Gospel Story Finder

Stewart woke up with an intense feeling of dread. It was Friday—dodgeball day in gym class. His stomach was already tying itself in knots.
He ate no breakfast, and he was mostly silent while his mom drove him to school.
First period was art class, his favorite. He liked it because it was something he could do well. He also liked it because he didn’t have to compete with anyone. There was no winner, no loser, just everyone doing his very best. That’s fair, he thought.
Second period was English, a class that Stewart would have really enjoyed if it were not right before gym. He loved to read. It was a grand adventure to let his imagination whisk him off to faraway places. But today, just as he got into a story and started enjoying it, he remembered that in less than an hour he would be in his gym shorts and sneakers, waiting for all the other boys to be chosen for teams. Then someone would finally say, “Oh great—I guess we’re stuck with Stewart!” He hated that part even worse than the actual playing of the game. Naturally, the biggest, most athletic boys were chosen first; Stewart understood that, but he didn’t understand why they had to make fun of him just because he didn’t play as well.
Third period came. Stewart walked across the football field to the gymnasium, dreading even the musky smell of the locker room. He and the other boys dressed quickly and took their places on the gym floor; the coaches didn’t like to be kept waiting.
“Line up; it’s dodgeball day,” Coach Warden shouted. “We need some team leaders!”
Stewart kicked at the chipped lines painted on the old gymnasium floor, wishing that the period was over and that he was eating lunch. He was startled when Coach Warden called his name—he had never been called on to choose a team before!
Soon he and three other boys were standing in a line facing the group. Then Coach Warden walked over, “Stewart, you go first.”
Immediately most of the boys began the usual ritual of jumping up and down, waving their hands, and yelling, “Me! Me! Me!” Joe Dan just stood there with his arms folded across his chest. He didn’t have to jump up and down; he was the best athlete in the whole school and was always chosen first. He told Stewart, “Go ahead—pick me and I’ll pick the rest of the team for you.” When Stewart hesitated, Joe Dan looked puzzled. “Pick me—you know I’m the best.”
The entire gymnasium became silent in disbelief when Stewart said, “I choose Craig.”
Craig stepped forward with a look of amazement that turned into a big grin. “I’ve never been first pick before.” He had always been chosen just before Stewart—next to last.
The other team leaders made their first choices. When it was Stewart’s turn again, a pin could have been heard dropping as he called out, “Andy.” Andy had usually been chosen just before Craig.
At each subsequent turn, Stewart went on going up the ladder instead of down, choosing boys who were usually “assigned,” rather than chosen. The other team leaders chose the best athletes, as usual.
For the first time, Stewart enjoyed the game. His team came in last, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that every boy on it felt wanted.
After the game, the boys went to change clothes. Stewart was tying his shoelaces when Joe Dan towered over him and taunted him, “I told you to pick me. But you wouldn’t do it. You’re nothing but a loser.”
“Joe Dan!” It was the authoritative voice of the coach. “Stewart is many things, but a loser certainly isn’t one of them.” Coach Warden made Joe Dan apologize, sent him and the other boys on to class, then turned to Stewart. “I want to thank you.”
“Huh? What for?”
Coach Warden sat down on the bench, motioning Stewart to sit beside him. “For reteaching me a very important lesson. You see, whenever there’s competition, there has to be a winner and a loser. Everyone wants to be a winner, and nobody wants to be a loser. Today the other team leaders were thinking only about winning, so they chose the best athletes. You were more concerned with the boys themselves, with their feelings. It would’ve been very easy for you to have picked Joe Dan and let him put together the winning team for you. But you didn’t. You were brave enough to choose those whom the others considered losers. But you were the real winner today, Stewart, and so were your teammates. I’m very proud of you.”
The coach walked with Stewart to the door, then went into his office and made a list of all of the boys. He cut the names out on individual strips of paper and threw them into a baseball cap, ready for picking the next day’s teams.

At one stage in my life, I had just finished a tertiary course in horse husbandry. I had one job offer and another person keen to interview me. Not sure which job to take, I prayed fervently. I was strongly prompted to return home and pursue a completely different career. Not really wanting to go and not sure I was going to be able to get a job in the accounts field, I relied on the Lord as the prompting was so strong. I have never regretted that decision as I now have an excellent job.
The Lord will guide you. He has never failed me.
Natasha Abram, 20Auckland, New Zealand

When Jeff woke up on Monday morning, everything went wrong. He could not find his favorite bear, and his socks did not match. His cornflakes got mushy, and he spilled orange juice all over his shirt.
“I’m having a bad day,” Jeff told Mom.
“You need some of my ‘magic,’” Mom said, smiling. “It can change your bad day into a happy one.”
“What kind of magic?” Jeff asked.
“Close your eyes,” Mom said.
Jeff shut his eyes and waited. A second later, Mom gave him a giant hug. It felt warm and soft.
“Did it work?” Mom asked.
“It sure did!” Jeff declared.
Then Mom said, “I need some of your magic.”
Jeff smiled and gave Mom a great big hug too!

