Gospel Story Finder

When I was 16, I participated in a student foreign-exchange program for a year. I went from my home in Ukraine to a small town in Arizona, USA, where I stayed with a Latter-day Saint family. I had never heard of Latter-day Saints before.
The exchange program didn’t allow the family to preach to me, and I wasn’t allowed to meet with the missionaries. But I chose to attend church with my host family and participate in all Church activities.
I felt the Spirit with that family, and I felt much love at church. At that time I didn’t know that what I was feeling was the Spirit, but my heart was touched.
When I returned to Ukraine, I missed that feeling very much. I remembered how my life was when I went to church and lived gospel teachings. I realized what was missing, but there was no church and no missionaries where I lived, so I thought I would never have that feeling again.
About four years later, however, some missionaries knocked on my door. I was so happy to see them. While they were out working, they had listened to the Spirit, which led them to my house. I’m so grateful they were obedient. I was baptized and confirmed soon afterward.
Since then I have been sealed in the Stockholm Sweden Temple to my husband, a returned missionary who is from Russia. And now there’s a temple in Kyiv. We plan to attend regularly.
The temple is the most amazing place on earth. It is a place where you can be close to Heavenly Father. I feel so grateful that in the temple we can receive one of the greatest gifts given to us by Heavenly Father: to be sealed as families for eternity.
I am grateful to the members of that Latter-day Saint family who helped me feel the Spirit, starting me on a journey that would lead me to a family of my own that is sealed together forever.

Lucia wiped away a tear. She didn’t want the other kids to see. She left the school grounds and hurried toward home.
Lucia lived on a small, beautiful island. She was the only member of the Church at school. Everybody else went to the same church. They teased Lucia and wouldn’t play with her because she was different.
That wasn’t the only problem. Sometimes the teachers ignored Lucia when she raised her hand.
“But today was the worst!” Lucia thought. She kicked a pebble down the road. During class, the teacher read some Bible verses that Lucia didn’t understand. They made it sound like Heavenly Father, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost were the same person. Then the teacher said there were some churches that didn’t believe what the Bible taught. She looked straight at Lucia. Everybody in class laughed.
Lucia was confused. Weren’t Heavenly Father, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost separate? What was going on?
Suddenly she had a happy thought. She could ask the missionaries! They came to Lucia’s village every day. “They’ll know how to help!” she thought.
When Lucia got home, she saw Sister Brown and Sister Ruiz. They were helping pump water up to a tank on the roof.
Lucia asked her question right away. “Why does the Bible say Heavenly Father and Jesus are the same person?”
Sister Brown smiled. “That’s a good question. After lunch let’s look for some scriptures to help.”
Lucia hardly tasted any of the yummy ropa vieja stew Mama had made. All she wanted was the answer!
Finally lunch was over. Lucia and the missionaries opened their scriptures. They read about Joseph Smith’s vision. Then they read about Jesus’s baptism. Both scriptures showed that Heavenly Father, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost were separate.
“So why do those other scriptures say they’re the same?” asked Lucia.
Sister Brown started turning the pages. “Let’s read in John 17. That’s where Jesus prays to Heavenly Father about His Apostles.”
They all took turns reading. In the scriptures, Jesus prayed that His Apostles “may be one” like He and Heavenly Father are one. Lucia counted three different times He said it.
“The Apostles couldn’t all become the same person,” Sister Ruiz said. “But they could become one in how they believed and acted. That’s how Heavenly Father, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost are one.”
Lucia began to feel warm inside. She knew it was the Holy Ghost. He was telling her that what Sister Ruiz said was true.
Heavenly Father and Jesus weren’t the same person. But They were the same in what They said and did. And Lucia knew that They both loved her.

