Gospel Story Finder

President Thomas S. Monson, First Counselor in the First Presidency: “As our youngest son, Clark, was approaching his 12th birthday, he and I were leaving the Church Administration Building when President Harold B. Lee approached and greeted us. I mentioned that Clark would soon be 12, whereupon President Lee turned to him and asked, ‘What happens to you when you turn 12?’
“… Clark, without hesitation, said to President Lee, ‘I will be ordained a deacon!’
“The answer was the one President Lee had sought. He then counseled our son, ‘Remember, it is a great blessing to hold the priesthood.’”

As a youth in the Netherlands, I had the opportunity to spend two weeks working with the full-time sister missionaries. I expected two weeks of hard work—and a lot of fun.
Before that time, I knew that I had a Heavenly Father and He loved me. But during those two weeks I thought about Him and His work 24 hours a day; even as I slept, I dreamed about missionary work.
Despite my enthusiasm, the first couple of days were hard work—without much success. By the end of the first week I was exhausted, spiritually and emotionally. That night, I read the Book of Mormon all evening. When I went to bed, I had a warm and good feeling, and I knew Heavenly Father would give me the courage to keep trying after every closed door.
In the days that followed, there continued to be more negative than positive responses. But if there was only one person a day who would listen, it made the day worthwhile.
One day I telephoned a lady who had investigated the Church for four years. Over the phone, she told me she didn’t need the Book of Mormon because she had found a “more beautiful book.” When we went to her house, my companion and I hoped we could convince her to give the Book of Mormon another chance. She showed us parts of her book dealing with charity and pride, and she looked at us as if to say, That isn’t written in your book, is it?
Fortunately, I had studied the Book of Mormon in seminary that year, and I knew of some scriptures on those subjects. I soon found them and started to read. I explained them to her in a way I had not known I was capable of.
When I finished, she had tears in her eyes. She said she had intended to give her copy of the Book of Mormon back to us, but now she had decided to try reading this most beautiful book—the Book of Mormon—again.

“I got here as soon as I could, Bishop,” said Keith, meeting the bishop in front of his office. The bishop opened the door but didn’t say anything. When Keith stepped inside, he saw Mike Wade and a thin, familiar-looking girl standing in the far corner of the room. They both looked uncomfortable.
“Keith,” the bishop said, “I think these people have something to tell you.”
Mike pointed to the girl. “My sister Sharon. I know we don’t look like we’re from the same family. I got all the healthy genes, I guess. She’s … ” Mike’s voice trailed off.
The pale girl started to speak. Before she could, it hit Keith.
“Hey, you’re the girl that came to my Sunday School class. And haven’t I seen you around school? Only with different hair?”
“Keith,” Sharon began in a soft, clear voice. “I’m afraid we’ve been doing some awful things to you. It was all my idea, so don’t blame Mike. We’ve been spying on you, following you, and causing you all sorts of grief.”
“I, I don’t understand.”
“I had to find out if you really believed what you said.”
“What I said about what?”
“Let’s just say we caught your broadcast from the lunchroom.”
“Ohhh no. Not that again,” Keith sighed.
She smiled. “It wasn’t only that. It’s a long story.”
Mike cut in. “We live near your church, and every day we’d wake up when your car would come chugging down the road.”
“I go to church on Sundays and early-morning seminary the rest of the week,” Keith explained. “I guess I better get my muffler fixed.”
Sharon picked up the story. “At first, the noise just made us mad. But then I got to thinking. Why would someone get up at 5:30 every morning? After hearing what you said last week, I—we—followed you to your church. I realized you go all alone; like no one’s forcing you to do this religious thing. I was curious to know more in view of my current situation.”
“Current situation,” Keith repeated mechanically.
“Under this wig, I don’t have any hair. Chemotherapy. And it’s not doing much good anymore.”
Keith stared blankly, then allowed what she had just told him to sink in.
“I’m not looking for miracle cures or healings. I’m beyond that, I think. What I am looking for is—how do I put this?—not why I’m going to die, but why I lived in the first place. Does my life count for anything? Is there some sort of plan to all this?”
“Anyway,” Mike continued, “Sharon’s got this funny feeling that maybe you know something most everybody else doesn’t. So she crashed your church class, eavesdropped, tested you, and even made me threaten you. I’m sorry about that.”
Keith looked from one to the other and found himself speechless.
“I don’t blame you if you’re angry, but I was getting kind of desperate to know if there was anybody out there who really believed in anything. I remember what you were saying in that church class, and it made me feel really good inside. I think you can tell me what I want to know. You can tell me why?”
Keith met her gaze. “Yeah, I think I can.”
The bishop, who had been standing behind them, finally spoke. “She’s asked to take the discussions from the missionaries, Keith. Maybe you’d like to sit in on them with her.”
Keith smiled and hooked a thumb at Mike. “What about His Wallness?”
Mike grinned. “Well, I could go. I guess I owe you that much.”
Keith added, “Maybe I could learn a few things too. Maybe even pick up a few pointers that will come in handy for the next two years.”

