Gospel Story Finder

A depressing spirit pervaded the funeral congregation as the services for a young mother who had died in childbirth drew to a close. The eulogies had been eloquent, but many gathered there that day felt some bitterness. How could a loving Father in Heaven allow such a lovely mother to be taken, leaving behind a family of four little ones to be cared for alone by a grieving father?

At the conclusion of the formal program the young father calmly rose from his seat and walked to the pulpit. "I sense your grief and concern," he said quietly, "but there is something I should tell you to comfort you. The first hour after my wife’s death I didn’t know how I could possibly endure it—how I could possibly go on without her. But then a sweet, peaceful spirit filled my soul, and since then I have had the assurance that everything will be all right. Don’t worry about us, we’re going to be just fine."

This same comforting spirit spread throughout the congregation. Everyone went home comforted.

It was just another regular day at school for Sam. Until the cupcakes.
“Today is Ryan’s birthday,” Sam’s teacher, Mrs. Coley, said. “He brought a treat to share with us. Let’s sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ and then I’ll pass these out.”
Sam sat up straight and watched Mrs. Coley lift the lid off the box. The cupcakes stood in neat rows, piled high with swirly red frosting. On top, there were little plastic basketballs.
Sam wanted to sing really fast so they’d be done quick. But everyone sang so slow! He stared at the cupcakes the whole time he sang. The frosting looked like a twisty mountain with a cave full of magical creatures. Maybe the basketballs should’ve been dragons instead! Sam was practically drooling as he stared at the cupcakes.
When the song was finally over, Mrs. Coley called everyone to line up. Sam moved fast, but by the time he got to the front of the classroom, he was all the way at the back of the line. Well, not the very back. Jenny was behind him. Since it was his birthday,
Ryan was first in line. Mrs. Coley handed him a cupcake. Next was Emma. Then Zoey. Sam watched them taste their frosting before they even sat down. They giggled at each other’s red-stained tongues.
After what felt like five million years, it was finally Sam’s turn. “Oh no!” Mrs. Coley said. “I should have counted them first!” Sam glanced in the cupcake box. It was empty. Mrs. Coley was holding the very last cupcake.
Sam looked back at Jenny. There wouldn’t be another cupcake for her. She looked sad.
Mrs. Coley offered Jenny a granola bar, but Sam knew what Jesus would want him to do.
“That’s OK, Mrs. Coley,” Sam said. “Jenny can have it.”
“Are you sure?” Mrs. Coley asked. “I’m so sorry there isn’t one for both of you.”
Sam turned to Jenny. She gave him a small smile.
“Do you want to split it?” Jenny asked.
“That’s a great idea!” Mrs. Coley said. She found a plastic knife and sliced the cupcake in half. She gave one half to Jenny and the other half to Sam.
“Thanks for sharing!” Sam said.
Jenny smiled. “You too.”
Sam felt great as he walked back to his seat with his half of the cupcake. He was glad he chose to be kind to Jenny and that she had shared with him too. He didn’t think anything could make him feel any better. Well … maybe one thing. He took a big bite of his cupcake. Yum!

Turning on the television one afternoon as a break from my studies, I saw a group of boys singing. I’m a serious-minded person and have never had a pop music “idol,” but something about these boys made me stay and listen. They were dressed in white, and as they sang, “Is the answer up above?” my heart responded, “Yes!” I learned they were the Osmonds and that they were Mormons. I decided to read some books about the Mormons, but I couldn’t find any.

One afternoon as I was upstairs studying, I heard a knock at the door. My mother answered it, and I could hear her talking to two young men. As I went downstairs, I heard mother try to give them some excuse and turn them away, but I said I wanted to talk with them. She let them in, closed the door, and went back to her work. The missionaries gave me the first discussion that very afternoon, and I began to get the same feeling I had experienced as a little girl as I ran into the arms of my Heavenly Father.
A week later they came to give me the second lesson, but my mother met them and told them they were not to come again. She told me later the missionaries were only after my money. That night I heard my parents arguing about the Church, and I decided I would not see the missionaries again.
Just before I turned 18 I finished school and decided to go visit one of my friends. She had married my uncle, and they had moved from England to Switzerland. The week I arrived in Switzerland, two Mormon missionaries knocked on their door.
I eagerly asked them to teach me and decided to be baptized after only three visits. Two weeks after my 18th birthday I was baptized. I had found my people, my world, and was in the arms of my Heavenly Father again.