Johnny was unhappy. There was no one to play with him. Todd had gone to visit his grandmother. Scott was on a fishing trip with his father. Mother was in the kitchen making bread. Baby was asleep in his room.
It had rained yesterday, but now the sun had broken through the clouds. Johnny was anxious to go outside.
“May I go out to play?” Johnny asked Mother.
“Yes,” she answered, “but be back in time for lunch.”
Johnny pulled on his shoes and ran outside. He skipped down the sidewalk to a field of tall grass. Everything smelled fresh and new after the rain.
When Johnny reached the edge of the field, he turned a cartwheel and rolled to the bottom of the grassy slope.
Lying in the tall grass, Johnny pretended he was in a jungle.
Then he imagined he was in a forest in the mountains. Finally Johnny pretended he was a small worm squirming through the grass.
But playing all alone wasn’t much fun.
Johnny looked up at the sun. It seemed to be dancing through great white puffs of clouds.
The wind shaped the clouds into an elephant with big floppy ears and a long trunk.
Behind the elephant Johnny saw a fat bear dancing along with the sun, a boat, two fish, a dog, and a car.
The car reminded Johnny that Daddy would soon be home for lunch. Johnny looked up again at the sky. The car in the clouds was gone, but he could see Daddy’s car parked by his house.
Mother was putting the baby in the high chair as Johnny came into the house. The kitchen was full of good warm smells.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Mother smiled. “Were you lonely all by yourself in the field?”
“No,” Johnny answered happily, thinking about all the things in the clouds he had seen floating through the sky. “I found some new friends today!”

The case of a young man, the father of four children, whom we called upon to speak in a stake conference in eastern Utah, emphasizes the desirability of family traditions, special occasions, and warm family relationships.
On each anniversary of their marriage, this couple planned something special to do. Now they had looked forward as a family to observing their tenth anniversary. The father arranged his vacation to cover that period of time. But suddenly it became necessary for his wife to enter the hospital for surgery. He and the children felt sorry for her because she was in the hospital. At the same time she was sad, thinking that her husband and the children would be disappointed. But when she read the little note that came with a bouquet of flowers, she felt better, for it read: “Sweetheart, ten years with you have seemed like ten days, but ten days without you have seemed like ten years.” Signed, “Bill.”

One day at the end of November 2000, I went to school and found out that my friend Jonathan B.’s house had burned down during the night. He and his family had gotten out safely, but their house and all the things in it had burned to the ground. I felt very sad for him, and I knew I had to do something to help. I thought about it all that day.
When my mom picked me up from school, I told her what had happened and that I wanted to buy a new backpack and some toys for Jonathan. She said that she would be happy to take me shopping for these things.
When we got home from school, she called my teacher and asked for the phone number and address of Jonathan’s grandma’s house, which is where his family was staying. She then called there and asked if we could come over later and see him. She found some nice clothes that I had outgrown but that were just the right size for him. Then Mom, my sister Michelle, and I went shopping.
I chose a backpack that I knew he would really like. Then I picked out some toys to fill the backpack. I felt really happy when we took everything to Jonathan. He did really like the backpack, and he was happy to have some toys to play with.
His mom hugged me and thanked me for being so kind to him. My mom and dad told me that they were very pleased that I had chosen to do something so nice for somebody else. I knew that the good feelings I had inside were from the Holy Ghost, letting me know that I had done the right thing.

I knelt beside my three-year-old and listened to his scrambled bedtime prayer: “I’m thankful for Mommy and Daddy, snow and clouds. I’m thankful for Santa Claus. I’m thankful for pizza and my big brother. Thank you for food. Thank you for everything.”
I waited as he hesitated. With such a long inventory of blessings, I assumed he was deciding between continuing his list or jumping into his warm, inviting bed. After a long pause, he hastily added, “Oh, and please bless our dumb old cat.” He then finished his prayer with an emphatic amen.