Many years ago when I was a retail executive, we had a night watchman in one of our stores whose teenage daughter had just joined our church. He would often comment on the change that had occurred in the life of his daughter. Her baptism had brought a new spirit into their home. I was attempting to use this event as a base to teach him the gospel.
One evening as I was leaving the store, he was by the exit checking out the late customers who had completed their purchases after the store had closed. I stopped for a minute to visit with him. He immediately commenced to tell me about his daughter. He said, “You know, she just radiates since she joined your church.”
I proceeded to tell him that having a trust in the Lord and conforming our life to the gospel plan does make a change, even in our countenance. Just at that time I noticed two ladies approaching the door with several other customers. They were neatly dressed, and their faces reflected a special glow. As if my eyes were directed, I immediately noticed a “Duty to God” pin on one of the lady’s dresses, which many of our fine young men present to their mothers after achieving this special award. I turned to my friend and said, “Look at those two ladies coming towards the door. They have a different look. They, too, are members of our church.”
He was so caught up in my remark that he rushed over to them and asked, “Are you Mormons?” After confirming this fact, he returned to me shaking his head and saying, “You know, you can tell the difference.” I agree with him. There is a difference in those “who trust in the Lord and do good.”

Elder Sorensen loved sports and excelled in football, basketball, and baseball in high school in Salt Lake City. As a younger boy, however, he played baseball with the neighborhood boys in an open field, with a black friction-taped ball, a few gloves, and one old bat. “My mother wanted me to learn to play the piano,” Elder Sorensen said, “and she persevered for about six months, but she had a hard time getting me to practice, especially when I wanted to be out playing baseball. However, I had enough musical training so that when I was in the mission field, I could play about fourteen or fifteen hymns. I wish I had practiced more!
“I remember the excitement of being chosen as a crossing guard in sixth grade and how cold it was walking in the snow all the way to the school on the hill when I was in seventh grade. My biggest challenge was applying myself in school. I was more interested in sports and other things. Then, in junior high school, I was stimulated to learn so that I gained a balance in my life. I was able to pull up my grades and earn a scholarship.
“Serving a mission in Brazil was a great turning point in my life,” declared Elder Sorensen. “When I was twenty and had just completed two years of college at the University of Chicago on an academic/athletic scholarship, I had doubts about my going on a mission. When I returned home that summer, Mom said to me, ‘Well, now you can prepare for your mission.’
“Elder Sorensen told his mother that he had changed his mind and didn’t think that he would serve a mission. “I’ll never forget the hurt look on Mom’s face,” he recalled, “after I told her my decision. She didn’t scold me, but afterward she privately cried and prayed.
“I didn’t go back to school in Chicago that fall. With the help of Mom and Dad and a wise and understanding bishop, I accepted a mission call to Brazil and left for South America in 1940.
“It wasn’t very long after I arrived in the mission field and began studying the scriptures regularly that my testimony really began to grow. Since then it has never wavered but has grown stronger. I’m grateful to the Lord and my parents for guiding me at that very important crossroad.
“Children, listen to your parents. They love you more than anyone else does, except your Father in Heaven, who has an even greater capacity to love. If you follow their good teachings and example, you will always be happy that you did. And remember to follow the counsel and guidance of Church leaders, particularly your bishop.”

One Sunday morning in early spring, nine-year-old Emily sat with her family in sacrament meeting. The bishop looked sad as he got up to make the announcements.
“The Schwartz family found out this week that Brother Schwartz has cancer,” the bishop said.
Emily saw that both her parents had tears in their eyes. Emily knew that cancer was a serious illness. She was sad for the Schwartz family too.
After church Emily was reading in the living room when she heard her parents talking about Brother Schwartz’s illness.
“He’s so young,” Mom said.
“I know.” Dad spoke softly. “His medicine and treatment will cost a lot of money. I wish there was something we could do to help.”
Emily looked out the window. The spring rains had made the neighborhood beautiful and green. The grass and flowers were growing fast. Seeing the yards all along the street gave Emily an idea. She ran to the kitchen to tell her parents.
“I want to help Brother Schwartz!” Emily said with a smile.
“What do you want to do, honey?” Mom asked.
Emily pointed out the window. “I want to mow our neighbors’ lawns and give the money to the Schwartzes.”
Dad smiled. “That’s a great idea, Em.”
That week Emily talked to lots of neighbors about mowing their lawns. By Saturday she had a full day of grass cutting lined up.
On Saturday, Emily pushed the mower up and down the yards in her neighborhood. All day. As she mowed, her arms and legs seemed to get heavier and heavier. But she was determined to keep going. She wanted to finish all the lawns.
It’s for Brother Schwartz, she kept telling herself. Her arms were sore from pushing, and her legs were tired and wobbly. But she kept mowing—only a few more lawns to go.
It was time for dinner when Emily finally finished. She walked home slowly. I’ve never been so tired in my whole life! she thought.
After dinner Emily walked to Brother Schwartz’s house. She was excited as she rang the doorbell.
Sister Schwartz opened the door.
“Hi, Sister Schwartz,” Emily said. “I mowed a bunch of lawns in the neighborhood and wanted to give you the money to help your family.”
Emily handed an envelope stuffed with money to Sister Schwartz.
Sister Schwartz started to cry. “Thank you, Emily,” she said.
“You’re welcome! I hope Brother Schwartz gets better.” Emily turned with a big smile and headed home.
She was tired from her hard work, but she felt warm and happy because she knew that Heavenly Father and Jesus are happy when we help others. And now she just couldn’t stop grinning.