Most of all, I think eternal marriage cannot be achieved without a commitment to make it work. Most of what I know about this I have learned from my companion. We have been married for almost 47 years now. From the beginning she knew what kind of marriage she wanted.
We started as poor college students, but her vision for our marriage was exemplified by a set of silverware. As is common today, when we married she registered with a local department store. Instead of listing all the pots and pans and appliances we needed and hoped to receive, she chose another course. She asked for silverware. She chose a pattern and the number of place settings and listed knives, forks, and spoons on the wedding registry and nothing else. No towels, no toasters, no television—just knives, forks, and spoons.
The wedding came and went. Our friends and our parents’ friends gave gifts. We departed for a brief honeymoon and decided to open the presents when we returned. When we did so, we were shocked. There was not a single knife or fork in the lot. We joked about it and went on with our lives.
Two children came along while we were in law school. We had no money to spare. But when my wife worked as a part-time election judge or when someone gave her a few dollars for her birthday, she would quietly set it aside, and when she had enough she would go to town to buy a fork or a spoon. It took us several years to accumulate enough pieces to use them. When we finally had service for four, we began to invite some of our friends for dinner.
Before they came, we would have a little discussion in the kitchen. Which utensils would we use, the battered and mismatched stainless or the special silverware? In those early days I would often vote for the stainless. It was easier. You could just throw it in the dishwasher after the meal, and it took care of itself. The silver, on the other hand, was a lot of work. My wife had it hidden away under the bed where it could not be found easily by a burglar. She had insisted that I buy a tarnish-free cloth to wrap it in. Each piece was in a separate pocket, and it was no easy task to assemble all the pieces. When the silver was used, it had to be hand washed and dried so that it would not spot, and put back in the pockets so it would not tarnish, and wrapped up and carefully hidden again so it would not get stolen. If any tarnish was discovered, I was sent to buy silver polish, and together we carefully rubbed the stains away.
Over the years we added to the set, and I watched with amazement how she cared for the silver. My wife was never one to get angry easily. However, I remember the day when one of our children somehow got hold of one of the silver forks and wanted to use it to dig up the backyard. That attempt was met with a fiery glare and a warning not to even think about it—ever!
I noticed that the silverware never went to the many ward dinners she cooked or never accompanied the many meals she made and sent to others who were sick or needy. It never went on picnics and never went camping. In fact it never went anywhere; and, as time went by, it didn’t even come to the table very often. Some of our friends were weighed in the balance, found wanting, and didn’t even know it. They got the stainless when they came to dinner.
The time came when we were called to go on a mission. I arrived home one day and was told that I had to rent a safe-deposit box for the silver. She didn’t want to take it with us. She didn’t want to leave it behind. And she didn’t want to lose it.
For years I thought she was just a little bit eccentric, and then one day I realized that she had known for a long time something that I was just beginning to understand. If you want something to last forever, you treat it differently. You shield it and protect it. You never abuse it. You don’t expose it to the elements. You don’t make it common or ordinary. If it ever becomes tarnished, you lovingly polish it until it gleams like new. It becomes special because you have made it so, and it grows more beautiful and precious as time goes by.

As in so many other circumstances, the undeniable prompting of the Holy Spirit had its special influence when 17-year-old Tom, unlike the forty-one other recruits with whom he joined the armed services that day, chose the naval reserve (for the duration of the war plus six months) over the regular navy (for four years with a fixed promise of discharge). It was a decision he had made a matter of urgent prayer.
Within just a few weeks of his joining, there was an armistice in Europe and only a few months later came peace in the Pacific. Less than a year after he began his active duty, Ensign Thomas S. Monson returned home to graduate with honors from the University of Utah, just one quarter behind those members of his class who had not given military service. The impressions of the Spirit had spared him three needless years of post-war military duty. Little did he know that even then he was being fitted with “the whole armour of God” (Eph. 6:11) for quite a different kind of battle and a much longer tour of duty. He was “on the Lord’s errand” and his time was very important.

I also see the names of others whom I have not heard of such as Brigham Thomas Higgs, who introduced the student employment program on campus, and Delbert Brigham Brown, a custodian in the Smith Fieldhouse who became a wise counselor to hundreds of students. Delbert Brown once found a student’s wallet with a risqué picture in it. When a young boy came to claim it, Brother Brown took out his own wallet and showed him pictures of his wife and daughters, encouraging the boy with a budding pornography problem to tuck these kinds of pictures into his wallet and into his mind. As I read such stories, I am reminded that many unnamed individuals have kindled the light of the Y, including administrators and staff. As Joseph B. Keeler, one of Maeser’s first twenty-nine students and himself an unsung hero of our tradition, observed, “Deep down in the heart of this great school, there are noble deeds untold.”22 I reflect, with gratitude, on the noble deeds of our current staff and administrators who influence students for good.