Tom Rehak, the young man behind the counter, is a master of that tradition. He’s a faithful, 18-year-old Latter-day Saint who learned the baker’s art from his father Joseph. To make it official he also completed a two-year baking college curriculum in eight months, passed all the tests with flying colors, and got his baker’s papers.
Tom’s education as a baker began officially when he was 12 years old. At first he only washed the equipment and swept up, but soon he was making cakes and simple tarts. Within a few years he was a competent professional baker, absorbing his father’s ancient craft with an ease that proved he was born to someday be a master baker himself. Working at the long, narrow, wooden table in the small shop on weekends, he began to get the ancient magic in his hands.
Now he works with practiced ease. His hands fly as he mixes dough, bakes, frosts, decorates, glazes, dips, twists, and pinches, and delicious things appear beneath his fingertips. Following his father’s instructions, he uses only the best of everything—real whipped cream, real butter, real chocolate, real everything.
He is now able to handle any aspect of the business, and his father often leaves him totally in charge. He understands the business aspects of the trade. He can keep the books, manage the help, control the inventory, and purchase the supplies, which include orchards of cherries, plantations of pineapple, groves of pecans, islands of coconuts, and dairies of cream.
Tom has a profound respect for his father’s counsel. “My father is constantly giving me guidance in every aspect of my life. When he tells me something about baking pastry, it’s always right. He has never told me anything wrong. Sometimes I think he’s wrong, but when I do what he says, I find out that he is right.
“He also talks to me about girls and other things, and it helps a lot. I really listen to him. A lot of kids think, ‘Oh, my parents don’t know anything,’ but I really try to listen. And I couldn’t ask for anybody better to work with. He naturally drives me harder than anybody else because he’s my father, but we have a fantastic relationship. When we have disagreements, we work them out. The gospel influences all our decisions.
“My father has always been strict with me, which helped a lot, but he has also given me a lot of love. I have friends whose parents aren’t strict with them, and they get into a lot of trouble. My father’s a great man. I love him a lot. I couldn’t ask for better parents. He tells me his experiences in life. We discuss things. If he thinks I should do something and I think I shouldn’t, we’ll discuss it, and we usually come up with a compromise, or else he sticks to his point and I do what he says.”
Tom’s entire family helps make the bakery a success. From the first his mother has played a vital role, selling the products her husband bakes. Tom’s sisters have all helped man the cash register, and his 13-year-old brother Joe is beginning to learn to bake. Every member of the family is a strongly committed Latter-day Saint, and the bakery has been an unfailing fund-raiser and refreshment provider for the Church. Bake sales at Tom’s ward tend to be well attended.
As much as Tom loves baking, the gospel is the most important thing in his life. “I know the gospel is true beyond a shadow of a doubt,” he says. “I know it spiritually, and I know it because it is evident in everything. I see my friends having big problems they can’t handle. By comparison, I’m not having any. I’m in the Church. I’m in good health. I’m striving to prepare myself for a mission because I believe that is the most important choice any 18-year-old going on 19 can make in his life. A mission teaches you to get along with other people and adapt to situations. You learn to understand people. You learn to love others and help them with their problems. I think a mission can make a real change in a man. It will make you a better husband and father someday.”
When Tom speaks about missionaries, he speaks with some authority because over the years a goodly number have dropped by the bakery, and seldom have they gone away empty.
Tom is financing his own mission, largely by selling a car he bought with his bakery salary.
Because of his hard work at the bakery, Tom has had to scramble sometimes to make room for weekday Church activities, but he has managed. Once he worked two days, straight through the clock, to get ahead of schedule so he could go to a youth conference in Palmyra, New York. He was a little tired, but he went.
The whole family put their faith on the line several years ago when they decided to close the shop on Sunday, even though it was one of their best days. They lost some customers after that, but they held firm to their decision, and their ex-customers, lonely for the incomparable pastries, came back and brought friends. Surrounded by this kind of integrity, Tom has learned many principles more important than the secrets of baking.
By the time you read this, Tom may already be on his mission. He may even be working in your ward. You’ll know him. He’ll be the one with the chubby, but happy, companion.

On Friday, Jimmy came home from school tired. He dumped his books on the floor and tossed his jacket onto the couch. But it seemed to him that the picture of Jesus was looking directly at his books on the floor. Jimmy knew that the picture couldn’t really see anything, but he remembered how he had felt before they recognized Brother Park. If Jesus were to come into his home, he wouldn’t want his books to be on the floor. So Jimmy put them away and hung his jacket in the closet. As he munched on an apple and relaxed, he was glad that his house looked neat and clean. He knew that his mom would be glad too.