The heroic accounts of what these pioneer women sacrificed and accomplished as they crossed the plains is a priceless legacy to the Church. I am moved by the account of Elizabeth Jackson, whose husband Aaron died after the last crossing of the Platte River with the Martin handcart company. She wrote:
“I will not attempt to describe my feelings at finding myself thus left a widow with three children, under such excruciating circumstances. … I believe … that my sufferings for the Gospel’s sake will be sanctified unto me for my good. …
“I [appealed] to the Lord, … He who had promised to be a husband to the widow, and a father to the fatherless. I appealed to him and he came to my aid.”4
Elizabeth said she was writing the history on behalf of those who passed through like scenes with the hope that posterity would be willing to suffer and sacrifice all things for the kingdom of God.5

Last night our home teachers came for a visit. They shook hands with all my family, even me.
After everyone sat down, Brother Sorensen blew up a red balloon and handed it to me.
He counted, “One, two, three,” and said, “let go!” The air rushed out of the balloon, and it flipped and flopped all over the room.
I laughed when it landed on my brother’s head.
“Some of us are like the red balloon,” Brother Sorensen said. “We get excited about something and just flip and flop around, not knowing where we will end up.”
Then he handed one end of a piece of string to my sister. He pulled the string tight and threaded his end through a straw.
Next he told Brother Brown to blow up his blue balloon. Then Brother Sorensen carefully put a piece of tape over the straw and fastened it to the balloon.
Brother Brown let go of the blue balloon. Swoosh! It went straight down the string to my sister’s hand.
“When we prepare and know where we want to go, we can be like the blue balloon and go straight to our goal,” Brother Sorensen said. Then he asked, “Do you have any goals?”
My brother said, “I want to go on a mission.” My sister said, “I want to earn my Gospel in Action award.” And I said, “I want to be baptized when I’m eight years old.” We all said that we would rather be like the blue balloon and prepare for our goals now.

As Bridger Pons began looking forward to helping bless the sacrament, there was something he was dreading too: reading and memorizing the sacrament prayers. Bridger has dyslexia, a learning disability where reading and spelling are hard to do.
“I’ve worked really hard to become a good reader, but I still get nervous when I have to read out loud in front of a group,” Bridger said. “When I’m nervous, I make mistakes, which makes me even more nervous.”
Bridger Pons
So Bridger and his mother printed a version of the sacrament prayers that was easier to read. It used a larger font and was separated into short phrases. After lots of practice, he was able to recite the prayers without any mistakes.
“Being able to overcome the challenge of reading in front of a large group may not be a big deal for a lot of people, but for me it was important,” Bridger said.
His extra effort ended up blessing others in unexpected ways. After the meeting, several ward members came to him and said that his slow, intentional speaking helped them focus on the Spirit during those sacred prayers. Additionally, while helping leaders understand his challenges, Bridger learned that other young men in the stake need similar help. A fear of reading was affecting their Church participation and their confidence in preparing for missionary service. Now the Pons family shares reading resources with others whenever possible.
Bridger said he hopes more people will realize that how well a person reads does not reflect their level of intelligence. He also shared these words of encouragement for those who have reading challenges like he does: “You’re not alone. And you are smart.”