At times an awareness of the elderly is brought into focus by a reminder from one ever so young. May I share with you a Pakistani folktale which illustrates this truth:
An ancient grandmother lived with her daughter and grandson. As she grew frail and feeble, instead of being a help around the house, she became a constant trial. She broke plates and cups, lost knives, spilled water. One day, exasperated because the old woman had broken another precious plate, the daughter sent the grandson to buy his grandmother a wooden plate. The boy hesitated because he knew a wooden plate would humiliate his grandmother. But his mother insisted, so off he went. He returned bringing not one, but two wooden plates.
“I asked you to buy only one,” his mother said. “Didn’t you hear me?”
“Yes,” said the boy. “But I bought the second one so there would be one for you when you get old.”

How do three lovely young ladies who are completely deaf speak fluently with confidence and joy?
The answer? With patient faith, hard work, and tender help from parents, sisters, teachers, and their Heavenly Father.
The Ferguson sisters, Deborah, 23, Julie-Ann, 18, and Heather, 15 are from Bangor Branch, Belfast Northern Ireland Stake, and were born with hearing impairments. Two more sisters, Amanda, 22, and Gail, 20, along with parents Peter and Lillian have normal hearing. The girls’ grandparents were also born deaf and mute.
But communication is no problem for this outstanding family. Trust in the Lord and determination are working miracles in their lives.
Proof of this is abundant in Deborah’s many achievements. Her happy personality and eagerness to live life to the fullest have overcome some hearing problems. Since graduating from seminary, she has participated in the Church Scouting program, serving in assistant leadership positions.
Among other hard-earned awards are trophies of all shapes and sizes for numerous sports, including soccer, badminton, squash, and swimming.
“When we held a youth dance festival,” said Young Women president Sister Geddis, “Deborah was the best at keeping on the beat, moving perfectly with the music.” Deborah explains, “Although I can’t hear sound, I feel vibrations through the floor, and with care I can dance as well as anyone else.”
Whether dancing or studying, no obstacles will prevent Deborah from enjoying every program the Church has to offer. “I hope to be a missionary,” she says. “I love to serve and have a great desire to spread the gospel amongst other people with hearing disabilities.”
Her younger sister Amanda feels the same way. Although able to hear perfectly herself, she has seen her family achieve goals they have set and she is determined to help others less fortunate. She is taking a three-year university course in sign language for the deaf so that she will be qualified to interpret and teach.
“I’d like to begin by sharing the gospel with my grandparents, aunt, and uncles who are also deaf,” Amanda explains. “I feel they’re missing so much. I’d love to help them learn the truth.”
Learning plays an important part in sister Gail’s life too—especially in seminary. “It’s a great program. I gain such a lot. Reading the experiences of people in the scriptures has helped me appreciate my own family and their present struggles.”
Gail has an outstanding talent for dealing with children. Acting as “ears” for younger sisters for many years, she has developed patience, kindness, and sharp sensitivity to others’ needs.
Those listening ears are greatly missed by Julie-Ann and Heather for many months each year. These two leave home and family behind and attend school at the renowned Mary Hare United Kingdom Grammar School for the Deaf in Newbury, England. Due to the high academic standards, for one pupil to be accepted at this outstanding school is an accomplishment, but for two from the same family to attend is almost a miracle.
“Letting the children be educated so far away has been a traumatic experience for us all,” Brother Ferguson says. “But through prayer we found comfort and confirmation that our decision was right.”
“We all send letters once or twice a week,” says Julie-Ann, “and there’s a special telephone at school which allows three-way conversations between pupil, interpreter, and parent, so we don’t have to go too long without help from home on any problem.”
“Brother and Sister Williams from Newbury Branch pick us up for church each Sunday,” says Heather. “We enjoy that. There’s a lovely feeling among the members.”
“I love learning everything I can about the Savior and his church,” says Julie-Ann. “I do home-study seminary, and it always helps me. I find sacrament meetings a bit frustrating sometimes, especially when I can’t understand every word the speakers say. People are kind and write things down for me, but often speakers go too fast for me to get all the details.”
Both girls are excellent lip readers, however. In addition, they use hearing aids. They are becoming so expert at understanding others that they are even learning another language—French. “It’s difficult,” says Heather. “I have to concentrate much harder than students with normal hearing.”
Reading music has been part of their lives since infancy. “Our mother used to point out how notes go up and down in hymnbooks at church,” says Julie-Ann, “and if the congregation doesn’t sing louder than the piano, I can pick out the beat and sing hymns.”
“We play recorders the same way,” comments Heather. “I feel pulsation of sound through my feet and legs, and with plenty of practice, we get the tunes right. We have a good orchestra here.”
Although Julie-Ann, Heather, and Deborah use their talents to achieve results in life equal to, and often better than, those of people without hearing impairments, they are sometimes disappointed and hurt by the attitudes of many people towards their disability.
“I prefer to be treated just like everyone else,” Heather says. “It’s really embarrassing when I’m in a crowd and someone starts speaking to me very slowly, waving their arms to emphasize what they are saying. It’s as if they think I am stupid and couldn’t understand them otherwise.”
“Yes,” agrees Julie-Ann, “it’s nice to be accepted as part of the group, spoken to normally, and not stared at as if we’re odd. I often feel like telling people, ‘I’m exactly the same inside as you are.’ It makes me heartbroken and depressed when they are afraid or don’t want to understand me.”
“That’s right,” Heather adds. “I don’t always understand a question the first time someone asks. If I ask them to repeat it, they often say, ‘Oh, never mind,’ and go away! I’d rather they try again and again, so we can learn about each other. I don’t like brief conversations with only ‘Hi!’ or ‘How are you doing?’ I’d prefer to talk properly, long discussions, not too fast or too slow, but real conversations with facial expression and feeling.”
Perhaps because of a certain isolation that deafness creates for them, all three girls have developed a close, personal relationship with their Heavenly Father.
“I talk to the Lord in prayer much of the time,” says Julie-Ann. “I feel the presence of the Holy Spirit strongly and am constantly grateful for the promptings I receive. We watched a video of general conference. During remarks about keeping high standards and avoiding friendships with the wrong crowd, I felt so warm inside as the Spirit testified this was important advice. I could have cried. I didn’t want that wonderful feeling to go away.”
The Fergusons seem to be a part of fulfilling prophecy. In Isaiah 29:18, the prophet wrote, “In that day shall the deaf hear the words of the book.” [Isa. 29:18] Not only are the Fergusons hearing the truth of the gospel themselves, they are becoming well educated and prepared to share those words with all who care to listen with ears, eyes, hands, and hearts.