I served the first 11 months of my mission in Utah instead of where I had been assigned. This reassignment came because of the COVID-19 pandemic. I spoke my native language, ate food I was comfortable with, and visited familiar faces and places. It was amazing!
When travel restrictions lifted, I spent the remaining seven months of my mission in the beautiful Dominican Republic (my original assignment). I walked hours along the bright and lively streets, spoke Spanish, ate a ton of plantains and mangos, and taught the gospel of Jesus Christ to some of the most humble, fun, and faithful people I’ve ever met. This was also absolutely amazing!

It was really late, and my sister was asleep, but I was still up reading. I held my book and flashlight under the covers. If Mom or Dad came to see if I was still awake, I could switch off my flashlight, close my eyes, and they’d never know I wasn’t really asleep.
I just couldn’t put my book down yet. It was full of scary stories, and I had to know what happened next.
Scritch, scritch. I jumped. What was that sound? It was coming from my window. It sounded just like in the story I was reading, where a girl was hiding from a ghost in her house.
I shivered as the sound came again. Scritch, scritch, meow. I slowly let out my breath. It was just our cat scratching the window. Maybe it was time to put the book down and go to sleep.
I stuck my bookmark between the pages and hid the book under my pillow. Then I switched off the flashlight. Now it was totally dark. The bed creaked as I rolled over. What was that shadow in the corner? Had that been there before?
I pulled the covers up over my head and tried to fall asleep. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the girl in the story. What would I do if a ghost was in my house?!
Ghosts aren’t real, I told myself. It’s just a story. I kept telling myself that, and finally I fell asleep.
The next day was a book sale at school. I’d been saving up my chore money for weeks. When it was my class’s turn, I went straight to the scary stories.
At the bottom of the stack was a book with an old picture of a creepy house. “I bet it’s haunted,” I told my friend Julia. I tucked it under my arm and found two other books to try.
That night I started my new books. I read straight through the first one. You had to read scary stories fast. If you thought about something scary for too long, it just made you more scared.
But the next day, as I started reading the book with the haunted house, I did stop to think. I’d been reading scary stories for days. I’d hardly set the books down. I’d hardly even left my room. And my brain was full of lots of scary things. I thought about ghosts and people getting lost in the woods and monsters that tricked and ate you. All that stuff made me scared—even while sitting in my safe room with the sun shining through the window.
I set my book down and took a deep breath. These books didn’t make me happy. They didn’t make me feel good. I was sad about lots of things, and these books just made me feel worse.
I closed my eyes and leaned against my bed. Dear Heavenly Father, I prayed, I don’t think these scary books are very good for me. Please help me know what to do and to be strong enough to do it.
When I opened my eyes, I looked down at my new books. “I don’t need these,” I said. It was time to find something that made me feel happy, not scared and sad.
Turn to page 20 to find some great books to read!
I picked up the books and pulled the rest of my scary stories off my shelf. It was a lot of books. But I carried them all to our recycling bin. I felt much lighter as I dumped them in.
And when I walked away, I didn’t look back.