Mozambique. The name, for some, conjures images of exotic wildlife, lush green vegetation, or white-sand beaches. More likely, it will send the average person scrambling for a map to discover its location in southeast Africa. But for Maria da Conceição, it means home. And thanks to the efforts of members in the Inhamízua Branch and a few missionaries, Maria now has a place in Mozambique to call her own.
Maria is a tiny woman with a gigantic spirit. Abandoned by her husband and oldest daughter, she was left to rear two small children on her own. Crippled by a debilitating disease she has had since birth, Maria struggled to pay the rent each month. In a country that has high unemployment, work and money are nearly impossible to come by. Yet Maria managed to make a meager living and do the best she could.
I was a full-time missionary in Mozambique. When I first met Maria, I was impressed by her positive attitude and zest for life. She worked relentlessly in her machamba (large garden) to provide for two children and herself and to pay rent on a small mud house.
Church members helped by providing food and medical care. Tragically, Maria’s two children died within three weeks of each other due to disease and no access to the right medical facilities. Death and suffering are common in Mozambique.
Serving as the branch president for our tiny branch, I was extremely concerned for Maria. Both the youth and adult members of our isolated branch did everything they could to help Maria. Some worked in the machamba, others offered food, and a few even helped pay the rent; but she needed a permanent answer.
Late one night, while I was pondering and searching for an answer, inspiration came to me in the form of an idea for an ambitious youth project: building a home for Maria. My companion, Elder Bis-Neto, and I proposed our idea to the younger members of the branch, and they jumped at the chance to help build Maria a house. There was little money and a great deal of work to be done, but with many willing hands and a vision of a traditional African mud-and-stick house, a plan took shape, and the youth went to work.
Everyone got down to business immediately. First job: get wood.
A trip into the African jungle to gather wood for building a home is not a job for the fainthearted. The youth and missionaries made many two-hour trips through thick, swampy savannas, endless rice fields, dense overgrown jungles, and waist-deep mud to find the perfect trees with which to build Maria’s house. Using machetes, we hacked down the slender trees and then organized them into bundles for the journey back. Some of the youth used tall wild grass to quickly weave hats to help protect their heads from the rough logs.
The most difficult leg of the journey now began. Carrying a heavy load on our heads, scratching our way through the dense undergrowth, and battling the scorching African sun, we hauled our loads back. As we walked, the youth sang hymns of Zion, with smiles on their faces.
Alves Elídio Eguimane Razão, 18, says, “It was a lot of hard work, and we loved every minute of it!”
The wooden frame went up stick by stick, with care given to ensure a sturdy and lasting structure. Many generous hands constructed the roof by laying down strips of plastic, which were secured with mats of woven weeds. This roof would need to repel the violent storms of the annual rainy season.
From mud walls to mud floors to mud pies, mud was the menu for most building days. Barrel after barrel of rich brown dirt was hauled in and then drenched in water. Dozens of youth and other branch members turned out to help hand mix the mud and cover the frame house. The exterior was done first, followed by the interior walls and partition. After we had packed the walls with several inches of strong, dried mud, the house started to take shape. To jazz up the interior, a special layer of mud was carefully applied to create the floor and solid water-resistant surfaces.
These days were full of hard work, but the atmosphere abounded in good humor and many smiles, not to mention the surprised eyes of the neighbors as they watched missionaries and youth carrying large bundles of sticks and gallons upon gallons of water and slinging handfuls of mud.
Finally the door was hung, a lock installed, and the house was done. After more than 1,000 service hours, given by more than 40 members and a number of missionaries, Maria da Conceição had a beautiful home of her own.

When members of the Ucon Idaho Stake youth committee started brainstorming ideas for youth conference, they had big plans. Their ideas included water fights and paint ball wars—they really wanted something active and fun. They presented their ideas to their stake Young Men president, Brother Gary Cooper. He liked their ideas but encouraged them to dig a little deeper and come up with an idea that would be not only fun but testimony building at the same time.
So the youth committee went back to the drawing board. Someone suggested that the scriptures would be a good way to build testimonies. Someone else felt that keeping team competition as part of the plan would really attract a crowd. At first, combining the two into a single activity seemed impossible. Then someone said they knew of a professional film crew that might possibly donate their services. Suddenly a great idea was born.
The idea was to make a short movie, using selected chapters from the Book of Mormon as a script. To keep the original and fun idea of teams as part of the activity, youth would act out the parts of Lamanites and Nephites. In the months prior to the conference, ward Mutual night activities were spent writing scripts, learning lines, and making costumes. Brother Cooper spent countless hours revising scripts and helping the youth decide which parts of the scriptures would be best in the movie. When youth conference time finally came around, more than 200 young people and their leaders were ready.
One of the most exciting things about the conference, of course, was the finished product. Instead of getting a traditional T-shirt or hat as a keepsake, the youth will have their own copy of the Book of Mormon movie to view again and again.
“There’s no doubt that this youth conference was a lot of work, and many leaders and youth sacrificed much to get ready. But being part of the reenactment made it all worth it.
“It is so impressive to see the story happen visually,” says Stacey. “It really helps me understand the Book of Mormon.”