Recently a friend of mine was returning to his home in Salt Lake City on a plane from Dallas, Texas. His mind was focused upon an important event that was soon to occur in his family. His only son would be leaving home in just a few days to serve as a missionary in a far-distant land. His great love for his son caused him to reflect, “If my son is going so far away to teach about our Church, this had better be the best church!” Then he took out a notepad and pen and began to list the characteristics or qualities one would look for in the best church.
“There should be a program to build and strengthen youth,” he wrote, “an athletic program, a wholesome activity program, a program for teaching and training children, a program for developing the skills and talents of women, a program to provide for the needy, for the ill, for the lonely, for the victims of catastrophes and disasters, a program to provide opportunities for work and service, a program to assist families and individuals in spiritual development and progress.”
His list became long and impressive, and he satisfied himself that his church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, offered a program to meet the need of every individual. Truly, he determined, it is the best church his son could represent!
My friend felt so good about his list of attractive qualities of the best church that he decided to show it to the gentleman seated next to him on the plane. The man, an executive from a financial firm, responded with interest and respect. Together they reviewed the list, and as they concluded their conversation the businessman asked my friend, “Would you like to know what I would look for in a church? There is just one criterion: the members of that church would best exemplify the teaching of the Savior—‘Love thy neighbor as thyself.’”
My friend said he learned an important lesson from that experience. He had taught this fine man about the programs of the Church without acknowledging that the purpose of these programs is to help members learn how to love God and their fellowmen. He has shared that experience with me and permitted me to share it with you today that we might all be reminded of this.

I have been a missionary for the past nine months and had many wonderful opportunities to serve within my local community. I saw firsthand what we can do when we work together with other faiths, just as the Saviour did.
My service mission leaders encouraged me to look for my own service opportunities in my community, and one I came across was with the RAF Manston History Museum, where I helped them to clean and get the museum ready for all the visitors. Another I found is at the Thanet Winter Shelter run by the Salvation Army where I cook meals for the residents on a Saturday night.

A few days ago I was looking through my money when I noticed a hole in my tithing envelope. I opened it to make sure all of what I owed was still there, and I found that I was missing a quarter. I had two choices: I could put another quarter in, or I could pretend there never was one in it. I chose to put another quarter in. I knew I had made the right choice because I had a happy feeling the rest of the day.

On a memorable Christmas Eve in 1937, Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin, then a full-time missionary, and his companion walked from Salzburg, Austria, to the village of Oberndorf, nestled in the Bavarian Alps. While visiting the village known as the inspiration for the hymn “Silent Night,”1 they paused in a small church to listen to Christmas music sung by a choir.
“A crisp, clear winter night enveloped us as we began our return trip,” Elder Wirthlin recalled. “We walked under a canopy of stars and across the smooth stillness of new-fallen snow.”2
As they walked, the young missionaries shared their hopes, dreams, and goals for the future. In that heavenly setting, Elder Wirthlin renewed his commitment to serve the Lord: “I made up my mind that I would magnify any callings I received in the Lord’s kingdom.”3

I think when people look at missions, they often see service missions as a “lesser” mission compared to a teaching mission. I’ll admit that when I was applying for my mission, I had some of these feelings. My priesthood leaders, the Missionary Department, and I worked on my application for over six months. I wanted to serve a teaching mission. I felt that I needed to.
Eventually, I met with my stake president, and I learned I was called to a service mission. My path was headed in a different direction than I originally anticipated, but surprisingly, I felt peace. I knew it was right.
Since starting my mission, I’ve been able to keep people company while they sit alone in cancer infusion rooms and serve in the temple as an ordinance worker. I’ve also had the opportunity to write articles for YA Weekly, using my love for writing to help bring light and hope to others.
I believe that I may have been able to go on a full-time teaching mission. However, I know that when I received my assignment to serve as a service missionary, it was much less about my mental health and far more about where the Lord needed me the most. I think I would have missed the deeply personal experiences that I’ve had on my service mission.