Tyson had just moved to Big Forest. He didn’t know anyone, and he did not make friends easily. When anyone spoke to him, he withdrew into his shell. He was sitting on the bank of the stream that ran through Big Forest, wishing for someone to play with, when Sorrell Squirrel came racing by. “Hi,” chattered Sorrell, skidding to a halt. “I’m Sorrell Squirrel. Who are you?”
“Hello,” said Tyson from inside his shell. “I’m Tyson Turtle.”
“I’m going to the birthday party,” chattered Sorrell. “Want to come with me?”
“I wasn’t invited,” said Tyson, shyly peeping out from under his shell.
“Everyone in Big Forest is invited,” said Sorrell. “It’s the forest queen’s birthday.”
“I don’t have a present for her,” said Tyson.
“You don’t need one,” said Sorrell. “Each year when the queen has her party, instead of receiving gifts, she gives them.”
“I’d love to go,” said Tyson.
Tyson and Sorrell set out for the queen’s court in the center of Big Forest. Sorrell chattered happily as he jumped from one tree to the next. Tyson plodded along on the ground below, listening to Sorrell.
“Besides giving everyone a present, the forest queen grants a wish to someone who is really deserving,” said Sorrell.
“What do you have to do to deserve it?” asked Tyson.
“Something very courageous,” said Sorrell.
“Oh,” said Tyson. I could never get my wish, he thought. I’m certainly not brave. I wish I could be brave and not timid.
Soon they reached the clearing in the forest where the queen held court. Tyson had never seen anything so beautiful. The court was in a clearing surrounded by tall, green ferns. The queen, dressed in a long, flowing white robe, was sitting on her toadstool throne. Her hair was the color of sun-ripened wheat. On her head was a shining crown, and she held a scepter in her hand.
Sorrell and Tyson walked along the moss-carpeted path leading to the throne. “Your Majesty,” said Sorrell, “I am Sorrell Squirrel, and this is Tyson Turtle.”
“Welcome to my birthday party, Sorrell and Tyson,” said the queen. “I am so happy that you could come. Enjoy yourselves. There are treats for everyone.”
Tyson’s face burned with embarrassment. He bowed, but he just could not bring himself to speak to her. He walked over to the place where all the other animals were gathered. There was a large bowl of nuts for Sorrell Squirrel, a big green leaf for Prudy Porcupine, a bowl of honey for Boris Bear, a wedge of cheese for Morty Mouse, a bowl of ripe acorns for Chauncey Chipmunk, and berries and other goodies for all the other animals.
The animals ate the food, then chose up sides to play games. No one asked Tyson to join in, and he was too timid to ask. He sat off to one side, watching the others have fun. He peered out and sniffed the air. An unpleasant odor was tickling his nose. Smoke! thought Tyson. Where there’s smoke there’s fire. “Fire!” he shouted, forgetting for once that he was timid.
“Everyone down to the stream,” said the queen. “Quickly now—there’s no time to waste.”
“The water is deep and swift,” said Myrna Mole. “How shall we little creatures get across?” The larger animals had already started across the stream. Some were already on the other side. The smaller animals were afraid to jump into the rapidly flowing water.
“Climb onto my back,” said Tyson. “I’ll take you across.”
Myrna Mole and Morty Mouse climbed up onto Tyson’s back, and he swam across the stream. When they were safe on the other side, Tyson went back to help more of the smaller animals across. He made many trips back and forth across the stream until everyone was safe on the other side. The fire came down to the stream but could not cross it. Thanks to Tyson, all the animals were safe on the other side.
“Hurray for Tyson!” shouted the animals.
The forest queen came over to Tyson and kissed his very red cheek. “Tyson, from now on you will not be called Timid Tyson. You will be known as Sir Tyson because of your courage.” She touched his shoulder with her scepter and said, “I dub thee Sir Tyson, Brave Knight of Big Forest.”
Tyson gave the queen a big, happy grin. “I didn’t know that I was being brave,” he said. “Thank you, Your Majesty, for making my wish come true.”
“I didn’t do anything, Tyson,” said the queen. “You did it all yourself. When you saw someone else in trouble, you tried to help, and you forgot about being timid.”
“Hurray for Sir Tyson!” yelled all the animals.

A wonderful example of this philosophy was shared by Arthur Gordon many years ago in a national magazine. He wrote:
“When I was around thirteen and my brother ten, Father had promised to take us to the circus. But at lunchtime there was a phone call; some urgent business required his attention downtown. We braced ourselves for disappointment. Then we heard him say [into the phone], ‘No, I won’t be down. It’ll have to wait.’
“When he came back to the table, Mother smiled. ‘The circus keeps coming back, you know.’
“ ‘I know,’ said Father. ‘But childhood doesn’t.’ ”

On the day of tithing settlement, I was getting ready to go with my family to talk with the bishop. I couldn’t find my money. After looking in all the normal places for a while, I was getting worried that I couldn’t be a full-tithe payer. I prayed and felt prompted to look under the couch in our living room. The couch seemed like an unusual place to look, but I followed the Spirit and went to look there. My change purse with the money in it was right where I was prompted to look! I was happy that I followed the prompting and that I could go to tithing settlement and be a full-tithe payer. I am so glad that I received the gift of the Holy Ghost when I was baptized, because He will help me and guide me throughout my life.Ashley Field, age 9Wildwood, Missouri