Many years ago, Bishop Marvin O. Ashton (1883–1946), who served as a counselor in the Presiding Bishopric, gave an illustration I’d like to share with you. Picture with me, if you will, a farmer driving a large open-bed truck filled with sugar beets en route to the sugar refinery. As the farmer drives along a bumpy dirt road, some of the sugar beets bounce from the truck and are strewn along the roadside. When he realizes he has lost some of the beets, he instructs his helpers, “There’s just as much sugar in those which have slipped off. Let’s go back and get them!”
In my application of this illustration, the sugar beets represent the members of this Church for whom we who are called as leaders have responsibility; and those that have fallen out of the truck represent men and women, youth and children who, for whatever reason, have fallen from the path of activity. Paraphrasing the farmer’s comments concerning the sugar beets, I say of these souls, precious to our Father and our Master: “There’s just as much value in those who have slipped off. Let’s go back and get them!”
Right now, today, some of them are caught in the current of popular opinion. Others are torn by the tide of turbulent times. Yet others are drawn down and drowned in the whirlpool of sin.
This need not be. We have the doctrines of truth. We have the programs. We have the people. We have the power. Our mission is more than meetings. Our service is to save souls.
The Lord emphasized the worth of each man or woman, youth or child when He declared:
“The worth of souls is great in the sight of God. …
“And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great will be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!
“And now, if your joy will be great with one soul that you have brought unto me into the kingdom of my Father, how great will be your joy if you should bring many souls unto me!” (D&C 18:10, 15–16).
Remember that you are entitled to our Father’s blessings in this work. He did not call you to your privileged post to walk alone, without guidance, trusting to luck. On the contrary, He knows your skill, He realizes your devotion, and He will convert your supposed inadequacies to recognized strengths. He has promised: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (D&C 84:88).
Primary leaders, do you know the children you are serving? Young Women leaders, do you know your young women? Aaronic Priesthood leaders, do you know the young men? Relief Society and Melchizedek Priesthood leaders, do you know the women and men over whom you have been called to preside? Do you understand their problems and their perplexities, their yearnings, ambitions, and hopes? Do you know how far they have traveled, the troubles they have experienced, the burdens they have carried, the sorrows they have borne?
I encourage you to reach out to those you serve and to love them. When you really love those you serve, they will not find themselves in that dreaded “Never, Never Land”—never the object of concern, never the recipient of needed aid. It may not be your privilege to open gates of cities or doors of palaces, but true happiness and lasting joy will come to you and to each one you serve as you take a hand and reach a heart.
Should you become discouraged in your efforts, remember that sometimes the Lord’s timetable does not coincide with ours. When I was a bishop many years ago, one of the leaders of the young women, Jessie Cox, came to me and said, “Bishop, I am a failure!” When I asked why she felt this way, she said, “I haven’t been able to get any of my Mutual girls married in the temple, as a good teacher would have. I’ve tried my very best, but my best apparently wasn’t good enough.”
I tried to console Jessie by telling her that I, as her bishop, knew that she had done all she could. And as I followed those girls through the years, I found that each one was eventually sealed in the temple. If the lesson is engraved on the heart, it is not lost.
I have learned as I have watched faithful servants like Jessie Cox that each leader can be a true shepherd, serving under the direction of our great and Good Shepherd, privileged to lead and cherish and care for those who know and love His voice (see John 10:2–4).
May I share an additional experience I had as a bishop. I noted one Sunday morning that Richard, one of our priests who seldom attended, was again missing from priesthood meeting. I left the quorum in the care of the adviser and visited Richard’s home. His mother said he was working at a local garage servicing automobiles. I drove to the garage in search of Richard and looked everywhere but could not find him. Suddenly, I had the inspiration to gaze down into the old-fashioned grease pit situated at the side of the building. From the darkness I could see two shining eyes. I heard Richard say, “You found me, Bishop! I’ll come up.” As Richard and I visited, I told him how much we missed him and needed him. I elicited a commitment from him to attend his meetings.
His activity improved dramatically. He and his family eventually moved away, but two years later I received an invitation to speak in Richard’s ward before he left on a mission. In his remarks that day, Richard said that the turning point in his life was when his bishop found him hiding in a grease pit and helped him to return to activity.
My dear brothers and sisters, ours is the responsibility, even the solemn duty, to reach out to all of those whose lives we have been called to touch. Our duty is to guide them to the celestial kingdom of God. May we ever remember that the mantle of leadership is not the cloak of comfort but rather the robe of responsibility. May we reach out to rescue those who need our help and our love.
As we succeed, as we bring a woman or man, a girl or boy back into activity, we will be answering a wife’s or sister’s or mother’s fervent prayer, helping fulfill a husband’s or brother’s or father’s greatest desire. We will be honoring a loving Father’s direction and following an obedient Son’s example (see John 12:26; D&C 59:5). And our names will forever be honored by those whom we reach.
With all my heart I pray that our Heavenly Father will ever guide us as we strive to serve and to save His children.