It had been a long, hard day. First the youth from the Ephraim Utah Stake had cleaned up an old cemetery. Then they had a picnic lunch and a water fight. Now they were on a two-mile hike to find the campground where they’d spend the night. Was there really time to stop and help the woman and children whose car had broken down on the side of the road?
There had better be. The people in the broken down car were part of the youth conference, put there to see if the youth were really learning their lessons. They were. Every group that came by offered to help.
The service-oriented youth conference also found the youth reseeding the ground cover, cleaning up trash, and making new trails in the area of a popular campground. Their service never stopped.

The next Sunday, Cole sat with Mom and watched conference. Dad was upstairs watching basketball. Cole listened to the prophet talk about his life as a little boy. He was surprised to learn that President Nelson’s parents didn’t go to church either when he was young.
Then President Nelson talked about how he had longed to be sealed to his parents in the temple. Cole froze, listening closely. President Nelson had to wait for many years, even after his parents were 80! But then they were finally sealed as an eternal family.

As we develop these necessary attributes, how do we still keep our own personality? As I mentioned, I have not completely developed the Christlike attribute of patience, especially on the road. I do not usually cut people off or yell, but as I pass, you may see me saying to myself, “Come on, people, let’s go!” I don’t think my frustration makes me a horrible person, but it definitely is not Christlike.

A while ago I decided to start listening to Spanish teaching podcasts while driving to help with my impatience. Now if you see me talking in my car, I am no longer asking you to go faster. Instead, I am practicing very important phrases, such as, “¿Dónde está el queso?”

This practice of trying to become more patient has also taught me to learn by listening and repeating. I have always been the type of person who needs to see things in addition to hearing them. Now I have the capability of learning in a new way. Thus, in the process of becoming more Christlike in patience, I have developed a new personality trait that defines who I am, and it is one that I am much more proud of than road rage.

My mother taught me to work hard. She asked me to get the work done first and then go play. One day a few of us helped my mom move a piano from upstairs to downstairs. It was a big, old piano. It wasn’t easy to move. We moved it around corners and finally down the stairs. When we set it down, my mother was glowing with happiness—just because we’d moved a piano! I said, “Mom, I think you would rather move a piano than listen to a piano.” She nodded. She loved to work.

I know that from my own experience. I remember when I was a boy of 15 and we had been expelled from Mexico in the revolution. My folks went to Los Angeles from El Paso, Texas. I got a job there among a bunch of Mormon-haters, and I didn’t tell them that I was a Mormon. Sometime after that, President Joseph F. Smith came to Los Angeles and had dinner with my parents—a very humble dinner; I can remember that it was very scant. He put his hand on my head and said, “My boy, don’t ever be ashamed that you are a Mormon.”
You know, I have worried all my days that I didn’t have the courage to stand up to those ribald men.