I grew up in Coronel, Chile. When I was seven years old, I memorized a poem of fourteen verses and recited it before an audience of twelve hundred people. After that experience, I developed an increased desire to read more. I read about four little books a week. At that time my mother gave me a Bible. When I was twelve, I read the Bible in about ten months. I was impressed with the history of the Old Testament, and with the Atonement of the Savior in the New Testament. All my life I tried to find another book of scripture that would teach me more about these things.
When I started meeting with the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, they used a spectacular way to motivate me to read the Book of Mormon. Whenever I had a question, they opened it and read the answer from it. I wondered what kind of book it was. Finally they asked me if I wouldn’t like to read the book. I said, “Yes, I would!” They gave me a Book of Mormon as a gift, and I was extremely glad. I read it in three weeks and was very impressed with its teachings. At the end of that time, I was baptized into the Church. I have a great testimony about the influence of the scriptures in the life of a person.
My wife, Blanca, and I have three children and six grandchildren. We love our children and all children. One of the greatest expressions of love for children that I have seen occurred when I was serving as a stake president in Chile. President Spencer W. Kimball visited Chile for an area conference. Members of the Church from four countries met together in a stadium that held about fifteen thousand people. We asked President Kimball what he would like to do after the conference. His eyes full of tears, he said, “I would like to see the children.” One of the priesthood leaders announced over the microphone that President Kimball would like to shake the hands or bless each of the children in the stadium. The people were astounded—there was a great silence. President Kimball greeted about two thousand children one by one, crying as he shook their hands or kissed them or put his hands on their heads and blessed them. The children were very reverent and looked at him and cried too. He said he’d never felt this kind of spirit in his life. It was a tremendous moment in the lives of all the Church members there. We felt closer to our children, too, because of this experience with President Kimball.
I love President Gordon B. Hinckley very much. He called me to be a Seventy in 1990. I was the first Chilean called as a General Authority. It was a beautiful moment in my life. However, when I was called, I didn’t speak any English. President Hinckley, who was then First Counselor in the First Presidency, blessed me when he set me apart that I would learn English quickly.
I have two gifts that helped me to learn English quickly. My first gift is a good memory. That has been my salvation in many jobs. The other gift is my persistence. If I have a job to do, I work and work at it until it’s done. When I began to learn English at age fifty-two, I studied it five hours a day, when I had time. I listened to audio tapes every morning, then studied grammar for an hour, which was difficult for me. After that, I read the conference talks in English and listened to them on tape at the same time. I memorized about ten new vocabulary words per day. Then I read aloud in English to practice pronunciation, and I listened to English on an international news station so that I could test my understanding of what was said.
Six months after being called as a General Authority, I prepared intensely for giving my first general conference talk in English. My talk was on the Word of Wisdom.
I have had experiences with seven prophets of the Church, from President David O. McKay until now. They have all been great leaders. Now it is a blessing for the Church to have the presence of President Hinckley. It is easy to love him and to express our love to him. He is very warm with us, and he loves us.
I am grateful for all you marvelous children in the Church, and I ask you to follow Jesus Christ, our beloved Leader.

Hamilton was a small boy with short legs. He wished that he were as tall as his daddy so that he could look over the fence and see his friend’s new puppy.
He wished that he were as tall as his mommy so that he could see all the good things to eat on the pantry shelves.
When he went to Grandma and Grandpa’s house, he wished that he were as tall as they were so that he could get out some games without having to bother them.
“Grandpa,” he said, “I wish that I were tall. Then I could see as much as you and Grandma and Mommy and Daddy.”
Grandpa looked at Hamilton.
“I see what the trouble is,” he said. “You have short legs. What you need are tall ones.”
“How do I get tall ones?” Hamilton asked.
“Let’s make some,” Grandpa told him.
Grandpa found two long boards and two short boards. He took some nails out of a glass jar and nailed the short boards to the long ones.
Then he showed Hamilton how to put his feet on the short boards and hold on to the long boards and walk around.
“These are called stilts,” Grandpa said. “When you walk on them, you will have tall legs.”
Hamilton was very happy. Now he could see in Grandma and Grandpa’s toy closet without having to bother them. Now he could find the bread and peanut butter in the pantry all by himself. And now he could look over the fence and see his friend’s new puppy.
“Arf!” said the puppy, wagging his tail very fast. Now he could see Hamilton too!