It’s funny how you never really appreciate something until it’s gone. At least, that’s how I felt the day I realized that my reputation had become quite ugly. I guess I better back up a bit and tell you how I came to that point.
I’ve been LDS my whole life, and I was always a basically good kid. Then I entered ninth grade. Everything went downhill from there. I was so tired of being teased about being a goody-goody. I never intended to ever do anything really wrong. I just didn’t want to be hassled anymore. So I came up with what seemed like a great plan. Looking back I realize it was pretty stupid.
I decided I would lead a double life. When I was at church or with LDS friends, I would act the part of a perfect Mormon. When I was with my nonmember friends, I would go wherever they went, talk like them, and try to seem like one of them. I figured that as long as I didn’t drink their beer or smoke their pot I was still okay. Unfortunately, I was living a lie with both groups of friends. You can’t get away with a lie for very long. It wasn’t long before my LDS friends started to keep their distance. One girl told me that her mother had told her she couldn’t hang around with me anymore because I smoked pot and drank. She didn’t want her daughter being influenced by me. It just wasn’t true! But how do you convince someone of that when all of your actions point to a different conclusion?
My friends from school started seeing the lie too. My first kiss was in the backseat of a stranger’s car with a boy whose name I didn’t even know. He wanted to go farther than I was willing to. Later, his friend told me it was time I started following through on the life I was claiming to live. My partying friends decided that it was time to prove I was one of them, so they planned a little pot party in my honor for the last day of school. I didn’t go to school that day. It was the coward’s way out, but deep down inside I knew they weren’t really my friends.
That was when I realized how foolish I’d been. I had destroyed my reputation in six short months! My LDS friends didn’t believe a thing I said, and my nonmember friends thought I was a jerk—all talk and no play.
What took a short six months to destroy took years to rebuild. For the next full year I worked very hard to prove to the good kids that I was one of them. Every time I thought I had succeeded my past would come back to haunt me.
The summer after I was in tenth grade our girls’ church basketball team won the regional play-offs. We would be going to the area play-offs 1,000 miles away. We would be traveling with the boys’ team that won the regionals. I couldn’t believe what my coach said about me after that trip. She said that when we left home she had been sure she’d be sending me home early. After all she’d heard about me, she was just sure that I would get into some kind of trouble. She said she was surprised and pleased to discover that I was the best-behaved girl on the trip. I couldn’t believe it! I realized people were still judging me by the friends I’d had over a year ago. I’d never done any of the things people were saying I’d done in the past, but because of the people I’d associated with, the places I’d been seen, and the way I had dressed, everyone assumed I’d done the same awful things my friends had! I was guilty by association. Everywhere I went people were watching, testing me, judging me—all because of some choices I’d made in the past. It was so unfair, yet something I had to live with. You can’t fix a ruined reputation overnight.
Even in my senior year I had to defend my reputation! I met a boy that I really wanted to go out with. Finally, things clicked and we were really talking, the kind of talk where you feel so good and so close to someone. Then he shocked me into reality. I couldn’t believe I was actually sitting there hearing him tell me that he really liked me, but that he couldn’t date me because his standards were different than mine! He wouldn’t date someone who didn’t live the gospel. I was totally speechless. He had heard about things that I had supposedly done over three years ago. It took me several months to prove to him that the stories from my past were rumors and falsehoods. I am amazed to this day that a ruined reputation could have such far-reaching effects. You never know how the things you are doing—or even just pretending to be doing—are going to affect your tomorrows! It’s so much better to keep your reputation clean and intact than to play games with such a valuable possession.
I’d like to be able to say that the story ends there, that I went to college and left my blemished reputation behind me. But there is one more unfortunate chapter. What did my six months of spoiling my reputation do for me? Four years later, it nearly had disastrous consequences. A boy who knew me in ninth grade had moved away from our town to a different state just after ninth grade. He ended up at the same college I did, and when we bumped into each other one day, he introduced me to a friend. I’ll never know what he told him about me, but somehow his friend decided that he had found himself an “easy” pickup. One night, after going out with the friend I’d assumed was a good guy, I found myself trapped in a car with a person who was not prepared to take no for an answer. He actually had the gall to tell me that he “knew all about me” and he wasn’t going to let me go without “his share of the goodies”! I will forever be grateful to a loving Heavenly Father who inspired a campus policeman to patrol the stadium parking lot, “just one more time.”
Please, oh please, learn from my mistake. No number of “friends” or invitations to parties, no degree of “popularity” is worth the years of heartache a ruined reputation can cause you. However, if you find that your reputation is worse than you are, remember that Heavenly Father knows you very well and his judgment is always fair. If you sincerely try, you can eventually reclaim your good name. But how much richer and fuller your life can be if you never let your reputation slip. The value of the gospel in your life is far greater than the cheap, temporary thrill of a moment of being “in.”