Living honestly is also important in our lives. Once, when I was in charge of a huge project in Italy, the people I worked with encouraged me to do something dishonest. “Everyone does it,” my coworkers said. “It’s just the way things are done.” Maybe what they were saying was true. But I refused to do something I knew was wrong. We decided together to do the honest, right thing, and our project was successful.

Photographs by Soubanh Phanthay
On that August morning in 2015, I felt particularity lethargic after getting off of a bus I had been in for 10 hours coming from Ontario, Canada, to a wilderness in Maine, USA. But I did feel some exuberance as I glanced toward the handcarts lined up in rows.
My friends and I stuck together as we knew we would soon be split into our “families” and companies. I love my friends, yet I was excited to meet new people from all over the eastern region of North America. Each of the youth was given a coloured* or patterned bandanna connecting them with a corresponding colour beside their handcart.
When it was my turn, they assigned me to my family and gave me a deep red bandanna. I ran to search for the handcart with the same bandanna. As I ran I noticed the shining sun and how stunning the weather was and felt absolute glee.
I met my Ma and Pa, three brothers, and two sisters and listened to the leaders’ opening remarks. The theme of the trek was “Go Bring Them In,” in reference to people who went and rescued companies who needed aid back in the pioneer days. I must admit that at that time I didn’t really understand why this theme was chosen or how it related to us. A prayer was said asking that we would continue to have good weather, and we were finally off!
We worked as a team and learned quickly that communication was vital. Those in the front must warn the others of rocks or holes. To distract us from the deathly heat of the sun, the three of us in the back began singing Disney songs quite loudly. We all bonded quickly and laughed a lot. Things were off to a good start.
Going into the second half of the day, our water bottles were being emptied fast. The August heat and humidity were not our friends. Still, we remained cheerful.
One of my brothers, Ian, who is tall, looked ahead and pointed out rainclouds. We all inwardly begged for rain because we were so hot and sweaty. A rain shower was sounding great right about then. Soon the captain of our company called for our rain ponchos to be put on. As the clouds drew nearer, they seemed to get darker and darker. The first raindrop came down as hard and fast as a bullet, warning us of what was to come.
Ten minutes later we were engulfed in a horrific storm. Heavy wind and rain made the pathway slick under my feet. My skirt soon became weighted with water. I jumped as a boom of thunder seemed to shake my bones! For two hours the weather never lightened one bit. Lightning flashed. Trees swayed in the wind. Everyone became covered with mud. The leaders started thinking that we wouldn’t be able to camp outside that night.
After reaching the field where we were meant to camp, I was exhausted. But it soon dawned on me that I wasn’t scared, and the other youth didn’t seem to be either.
The fire department had been called to evacuate us in buses. I felt strength and comfort that everything was going to be OK. One fireman said, “I’ve never seen a group of young people behave this way in this type of crisis—ever. It’s miraculous!”
The people of the nearest town in Maine came to our rescue. They let us stay in an empty university dorm building and offered up their own washers and dryers for our clothes! It felt incredible to get into new warm clothes and get grub into my stomach. That night the food was the best I had ever tasted. The people of the town just kept offering their services.
A town official met with one of our leaders and said in slight disbelief: “Ten years ago over 100 emergency blankets were donated to our town. The weird thing is, they were donated by your church!”
Humility overcame all of us! The theme for our trek was “Go Bring Them In.” Yet we were the ones who had been brought in. We had been rescued.
We headed out the next day as the sun finally came out. Paths had been flooded from the first day, and the rest of the trek was hard. But we all treated each other with kindness, because we had learned that kindness should never be overlooked. We would never forget that.
I’m sure everyone says this, but my experience was special. It was an amazing growing experience for me, and my testimony was strengthened. The blankets showed us that when we serve, the service can come right back to us. This gospel is true. The pioneers sacrificed so much for us. I know my Saviour died for me, and I wish to serve and continue to try to love as He did.

Four months later, Trevor entered the font again—this time to baptize his own mother. Once again, his best friends were there for Trevor, with Cody baptizing Trevor’s younger sister and Justin baptizing his younger brother.
Seeing Trevor with his mother was a powerful experience for Justin. “There was a glow around them,” Justin said. “They were extremely happy because they knew that they were on the path to being together forever.”