Sister Dolly Nyandeni, from the Dobsonville Ward in the Soweto Stake, loves family history and explains how she got started: “I attended the family history class at church and learned more about the filling of the pedigree chart and other important aspects about my family.”
“Through fasting and prayer, the Holy Ghost guided me to know other things such as names and dates that were needed for my ancestors. Also, family gatherings helped me to obtain more information.”
“I gained more insight in Malachi 4:5–6. The prophet Elijah taught about the turning the hearts of children to their fathers and of fathers to their children, before the coming of the dreadful day of the Lord. That gave me insight into the bond and love we have with our ancestors. They are with us in spirit.”

After the first area conference in Paris, we traveled to Helsinki, Finland. President Kimball had been actively working now for three days. He was up early every morning, worked a very heavy schedule throughout the day, and then went to bed late at night. His responsibilities were greater than anyone else’s.
His job included not only presiding and conducting, but he spoke for long periods of time using a translator. He had held an exhausting press conference and had interviewed and set apart many local Church authorities. We boarded an airplane late in the evening for Helsinki. It was necessary to change planes in Copenhagen, and as we walked through the hallways of the airport, President Kimball carried a travel bag with his suits in it. I had a free hand and walked up and said, “President Kimball, let me carry that.” He turned and said, “No, thank you, I have to have a reason for being here.” He was almost serious in humbly expressing his desire to carry his own weight; he didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. I was impressed with that same beautiful attitude during the entire trip.

Many years ago, I traveled on a small plane with a newly certified pilot at the controls. At the end of our flight, we were cleared to land. But as we neared the ground, I heard an alarm in the cockpit warn the pilot to “pull up.” The pilot looked to the more experienced copilot, who pointed in a downward direction, away from the runway, and said, “Now!”
Our plane rapidly moved to the left and down, then climbed back to an appropriate altitude, reentered the landing pattern, and arrived safely at our destination. We later learned that another aircraft had been cleared for takeoff. Had we followed the instructions of the alarm, we would have veered into, rather than away from, the oncoming plane. This experience taught me two important lessons: First, at critical moments in our lives, we will hear multiple voices competing for our attention. And second, it is vital that we listen to the right ones.

For the world premiere showing of The Great American Cowboy, our investors invited about a thousand people to attend. There were only a few members of the Church involved. The obvious question came up, “What will we serve the press? We must have a bar set up for the press in the lobby of the theater to get them excited to write some good stuff. We have got to serve cocktails at this premiere.” I said, “There will be no cocktails at any premiere I have any control over.” And since I had control over it, I said, “No way!”

“Oh now, Kieth, you’ve got to be reasonable. There will be hundreds of people there, and they don’t care whether you’re a Mormon or not.” I said, “I care. There will be no liquor. I mean zero liquor in that entire theater the night of my premiere.”

I’d already made that decision. There was no discussion. The decision had been made years before.

The night of the premiere rolled around; the people came, and they went in. My wife and I went in long enough to realize that people weren’t going to get up and leave, and we were delighted and thrilled. We went out into the lobby to be alone and reflect. As we sat down in the lobby, guess who walked in the door? Elder Marion D. Hanks! I didn’t know where he came from; I didn’t even know he’d been invited. But Marion D. Hanks walked in. If we’d had a bar set up with cocktail glasses all over the place when Marion D. Hanks walked in, it would have been like hitting the rocks after jumping off the cliff.

So don’t compromise! Make your decisions now and only make them once!

I started skateboarding in the seventh grade with a group of my friends. Skateboarding was huge at my school in California. Most of the guys and some girls I knew skated on a regular basis.
I was a street skater. I didn’t like going to skate parks because of the people there. I was honestly scared of the kinds of people who showed up at the skate parks.
As my friends and I continued on our “skating careers,” we became fairly good. We were able to receive sponsorships from local skate shops, which meant we got free skateboards, shirts, pants, etc. It was awesome and a really fun sport to pursue.
But, as with anything else, there were temptations.
As we gained more confidence in our skills, my friends and I started traveling to different skate spots and parks, and we started meeting many new, different kinds of people. Unfortunately, the skaters we met all had one thing in common: smoking. Every skater smoked, it seemed. My freshman year, my friends gave in to the temptation and began smoking. Still, I didn’t think much of it, because I’d decided I would never do that.
As time went on, my relationship with my friends grew weaker. We didn’t have the same interests anymore. They used drugs or alcohol every weekend. I could see them throwing away their lives. I couldn’t believe how bad it had become.
One Saturday morning, one of them asked me, “How did you stay away from it, man? Why can’t I be like you? You have something special in your life.” It was then that I realized it was because I’d always held myself to the Church standards.
I owe my ability to resist smoking and the other temptations to the little things. Even as my life got very busy with school, family, Church, dating, sports, and friends, I stuck to the plain and simple things. I read my scriptures, said my prayers, went to Mutual, and went to church. I know that if I hadn’t given myself the spiritual nourishment I needed every day, then I may have given in to temptation.
I know we must do the little things in the gospel. They will give us the strength we need to stay strong and avoid temptation.