A number of years ago our family lived in Brazil for a short while. Two weeks before we were supposed to return home, we were in an auto accident. As we drove home in pouring rain from sacrament meeting, we entered a neighborhood intersection. A car pulled out from behind a parked vehicle and hit us broadside. Fortunately no one in either of the cars was injured, but the automobiles were both quite badly dented. As my husband, John, got out to discuss our plight with the other driver, I kept reminding him that it was not our fault. Soon he returned to the car and slowly drove back to the little farmhouse where we were living, with metal grinding against the tires on every rotation. The other car followed. All John said was, “I’ll explain later.”

When we got home, John found our little envelope of emergency cash, and he paid the family to get their car repaired. They happily left. I was astonished. Then John gathered our family together. He was somewhat apologetic as he explained his actions. “I know this accident was not our fault, but as I was negotiating with this family, the only thought in my head was that only a little over an hour ago I had covenanted with Heavenly Father to always act as He would. I knew that if He were standing in my position, He would have had compassion on this family and would have done all He could to help them.” What an exemplary husband and father! He had remembered his covenants. Acting with Christlike love, he had softened hearts.

It was early Halloween morning. The sun hadn’t come up yet, so it was still dark outside. I was trying real hard not to be scared. Dad had asked me to feed the calves their hay while he finished milking our three cows. I was just gathering an armful of loose hay, when I saw the biggest, blackest bird standing on top of a hay bale about halfway up the stack.
The bird had an old, wrinkled, bald head and a long, skinny tail that went almost halfway to the ground. I didn’t believe in witches or ghosts or goblins, but I could see that this was a real monster kind of bird.
I turned around, tripped over some baling twine, and fell right on my face. I just knew that big bird was going to swoop down and carry me away, so I got up as fast as I could and started running.
When I got to where Dad was milking, I was breathing so hard that I couldn’t talk. Dad said that my face was as white as a frog’s belly and my eyes were as big as buckets.
When I finally caught my breath, I shouted, “There’s a huge monster bird on the haystack! It’s bigger than an eagle, and it’s really ugly. It must be a Halloween bird.”
Dad listened to me and nodded his head and finished squeezing the last drops of milk out of our cow Kick-a-Pooh Daisy. When he had finished, he hung his bucket of milk on a nail and said, “We’d better go have a look at this ‘monster bird.’”
By then the sun was starting to peek over the mountains, and things were a little lighter. When we got to the haystack, that old bird was still there—right on top of the hay bale—but I could see it better now. It was big all right, but it didn’t scare me this time. Its long, skinny tail was now spread into a shape like a great big fan. My monster bird was just an old turkey—the hugest one I’d ever seen!
When Dad and I climbed up on top of the hay, that old turkey didn’t even try to fly away. He just stood there looking at us, his tail spread and his big chest sticking out. Dad picked him up and said that he might weigh as much as forty pounds.
We carried the turkey down to the chicken coop and put it inside with the chickens. Then we called Mom and my sisters, Jana Lee and Sarah, and my little brother, Jared, to come see it.
“That’s probably Brother Reeves’s turkey,” Mom said.
Brother Reeves was our neighbor who raised hundreds of turkeys, so Mom called him. When he came over, he looked at the turkey and nodded his head. “Yep, it looks like one of mine,” he said. “One of the doors on the turkey truck must have jarred loose, and it probably jumped out when the truck went out this morning. That’s one of my biggest toms.”
“A tom?” I asked.
“Yep. That’s what you call a male turkey. Do you have your Thanksgiving turkey, Aaron?” he asked me. I shook my head. “Well, you do now. That is, you do if your dad will let you keep him.”
Dad had a big smile on his face, and said, “If Aaron will take care of him, he can keep him and feed him and we’ll have him for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“I’m going to call you Turkey Tom,” I said to the turkey. “And you’re going to come to our Thanksgiving dinner.”
“He’s going to be the dinner,” Brother Reeves said with a chuckle.
Our family had never raised our own Thanksgiving turkey, so I was sure proud of Turkey Tom. Every day after school I rode the bus home, changed my clothes, and did my chores as fast as I could so that I could go out and watch Turkey Tom. Sometimes my friends came over, and we watched Turkey Tom strut around. Then he’d poke in the dirt, looking for bugs and things.
The chickens were pretty mean to Turkey Tom at first. They didn’t play with him, and when it came time to eat, they pushed him aside and wouldn’t let him get any grain or mash. I would take a handful of grain and hold it out to Turkey Tom, and he learned to eat right out of my hand.