To illustrate the principle of faithfulness, I would like to tell you about an experience that our family had with my mother when she was in the hospital just before she died. Mother was 92 years old and had lived a long and faithful life. She and we knew that she would not be healed this time and we were preparing together for her passing. Her calling in the Church had, for several years, been as a visiting teaching supervisor. She expressed concern to us that she had not called all of her visiting teachers yet that month so that she could make her report on time. She asked for our help in making that happen. And later that afternoon, just before she died, she looked at us and asked: "Do you think I've done enough?" - meaning, "is it okay for me to go now?" I cherish my mother's example of faithful service right to the end of her life. Never give up. Serve the Lord for as long as you can.

“Can Amy come over and tend we?” pleaded my four-year-old daughter.
“Us, tend us,” I responded automatically.
“We’re being real good,” added her twin sister. “Pull-lease.”
“Okay. Tonight after Daddy comes home, Amy can come over.” And with shouts of glee and clapping they returned to their play.
Amy is our babysitter, but she’s so much more. She is my daughters’ best friend. At 15 she stands less than five-feet high, has long dark hair and an infectious smile.
Why do my daughters and I agree that Amy must qualify as one of the world’s number one babysitters? I’ve pondered that question quite frequently lately as I’ve discussed babysitters with many of my young mother friends. And the answer: Amy is more than just a babysitter who comes to watch my three highly energetic daughters while I’m at a meeting or on a date with my husband. She is a wise young woman who is learning the art and joy of being a mother.
While she is at our house, her attention is centered on my children, not a television program, her homework, or a telephone call to her friends. The children are her first concern, and since there are three of them under five, it takes practice to meet their demands, pacify their squabbles, and divide her time fairly among them.
Part of her charm is a surprise grab bag filled with something different each time she comes. The bag is opened after Mom leaves, and its treasures are many: different dolls with blankets and accessories to mix and match, materials for a special craft project, a treat she’s baked for them.
Her grab bag provides countless teaching moments for my children as well as some very fun playtime. Probably without even realizing it, she is reinforcing the gospel principles they learn in Primary and family home evening.
If dolls are part of the grab bag treasures, the girls dress and undress them, matching colors and coordinating outfits. When it’s time for bed, the dolls say their prayers and are placed under the blankets. “Then the ‘mommies’ munch on the special treats Amy brought, and she invents bedtime stories.
Crafts are a favorite with my girls. Gluing, cutting, coloring, and pasting can create some exciting treasures and lasting memories. And Amy’s imagination is loaded with lots of fun stories they draw pictures about. Naturally artistic, Amy has spent hours drawing pictures for my children. The children she creates in her stories usually have the same names as my children, and they are involved in the same activities my children love—from helping Mom to going to Primary. We finally got a large book of used computer paper for our children to draw on. The blank sides of the pages contain many of Amy’s drawings. Now whenever they thumb through to find new pages to draw on, they are delighted again and again by pictures Amy has drawn. Pages and pages are filled with letters of the alphabet where Amy has helped the girls practice writing their names.
She knows dozens of Primary songs and lots of finger plays. I often hear snatches of new songs coming from their bedroom as they play. Many times when the girls quarrel, I say, “Can’t you sing me a pretty song instead?” And they can.
My girls see Amy in other situations, too. Always their eyes light up and their faces beam as they point to their Amy in church, where she helps her mother tend her younger brother and sisters, or at a ward party where she is playing the piano. At night she waves as she rides by delivering newspapers, and the girls come running into the house shouting, “Mommy, Amy waved to me.” “Me, too,” echoes another. “Amy wave me,” and my two-year-old beams. Such a little thing, and yet it means so much.
Amy’s influence is felt in our home long after she is gone. How grateful I am for the Amys of this world who influence the lives of my children so positively and for the mothers of all the Amys, mothers who are preparing their daughters for motherhood. My daughters dream of growing up so they can be like Amy. And I hope they do.
When the neighborhood children get together you often hear, “My Amy is going to tend me tonight.”
“She’s not your Amy; she’s my Amy.”
“She’s my Amy,” whines another quivering voice.
“She’s all our Amy,” answers another who is older and wiser. Happily they all agree and go back to playing.
Yes, she is everybody’s Amy. She’s a mother’s pride and joy, a little girl’s best friend, a frustrated mother’s chance for retreat, a Young Women president’s dependable worker, a father’s little girl, and a future mother who is learning now countless ways to bless the lives of other young children—her own.

