felt like this when His friends deserted Him. How did He stand feeling so alone?
Just then Brad sauntered into class. Miss Lewis had him join Peter at the back of the line. “Hey, Pete,” he snickered, “your shirt’s all wet!”
Peter ignored him. All the way down the hall, Brad kept jabbing him, each time a little harder. Peter was really getting mad.
When Miss Lewis stopped at the office, Brad shoved Peter so hard that he went sprawling. Peter forgot all about the experiment. He scrambled up, his only thought was to get even with Brad Duncan! He shoved Brad against the wall. “Cut it out!” When Brad glared back, Peter clenched his fist.
“Peter!” Miss Lewis had returned. “Get back in line,” she ordered. “Brad, up here next to me!”
All at once Peter remembered the experiment! I’ve failed, he realized, I’m really not strong enough after all.
The rest of the day Peter worried about reporting to his father. The experiment had been harder than he’d ever imagined. Especially with Brad. Had Jesus felt like that with the Pharisees? What had kept Him from getting mad?
When Peter sat down in the den that evening, he felt too ashamed to look up. Then Dad asked the dreaded question. “Well, Peter, were you strong enough?”
Peter sighed. “Only sometimes,” he admitted.
“Tell me about it.”
So Peter told him, first about Amanda and then about Brad. When he finished, Dad was smiling warmly. Maybe he hadn’t understood.
“Dad,” Peter repeated, “I really tried, but I’m not even half as strong as Jesus.”
“I know, Peter. Neither am I.”
Peter was startled. Even his father struggled to be good?
As if reading Peter’s mind, Dad explained, “I think it takes all this life, and even some of the next, but you’ve taken a big step in that direction. I’m proud of you.”
Slowly the words sank in. Peter studied the Savior’s picture on the wall, thinking about what Dad had said. Someday, I’d like to be that strong, he thought.
He realized that Dad was waiting to go to dinner with him. When Peter walked over, his father gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. “Keep up the good work, Peter.”
Peter smiled back. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Thank you, Peter.”

Heavenly Father wants us to serve others. My Primary teacher was a great example of service. When we came to Primary, Sister Antonietti always brought a chocolate cake. I hated chocolate cake! Everyone else liked it. But I never ate it.
One day she asked me, “Why don’t you try a little piece? This cake is made with a special ingredient.”
I agreed to try it. And guess what? I liked it!
Many years later my mom told me what Sister Antonietti’s secret ingredient was. “Sister Antonietti didn’t have much money,” my mom said. “Each week she had to choose between paying for a bus ride to Primary or buying the ingredients to make the chocolate cake for your class. She always chose the chocolate cake. So instead of riding the bus, she walked more than two miles [3 km], each way, regardless of the weather.”
Sister Antonietti’s secret ingredient was the love she had for others!

by Chris Williams
I recently had the opportunity of being one of two youth leaders in Utah to attend the United States Senate Youth Program in Washington, D.C. At the opening social, many people, upon seeing my name tag, asked if I was Mormon. I was told that a boy from Illinois was looking for me. Cameron Cozzens found me and asked if I was a member of the Church. When I said yes, he said, “I knew it. I thought a Christopher Williams from Utah just might be LDS.” He then introduced me to the others that he knew were LDS, and I introduced him to the ones I had met. We discovered that there were seven of us: Amy Pack from Idaho, Heidi Fish from Spain, Matt Fairholm from Virginia, Doug Daum from Delaware, Audrey Wright from California, and Cameron and I.
Between the tours and speeches, I found that I talked to a lot of people about the Church. I was lucky that Matt Fairholm was my roommate. I found I needed his assurance when we answered questions about the Church.
One of our most unforgettable experiences was on Sunday morning. After breakfast, we met in our room for a short devotional. We found that our religion interested many people and raised questions. Others were surprised to discover that Mormons were such normal people.
And as I look back, I’m really glad we have the Constitution and the freedoms it grants us, especially freedom of religion. It was wonderful to be in a place where 104 young people could gather together and freely discuss each other’s beliefs. We all learned a lot about our freedoms and what our forefathers fought for.

One day at school before I was eight, they were inspecting our hands and nails to see if they were clean, and the principal saw my CTR ring (“HLJ” in Spanish). After the principal checked the rest of my row, she came back to me and said, “Rebeca, come with me to the principal’s office.” Then she said to my teacher, “Can I take Rebeca for a while?”
In her office, she asked me what the ring meant. I said, “Choose the right.” I explained that at church they teach us to do good, pray, and read the scriptures. She asked which church I went to, and I said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” Then she asked me what that church was about, and I told her about Joseph Smith going into a grove to pray and seeing the Father and the Son. I told her about going to the temple to be sealed to my parents and that I would be baptized when I was eight. She said, “You can tell me more later.”
Later I took the principal a copy of the Book of Mormon with my testimony inside.

The first time I passed the sacrament as a deacon, I was nervous from start to finish. I was worried I would walk in the wrong direction or go to the wrong row. I had looked forward to passing the sacrament for as long as I could remember. I would watch the deacons every week. They looked so dignified.
I made it through my first week without messing up, and now I’m not nervous anymore. Instead, when I pass the sacrament, I feel reverent and happy. I feel the Spirit when I’m passing the sacrament.