After a while he started to follow me around. Even when I went to feed the calves or to take the scraps to the pigs, he would come right behind me, strutting along with his big chest out.
Every day I liked Turkey Tom more and more. And though I knew better, soon I had made a pet of him. He was my friend, and I decided I didn’t want to eat him for Thanksgiving dinner. You just can’t eat your friends for dinner, even if they are turkeys.
One day when Dad was out milking, I asked him, “Why do we have to have turkey for Thanksgiving dinner? Why don’t we just have hot dogs or hamburgers or something?”
“Well, I guess we could eat anything we wanted,” Dad answered. “But the Pilgrims had turkey, and we’ve always had turkey, and you yourself said that turkey was your favorite meat.”
“But that was before I found Turkey Tom,” I said. “I just don’t know if I can eat him, even if Brother Reeves did give him to us for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“What would we do with him if we didn’t eat him?” Dad asked. “A turkey isn’t good for anything if you don’t eat it. You can ride a horse. Cows give milk. You get wool from sheep. Dogs can watch your house and property. Chickens lay eggs. What good is a turkey? All it does is eat. Why keep Turkey Tom unless you can eat him?”
I thought for a minute and then said, “We could keep him for a friend. Your friends don’t lay eggs or give milk or wool or anything like that. They’re just your friends, and they make you feel happy. That’s why you keep them. Couldn’t we keep Turkey Tom for a friend, because he sure makes me happy?”
Dad rubbed his nose the way he does when he’s thinking hard, then shook his head and said, “I don’t think so, Aaron. If we didn’t want that turkey for Thanksgiving, we should have given him back to Brother Reeves. No, Aaron, we’d better have Turkey Tom come to Thanksgiving dinner and be the main dish. That’s what he’s for.”
I kept taking real good care of Turkey Tom, and he got bigger and fatter and prettier than ever. But I sure felt sad—I didn’t want anything to happen to my best friend. I just knew I wouldn’t be able to eat any turkey this Thanksgiving if it was Turkey Tom.
The day before Thanksgiving Dad told me that it was time to get Turkey Tom ready. When I asked him what he had to do, he said that he had to chop off his head, pull off all his feathers, put him into the oven, and roast him.
I felt rotten all that day, I couldn’t even listen when Miss Long read us a story about the Pilgrims. And when she gave us each a cookie shaped like a turkey, I gave mine to my friend Nathan. All I could do was think about Turkey Tom losing his head and all his fluffy feathers.
When I got off the bus that afternoon, I didn’t run into the house and change my clothes and hurry out to do my chores. There wasn’t any hurry to get my chores done, because Turkey Tom was gone, and I couldn’t play with him anymore. As I walked into the kitchen, I saw mom working on a great big turkey. It didn’t have a head, all of its feathers were gone, and it was hollow inside. It didn’t look like Turkey Tom at all, but I knew that it was.
Dad fed the chickens that night and the next morning because I just couldn’t go out to the chicken coop, knowing that Turkey Tom wouldn’t be there.
On Thanksgiving Day I just sat around and thought about Turkey Tom. I could smell all the good things Mom was fixing, but my mouth didn’t water like it usually did. The only water I felt was in my eyes.
Aunt Bonnie and Uncle Dan and Grandma came over to have dinner with us. They tried to make me happy, but it wasn’t any use. When we all sat down at the table, I couldn’t look at any of the food because right in the middle of it was Turkey Tom, all brown and ready to eat. Then just before we said the blessing on the food, Dad looked at me and said,” Aaron, I almost forgot to invite one of our friends to dinner. Wait a moment, and I’ll be right back.”
After just a minute the front door opened, and there stood Dad with Turkey Tom in his arms! I stared at Turkey Tom and then at the brown turkey on the table.
Dad had a big grin on his face, and he winked at me and said, “That’s one of Turkey Tom’s cousins. He’s not proud like Turkey Tom. He’s right happy to be somebody’s Thanksgiving dinner.”
I jumped up from my chair and ran to the front door and gave Turkey Tom a big hug. “Do we ever have to eat him?” I asked my dad.
He started to laugh so hard that Turkey Tom almost shook out of his arms. “Aaron,” he said, “yesterday I went out with the ax to fix Turkey Tom for dinner and he looked up at me as if to say, ‘How can you do this to your son’s friend?’ Well, that sure didn’t make me feel very good. So I put the ax away and asked Brother Reeves if he would sell us a turkey that we could eat.”
“And we don’t have to ever eat Turkey Tom?” I asked again. “Even if he doesn’t lay eggs?”
“I guess if he can be a friend, that’s good enough for me. I always told you that Turkey Tom was coming to Thanksgiving dinner, and here he is.”
That was my very best Thanksgiving. Mom’s food never tasted so good, especially the turkey, and when I was all fat and full, I went out to the barn and strutted around with my friend Turkey Tom.