I often asked my parents what it means to “feel the Holy Ghost.” I had heard them talk about it, but I was not sure what the feeling was like. Mom told me it was a very good feeling, but I still wasn’t sure what that meant.
One morning my one-year-old brother was running around and accidentally hit his head on a heater. He had a big cut on his head. He cried, and he was bleeding. I was very scared and worried. My mom took care of the cut and put a bandage on it. Then she took me to school.
At school I was still scared and worried about my brother. Then I remembered that I could pray. I went into the bathroom and sincerely prayed to Heavenly Father and asked Him to bless my brother. After the prayer I was no longer scared. I felt a very peaceful feeling, and I went back to my classroom.
On the way home that day, I told my mother what had happened. She joyfully told me that the warm, peaceful feeling I had was the Holy Ghost comforting me. She said that usually the Holy Ghost does not talk to us like other people talk to us. Instead He gives us a peaceful feeling.

Let me tell you of one of the goals that I made when I was still but a lad. When I heard a Church leader from Salt Lake City tell us at conference that we should read the scriptures, and I recognized that I had never read the Bible, that very night at the conclusion of that very sermon I walked to my home a block away and climbed up in my little attic room in the top of the house and lighted a little coal-oil lamp that was on the little table, and I read the first chapters of Genesis. A year later I closed the Bible, having read every chapter in that big and glorious book.
I found that this Bible that I was reading had in it 66 books, and then I was nearly dissuaded when I found that it had in it 1,189 chapters, and then I also found that it had 1,519 pages. It was formidable, but I knew if others did it that I could do it.
I found that there were certain parts that were hard for a 14-year-old boy to understand. There were some pages that were not especially interesting to me, but when I had read the 66 books and 1,189 chapters and 1,519 pages, I had a glowing satisfaction that I had made a goal and that I had achieved it.
Now I am not telling you this story to boast; I am merely using this as an example to say that if I could do it by coal-oil light, you can do it by electric light. I have always been glad I read the Bible from cover to cover.