Emma pressed her thin, ten-year-old body against the rough boards of the signal shack. She covered her ears with her hands and closed her eyes against the sight and sound of the puffing and panting steam engine. Emma was sure that someday it would jump right off the track.
Father came over and laid a comforting hand on Emma’s shoulder after he replaced the signal flag on a hook. “Now, Mouse, there’s nothing to fear,” he said.
Mouse! How she hated that name. Why couldn’t he call her Emma? It was a perfectly good name. In fact, it had been her grandmother’s and nobody had called her Mouse. Emma knew it was not because of her sleek brown hair and bright brown eyes that she was called Mouse but because of her fear of so many things.
“Too scared to say good-bye, Mouse?” teased her brother Tom a short time later as he lifted the suitcases and started toward the train.
Emma sighed. Her older brother wasn’t afraid of anything. He was leaving for boarding school, and Emma knew she’d miss him in spite of his teasing.
“Now look after each other,” said Mother, who was also boarding the train. She kissed Emma and Father good-bye. “I’ll be back Saturday.”
As the engine chugged away, Emma and Father started along the path that led through the woods to their cabin.
“Tom’s awfully brave to go away alone to school, Pa. I never could.”
“You could be brave if you had to, Mouse,” Father replied, “just like Grandmother Emma was brave. Once, when she was no bigger than you, she chased off a bear that was after the chickens.”
Emma hung her head and scuffed her shoes in the dirt. “She couldn’t have been afraid like me then, Pa.”
“You haven’t needed to be really brave yet, Mouse. You will be when you have to be,” Father comforted.
When they came out of the woods, he paused. “I’d better get to work on that barn tomorrow. It’s in need of a new roof. And some of the bracing is beginning to sag.”
The next day as the sun slipped behind the dark pines that stood like sentinels along the lane, Emma was setting the supper table. Suddenly the air was torn by the sound of a tremendous crash, followed by shouting. Emma flew to the doorway and stood rooted to the spot, still clutching a plate and gazing in horror. One whole section of the barn had settled into a pile of boards, with a few beams slanting crazily upward supporting parts of the roof. The air was filled with a heavy dust.
“Pa! Pa!” Emma screamed as she ran toward the tangled wreckage. At first she could see nothing for the dust, and then her eyes fastened on the still figure of her father, half covered by rubble.
“Oh, Pa,” she breathed as she knelt beside him and wiped the dust from his face with her apron. “Please, Pa, please don’t be dead.”
Pa groaned and opened his eyes, only to cry out and shut them again. Relief flooded over Emma to know he was still alive. “Didn’t make it, Mouse,” he moaned feebly as she pulled frantically at the boards.
“Lie still, Pa. I’ll get you out,” soothed the little girl. It was strange to be comforting her father, who had always before been the one to comfort her. But no matter how she tugged and pushed, her strength was not enough to free him.
“No use … get help,” Pa said faintly.
“I’ll run to the Bartons, Pa. It’s only a mile.”
“Gone away … flag the train, Emma. You can do it.” Then he was unconscious again.
Emma felt desperately alone. The birds were twittering sleepily, and the last rays of sunset streaked the darkening sky with pink. Emma shivered in the chill. She was too frightened to walk through those woods and flag the train by herself.
But someone has to help Pa, she thought. Pa said I could do it. He even called me Emma! He’s depending on me, and if I don’t get help soon, Pa might die. It’s all up to me.
Emma sped back to the cabin. She glanced at the clock ticking away steadily on the mantel as though nothing had happened. If she ran, there would be just enough time to stop the train. She’d have to use a lantern, though, because it was getting too dark for the signal flag to be seen.
Snatching up a blanket, the lantern, and a tin box of matches, she ran back to the barn. Her father lay motionless. Tucking the blanket around him, she whispered, “I’ll do it, Pa. I’ll get help. You’ll be all right.” There was no answer.
Moving quickly through the darkening woods, Emma felt a moment of panic when she heard the sad howl of a wolf. But at last she reached the shack and set the lantern on the ground to light it. The evening breeze snuffed out the first two matches, but her trembling fingers managed to light the lantern with the third.
Emma heard the thin wail of the train whistle. Grasping the lantern tightly in both hands, she stepped into the middle of the track. Shivering with fright, she slowly swung the lantern back and forth, back and forth. Far down the track she could barely see the gleaming eye of the train in the dusk.
The thunder of the wheels became a rushing, deafening roar. And as the train came near, the ground shook beneath her feet. Emma gritted her teeth. She was so frightened that it was all she could do to keep from jumping off the track and running. Only the thought of Pa under the rubble held her there. Oh, please stop! she agonized.
Abruptly the signal came—two short blasts of the whistle. Thankfully, Emma leaped off the track and in a few seconds the train ground to a halt with an earsplitting screech and a shattering blast of steam.
Soon men from the train had Pa on a stretcher, his broken leg in a splint, and they were carrying him through the woods back to the train. Emma walked by his side holding his hand. He was conscious now and managed to squeeze her hand and whisper, “I knew you could do it, Emma. It was your time to be brave.”