When Thomas Lillbäck was 11, his father was killed in a train accident. When he was 12, his mother died of cancer.

“It was very difficult,” the 18-year-old from the Vasterhaninge Ward, Stockholm Sweden Stake, explains. “My mother knew in advance she was going to die, so she made arrangements for me and my younger brother, Mathias. My parents were recent converts to the Church, but they knew some good people in the stake. They agreed to take care of us when she was gone.”

Thomas and Mathias have been part of the Simonsson family ever since.

“The Church has helped in building our relationships,” Thomas says. “We came into a gospel-centered home, and that made the transition easier. We had the same ideas. We had faith in the Lord, in the scriptures, and in prayer. We all knew that someday we’d see my mother and father again.”

The Simonssons live near the Stockholm Sweden Temple. Brother Simonsson is a temple worker, and Thomas often goes to the temple to do baptisms for the dead.

“When I’m in the temple, I give thanks for my present earthly family,” Thomas says. “I know they have blessed me a lot and I love them dearly. But I also think of my parents who are now in heaven. I know the Lord has promised that someday, if I live worthily, I can see them both again.”

Five-year-old Russ Hancock climbed up onto the piano bench, made himself comfortable, and plunked out “Up We Go, Down We Go” for his teacher. She was appropriately impressed, listened carefully to his other numbers, and then gave him an assignment for the coming week. The lesson completed, Russ hopped off the bench and ran in to wash his hands for dinner. His teacher was his mom, and for the 11 years since then she has continued to be his most supportive and dedicated instructor. Music has always had a positive influence and been a favorite activity in the Hancock home. “It was during our family home evenings that I developed my love for music,” said Russ. “The six of us would gather around the two pianos in our living room and sing for hours.”
During the years, Russ has developed his talent as well as his affinity for music. He has appeared as a guest soloist with the Northwest Chamber Orchestra and the Tacoma (Washington) Youth Symphony and has performed at the Spokane World’s Fair and for Washington Governor Dixie Lee. Last summer he received first place in the Puget Sound Concerto auditions and received the honor of playing with the Northwest Summer Symphony. (He was given only a week to learn and perfect the entire Grieg Concerto in A Minor for that concert.) Russ’s family has presented concerts and lectures throughout the Northwest and has performed at various BYU Education Weeks.
Russ is the ward organist in the Kent Third Ward, Renton Washington Stake, and has earned his Duty to God and Eagle Scout awards also.

Many years ago a couple of fellow airline captains and I decided to fulfill a boyhood dream of restoring an antique airplane. Together we purchased a worn-down 1938 Piper Cub and started the work of returning it to its original form. The project was a labor of love. It had special meaning for me because I had learned to fly in a similar airplane when I was a young man.
This airplane was first built only 35 years after the Wright brothers made their famous first flight. Just thinking of that makes me feel very old.
The engine did not have an electric starter; as you were priming the engine from the cockpit, someone else on the ground would grab hold of the propeller and hurl it with might until the engine would run on its own. Each engine start was a moment of excitement and bravery.
Once the plane was airborne, it became clear the Piper Cub was not built for speed. As a matter of fact, when there was a strong headwind, it seemed as though we were not moving at all. I remember flying together with my teenage son, Guido, above the autobahn in Germany, and sure enough, the cars below passed us comfortably!
But, oh, how I loved this little plane! It was the perfect way to experience the wonder and beauty of flight. You could hear, feel, smell, taste, and see what flying was all about. The Wright brothers expressed it this way: “There is [nothing] equal to that which aviators enjoy while being carried through the air on great white wings.”1