Searching for a great idea for a youth conference? The Aurora Colorado Stake has a suggestion.
Work.
Now just a minute. Before you stop reading, maybe we ought to define that a little bit.
Hard work.
Like shoveling gravel, digging dirt, weeding, painting, washing cars. You know, just the sort of thing you live for on a hot summer day.
Fun.
All right, all right. There’s an explanation. See, the kids from Aurora wanted to do something different for their youth conference, something grand. So they spent three days cleaning up a city.
It’s true.
“We asked the stake youth committee what they wanted to do,” explained Richard C. Humpherys, second counselor in the stake presidency. “They said, ’something to help someone else,’ and something to build our testimonies.’ Since they asked for it, we took them up on it.”
Inspired by a story in the New Era special issue on service (see March 1988, p. 46), the youth committee looked around for a community they could help. They settled on Granby for three reasons: it was nearby; a slumping economy had hit the area hard; and the mayor, town council, and chamber of commerce seemed genuinely interested in providing projects for the youth to work on.
There was an added benefit, too. The small LDS branch in Granby, with a total of five active families, had a youth program that would love some company. In fact, while the youth from Aurora were there, they could help paint the Granby chapel.
Great entertainment, right?
Buses left Aurora at 7:00 on a Thursday morning. By 10:30 A.M., 84 young people divided into eight teams were scurrying all over Granby. Since they were all wearing identical T-shirts, they were fairly conspicuous. And a local radio station advertising the LDS youth’s free car wash also let people know who they were and what they were doing.
“We went into a store to buy some pop,” said Andy Clapton, 18, who had been shoveling gravel all morning at the train depot. “The clerk said, ‘Are you the Mormon kids? You’re doing a great job.’”
“Lots of people have asked what we’re doing,” said Sandra Hilborne, 15, as she leveled out tree bark in a planter box on Main Street. “We tell them we’re helping others and having fun at the same time.”
And that, really, is what began to happen.
“I wasn’t very excited at first,” said Liza Zmolek, 14. “But then I saw people watching us. I felt like somebody was counting on me, so I started working hard, and it felt good.”
Angelica Velez, 15, wiped her forehead, then smiled. “When we first got to the cemetery,” she said, “you couldn’t even see the tombstones. Then we brought in lawnmowers and weed whackers and raked it up and carried out a lot of wood. Now it looks nice.”
Ginny Stafford, 14, spent the morning on her knees, pulling weeds till her fingers were stained green. She said out loud what a lot of people were feeling: “It’s dirty work, but when you’re done, you feel happy, not dirty.”
Besides sprucing up Main Street, washing cars, tidying the cemetery, spreading gravel at the train depot, and chopping weeds at a main intersection on the highway into town, the youth painted the city’s historic log church, landscaped its grounds, and polished the benches and the organ inside.
“I thought that was neat,” said Daphne Motto, 17. “It didn’t matter that it’s not an LDS church. It’s like we were saying, we’re all brothers and sisters and we need to help each other.”
And of course, that’s very much what the youth were saying over at the LDS chapel.
“It was kind of scary when two full buses drove up,” said Corey Trial, 13, one of four active LDS teens from Granby.
“I’ve lived here all my life,” said Mark Bickmore, 14, “I’d never seen that many kids before with the same religion as me.”
Soon Ray Beaty, 16, of Granby, was working side by side with Aurora youth he’d met only that morning. “We get lonely up here, and sometimes we think we’re all alone. But working together like this, I think we’ve formed some friendships that will last.”
And Vickie Adams, 13, the only Granby girl active in Young Women, said, “I’m not used to this many people. It helps me feel like there are other Mormons around.”
The Granby youth and the youth from Aurora did everything at the conference together, not only the service projects, but the other activities as well. They played volleyball together. They played football together. They even played soccer with an oversized ball.
Other activities included a luau with a floor show, a swimming party, and a dance. But the main activity was conversation, a sharing of ideals and fellowship.
“I found out the Church is a lot smaller here,” said Fred Tanquary, 17. “I mean, there are only four kids in the branch. But I think we all had the gospel in common, and they just became a part of us.”
Over the three-day period, the youth from Granby and the youth from Aurora grew comfortable discussing common goals—missionary work, reading and sharing the Book of Mormon, morality and standards, maintaining faith when the world’s full of doubt. That closeness was also reinforced at nightly devotionals, where leaders stressed themes such as “Little Decisions Made Now Have Big Consequences Later,” “Gospel Tips on How to Be Happy,” and “Your Most Important Possession is Your Testimony.”
But of course, as it always is, the final meeting of the conference was the highlight. In a sunlit room at the YMCA of the Rockies, the LDS youth met Granby’s mayor, Jerry Roberts. They presented him with framed historical photos of Granby, and with a Book of Mormon, which they hope he will read. They listened while he expressed the community’s gratitude.
Then the youth and their leaders spent an hour or two talking to each other, speaking from the heart.
One young man who has been struggling to keep the commandments told the rest of the group they had helped him.
“I’ve known for a long time that I need to change some things,” he said. “And being here has helped me see how happy you can be just doing what’s right. I’m making a change. I’m starting over.”
Darla Evans, 17, said she thought it was great to do something at a youth conference besides entertain yourself. “Even the pioneer trek we went on last year—it was challenging, but it was still just for us. This has all been for other people.”
Another young man, a priest, said that he’d only been active in the Church for a year. “This is the only youth conference I’ve ever been to,” he said. “But I’ve really felt the Spirit here.”
Others, like Holly Mattison, 16, talked about living the gospel in a high school where, as a Latter-day Saint, she’s outnumbered. “It’s not always easy,” she said. “There are lots of challenges.” But she said a talk at one of the devotionals reminded her that the Savior loves her, that he knows her by name and will help her to be strong.
Of course, as they talked, the youth also offered an evaluation. “If my mom had asked me to do the same thing in my backyard, I know I wouldn’t have enjoyed it,” said Adriana Velez, 17. “In fact, before we left, I told one of my friends what we were doing, and she said, ‘My parents would never make me do that!’”
Then the president of the Granby Branch, Gary M. Cooper, spoke.
“The branch was formed 15 years ago,” he said, “and I can honestly say that this is the neatest thing’s ever happened to us. We appreciate that you took the time to come up here and bring us into the limelight in our community. It’s something we’ve wanted to do for a long time. You did a lot of work and you cleaned up the community, and that’s important. But what I really hope is that because of your example, someone will accept the gospel. That would be the greatest service of all.”
The Aurora Colorado Stake hasn’t been around that long. It was formed when another stake divided, several months before the Aurora youth went to Granby. Before the stake was divided, the planned youth conference was a river trip. When plans for three days of hard labor in Granby were announced, some of the youth thought they were losing out.
But talk to the youth now, and they’ll rattle on and on about their “service conference.”
You know—the time when they went to Granby, where they learned that work can be a lot of fun.

My younger sister, Hannah, was also studying about the Godhead that week. She said that when her teacher talked about God the Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost being one person, she knew that it was not true. She tried to shut out what was being said by not listening. After Bible class, she went up to her teacher and said, “Joseph Smith said he saw two Personages.” Her teacher was taken aback and asked her to explain what she meant. Hannah explained our church’s teaching about the Godhead, and her teacher listened and was respectful. Afterward, the teacher told our mom that she was proud of Hannah for sharing her beliefs with her. Her teacher even came to watch Hannah get baptized at the beach later that year.