Elder F. Burton Howard of the Seventy acquaints us with a strong testimony of the converting power of the Book of Mormon: Sister Celia Cruz Ayala of the Puerto Rico San Juan Mission decided to give the Book of Mormon to a friend. She wrapped it in attractive paper and set out to deliver her present.

On the way she was attacked by a bandit who stole her purse and with it the wrapped copy of the Book of Mormon. A few days later she received this letter:

“Mrs. Cruz:
“Forgive me, forgive me. You will never know how sorry I am for attacking you. But because of it, my life has changed and will continue to change. That book [the Book of Mormon] has helped me in my life. The dream of that man of God has shaken me. … I am returning your five pesos for I can’t spend them. I want you to know that you seemed to have a radiance about you. That light seemed to stop me [from harming you, so] I ran away instead.
“I want you to know that you will see me again, but when you do, you won’t recognize me, for I will be your brother. … Here, where I live, I have to find the Lord and go to the church you belong to.
“The message you wrote in that book brought tears to my eyes. Since Wednesday night I have not been able to stop reading it. I have prayed and asked God to forgive me, [and] I ask you to forgive me. … I thought your wrapped gift was something I could sell. [Instead,] it has made me want to make my life over. Forgive me, forgive me, I beg you.
“Your absent friend.”

Such is the conversion power of the Book of Mormon.

When I was about six or seven, I wanted to know if the scriptures were true. My mom said I needed to pray and find out for myself. I did, and I felt really warm inside. I know that the scriptures are true. I have a testimony that Jesus Christ suffered for our sins and that He helped many people. I also have a testimony of Joseph Smith. I know that the Church is true. I will always be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

A true story from Singapore.
“It’s time for our art lesson!” Madam Nadirah said. She carried a big box to the front of the classroom. The box had bottles of paint and paintbrushes sticking out of it.
Adam smiled. He loved art time! They always worked in groups on their projects. Maybe this time he would get to be with one of his friends.
Madam Nadirah pointed at the first table. “Group one is Enzo, Ivan, Mei Ling, and Adam.”
Adam stood and moved to sit at the table. He didn’t know anyone in his group. But he was good at making friends. Maybe they would become new friends!
Once everyone found their group, Madam Nadirah started to pass out supplies. “Your challenge is to use these items to make art,” she said.
She put three cups on each table. Adam leaned forward to look inside their cups. One cup had nutshells in it, another had wooden sticks, and the last one had colorful beads.
Adam frowned. He didn’t know what to make with these things.
“You only have time to make one project,” Madam Nadirah said. “So work together to decide what you are going to make.”
Loud chatter filled the room as the groups started planning their projects.
“What should we make?” Adam asked his group.
Mei Ling pointed at the sticks. “Definitely a tree. The sticks can be the trunk and branches, and the nutshells can be the leaves.”
“What would we use the beads for?” Enzo asked.
“Some of the beads are green,” Adam said. “Maybe we can use them for leaves.”
Ivan shook his head. “No, we should make a house. The nutshells are for the roof. The sticks are for the walls, and the beads are for the windows.” He grabbed some shells and sticks to show them.
Mei Ling snatched the last cup away before Ivan could get the beads. “But I want to make a tree!”
“Well, I want to make a house!” Ivan tried to grab the cup back from Mei Ling.
Adam looked at his new friends. He didn’t want them to fight. But they were only allowed to make one project. They couldn’t make a tree and a house.
Then Adam had an idea. Maybe there was a way they could do both. “What if we make a house in a tree?”
Mei Ling and Ivan stopped fighting over the cup of beads and looked at Adam.
“Like a treehouse?” Mei Ling asked.
“Yeah!”
Mei Ling set the cup back down on the table. “OK.”
Ivan nodded. “Let’s do it!”
Adam got paper and glue from the art box. Enzo picked out paint colors. Then they started making their treehouse. At first, Mei Ling and Ivan only worked on the parts they wanted. But soon they were all working together and laughing when paint got on their fingers.
Slowly their sticks, shells, and beads turned into a tall, colorful treehouse. Adam added a nutshell to the roof.
“I didn’t know making a treehouse would be so fun,” Ivan said. He glued another bead to the tree.
“Yeah, this was a great idea!” Mei Ling said.
Adam smiled. It was fun to work together. He hoped he could work with his new friends again for the next art lesson!

Daniela Moreira, a Primary president from Mendoza, Argentina, said that children in her ward worked toward understanding the purpose of the temple. To meet this goal, they visited the construction of the Mendoza Argentina Temple. They also learned how families can be sealed in the temple and later made temple models.

“The activities of the spiritual aspect are those that leave the greatest mark on the little ones,” Daniela said. “They learn to recognize and feel the constant companionship of the Holy Spirit and become familiar with the feeling.”