In the 1960s, during the Vietnam War, Church member Jay Hess, an airman, was shot down over North Vietnam. For two years his family had no idea whether he was dead or alive. His captors in Hanoi eventually allowed him to write home but limited his message to less than 25 words. What would you and I say to our families if we were in the same situation—not having seen them for over two years and not knowing if we would ever see them again? Wanting to provide something his family could recognize as having come from him and also wanting to give them valuable counsel, Brother Hess wrote—and I quote: “These things are important: temple marriage, mission, college. Press on, set goals, write history, take pictures twice a year.”

He served two missions. The first was in behalf of the Young Men’s/Young Women’s Mutual Improvement Association (YMMIA), working with the youth in southern Utah settlements. The second call came a week after his May 1892 marriage to Lucy Emily Woodruff. His new wife joined him in the Southern States Mission where they both served in the mission office.
In those days, persecution against Mormons was still rampant in the Southern United States. Elder Smith was once with a group of fellow missionaries in a log cabin that was under seige by a mob. While the missionaries huddled against the floor, a barrage of bullets poured into the room. Yet, through all this experience, there was no bitterness on Elder Smith’s part, just a determination to work harder to “share the gospel with the rest of God’s children.”

Illustration by George Ermos
Vern’s eyes snapped open as he woke up. Today would be the day. He just knew it! He jumped out of bed and hurried to the back door.
Vern flung open the door and stepped onto the porch. The cold cement stung his bare feet.
There was the bench, just like normal.
And there on the bench was … nothing at all. No model airplane, just like normal.
Vern’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t understand,” he muttered. “Am I praying wrong or something?”
He went back inside and poured a bowl of cereal. Does Heavenly Father answer prayers, or not? he wondered.
As he ate his breakfast, Vern thought back to a few weeks ago, when he went to church for the first time. The teacher who taught the lesson said that you can pray about anything at anytime, anywhere. Heavenly Father always hears your prayers! Vern felt warm and happy inside as the teacher talked about prayer.
So he started praying! Each night he prayed for what he wanted more than anything else—a model airplane. “Please put it on the bench on the back porch,” he’d pray. And for two weeks now, he had run out to check the porch every morning. But the plane never appeared.
Vern finished his breakfast and got ready for the day. On his way to school, he couldn’t stop thinking about prayers and airplanes. As he walked past an empty field, something caught his eye. Someone had thrown away a couple of old wooden fruit crates.
Maybe I can build a plane out of those, he thought.
All day at school Vern imagined what kind of plane he could build with the crates. Pretty soon his notebook was full of drawings of his ideas.
After school, Vern ran back to the empty field as fast as he could. He picked up one of the crates and carried it home.
First he pulled out all the nails and stacked the boards on the ground. Then he got the old saw and kitchen knife Mom let him use as tools. He was carefully cutting one of the boards into the shape of an airplane wing when Mom got home from work.
“What’s that?” Mom asked.
“An old crate,” he said. “I’m using it to build a model plane!”
Mom looked impressed. “That sounds like a great idea.”
Every day after school, Vern worked on his airplane. Little by little, he kept shaping the wood. He didn’t have anybody to show him what to do. But somehow he always figured out what to do next.
Vern was grinning widely when he showed his mom the finished model.
“Wow!” Mom said. “You did this all by yourself?”
He nodded. The plane had turned out even better than he’d hoped!
As Vern showed Mom all the cutting, sanding, and nailing he’d done, he suddenly realized something. His prayers had been answered after all! They just hadn’t been answered the way he was expecting. Instead of giving him a plane, Heavenly Father helped him figure out how to build his own. Prayer did work.
That evening, Vern took his airplane outside and set it on the bench. “Heavenly Father, thanks for helping me make this plane,” he prayed. “I promise to take good care of it!”
When Vern grew up, he fixed and flew planes for a living. He knows God guided his life all along, including his love and understanding of airplanes.