We’ve decided Georg can’t play with us anymore,” Johnny said as he stood up straight.
“Why not?” David asked.
“Come on, you know!” Johnny answered.
“No, I don’t. Georg might be different from us, but that’s no reason to keep him from playing,” David defended.
“Different? Georg is more than different. He’s stupid.”
“He can’t understand, but he’s not stupid!” David exclaimed.
“If you ask me, not understanding is what stupid is,” one of the other boys joined in.
Eleven-year-old David looked helplessly at his cousin. Georg’s innocent face was one big smile as he watched David, who wanted to run and hide and never have to look at that smile again. But that was impossible.
Georg’s parents had died, and Georg had come all the way from his home in Denmark to live with David. David looked again at Johnny and his other friends. Their faces glared from a circle around him, waiting for an answer.
“All right, I’ll take Georg home,” David sighed.
Angry with himself for not knowing what to do, and angry with Georg, David took hold of his cousin’s arm and started toward home.
“No, David,” Georg said as he stood still. “Ball.”
“Georg, you don’t understand,” David said, feeling very helpless. “The guys won’t let you play with them anymore.”
Georg’s smile faded and his eyebrows pushed together very puzzled. Then just as suddenly he smiled again, “Yah, Davy.”
“Georg, they don’t …” David started to explain, and then he realized that Georg wouldn’t understand anyway. “Oh, never mind. Come on!”
David walked a little faster, thinking hard about what had happened. Why did Georg have to come live with me? Why don’t I have an ordinary cousin like everyone else? One who can speak English!
Soon they were home. Georg went to play in the family room and David went to his room and stretched out on his bed to think some more.
“Are you sick?” Mother asked as she came into David’s room to put away some clothes.
“No,” David answered. “I’m just thinking about something.”
“You certainly must be thinking hard. Can I help you?” Mother asked as she sat on the bed.
“I don’t know.” David stared at the ceiling. “Mom, why is Georg the way he is?”
Mother looked surprised, “What do you mean?”
“You know. He’s—well, he’s different,” David replied.
“How do you mean different? He’s the same size as you. As a matter of fact, he’s wearing your clothes. Georg likes the same things you do—chocolate bars and pancakes. And he gets happy or sad over the same things you do.”
“But, Mom, he’s …” David stopped, not sure of how to say what he meant.
“Did something happen today?” Mother asked.
“Yes, the guys wouldn’t let Georg play because they said he isn’t smart enough.”
“Georg is very smart. He doesn’t speak the same language we do, but he’s learning fast. Georg has other traits that make him very special, though, and you don’t need to speak the same language to understand those.”
David looked puzzled. “But my friends don’t want Georg around, and I don’t blame them. He just doesn’t understand when we try to tell him how to do something. What am I supposed to do?”
“I can’t tell you,” Mother advised. “That is something you have to decide for yourself.”
Mother smiled as she stood up. “There are two things you should remember, though. First, Georg loves you very much. Second, Georg may not be able to understand yet, but he is a child of God just like you and your other friends, and Heavenly Father loves him just as He loves you.”
Suddenly Georg ran into the room. “Come, Davy!” he cried breathlessly.
Mother winked at David as she left the room.
“Come, Davy,” Georg urged.
“Oh, all right,” David said, not really wanting to go. “I’ll come.”
Georg took hold of David’s arm as he guided him to the couch. Then he opened a book and started to read. “Vay,” he sounded out a word carefully, smiling that happy smile David knew so well.
“Vay?” David repeated.
“Vay.” Georg’s smile grew bigger and bigger.
David looked at the book. “We! The word is we.”
Georg looked disappointed, but then he smiled again. “Vee,” he said.
David shook his head back and forth. “No, we,” he said as he turned away from his cousin and went back to his room.
Why? Why? Why? he kept thinking as he flopped on the bed. If Georg could only understand, we could have so much fun together!
David had been on his bed only a moment when he heard a soft knock at the door. The door opened slowly, and Georg’s blue eyes peered cautiously around the door.
“Davy?” he asked softly.
David didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at Georg, who walked over to the bed and sat down. Georg spoke slowly, but it was no use. David couldn’t understand. The words just didn’t mean anything to him.
David looked at Georg. He doesn’t understand what I say, but I don’t understand him either. For the first time David began to wonder what Georg must think of him. Maybe Georg thinks I’m stupid because I don’t understand him.
David looked at Georg again. He was still talking as if he were desperately trying to explain something. All at once David knew exactly what Georg was trying to say! He wanted to be friends. He was telling David how much he liked him. David didn’t need to understand Danish, for he could see it in Georg’s face.
Georg had finished talking now, and he sat waiting for an answer. David felt ashamed. Then he smiled and Georg smiled back. Both boys understood without words!
“Dinner is ready,” Mother called.
David motioned to Georg, and they both hurried from the room.
As David passed his mother in the hall, he stopped. “I was wrong, Mom. It isn’t Georg who doesn’t understand—it’s me. And, you know, Georg may not understand English, but he sure understands friendship. And he’s teaching me. Georg really is a special friend.”
Mother smiled. “You know, you’re pretty special yourself,” she replied.
Georg was already at the table. His face was all aglow with his special smile that beamed, “Hi, friend!”
“You know, Mom,” David chuckled, “maybe Georg could teach me Danish!”