Take Lem Harsh, chairman of the Venturer Officers Association here at camp. He’s at ease at the microphone and leading a meeting. He makes decisions, gives instructions, teaches, and it looks like it comes naturally. But that’s because he’s been here before. He definitely did not see himself as leadership material his first time at camp.
“I remember coming up and feeling like I had no reason to be here. I wasn’t a leader at all, and I just kind of followed my crew around for a while,” Lem says. “Then I stepped it up because they made you want to be a leader, and they gave you the tools.”
Joe Hiller says he attended the first time mostly because his mom wanted him to. “I don’t think I wanted to see myself as a leader.”
Neal Cook has had some leadership callings, but, he says, “I would look to my adviser and just do what he said. When I came up here and learned what a real leader does, it really opened my eyes.”
So, what does a real leader do?
Andrew Hiller, Joe’s brother, says, “One of the best things you can do as a leader is be the example for others. You may not always know it, but you are being looked to as the example for the group.”
Lem gives an example of example. “You have to make decisions, even if they are not popular decisions—like cleaning assignments. It really helps others to know that you have been willing to do the same thing yourself. The first day here, we were the ones who cleaned the latrines.” When others saw that their leaders were willing to do it, they were more willing to accept the assignment.
One of the most important examples a leader can give is attitude. As Joe points out, “When they see you with a good attitude, then they will have a good attitude.”
Fine. But how do you get a good attitude if, say, your group gets an assignment that sounds anything but fun? Ross says reading the scriptures—especially stories about people like Nephi—helps him have a good attitude. “I think when you trust in the Lord, praying to Him and reading the scriptures, you will have a good attitude because the Spirit will be with you and will be guiding you. And once you have that good attitude, be a good example, and show others it works. You have to decide to have a good attitude.”
One of the coolest things about the young men at this camp is how readily they refer to the scriptures as they talk about leadership. Joe refers to D&C 35:13 and how the Lord uses the “weak things of the world” as His instruments—a reassuring thought for all of us who feel inadequate. And Ross points out D&C 82:18, which says that those who improve on their talents will gain other talents, “even an hundred fold,” all “for the benefit of the church.”
In the end, Lem sums it up. “Whenever I’ve had a question about leadership and what to do, I’ve thought, ‘What would Christ do? How has Christ shown an example of this certain leadership skill?’ And He has. He’s done it, and He’s shown us how best to go about it. Mostly it’s loving each other. If you have any questions, you go to the scriptures, and you find that out.”
In less than a week, the guys at camp learned a lot about leadership and about themselves. Those who thought they knew a lot realized they could still improve. Those who thought they didn’t have what it takes learned they did. Everyone has gifts and talents that can be applied to leadership. And everyone can learn the skills they lack—especially if they are willing to learn from the Spirit and if they are willing to move ahead as Nephi did. The Lord doesn’t call anyone to fail.
Neal Cook: “You don’t have to be some popular stereotype. Just reach inside and be yourself.”
Joe Hiller: “There are different strengths in our group that help the whole group work well together. Same with the crews here. All together we’re a great leadership machine.”
Dave Shepard: “As a leader, you have to be humble. The strengths you have come from God. He has given you those talents to develop.”
Ross Quigley: “God won’t call you to something you can’t handle. He knows you have the capability to do it. But you can’t do it all by yourself. You have to know and use your resources.”
Cameron Swain: “Take an interest in the people you are in charge of. Being a leader is helping them and having them help you. They can teach you as much as you teach them.”

If you can’t talk, can you still have a friend? Hayden Rushton has autism, which is a brain development disorder. It is very hard for him to understand and talk with others. But he has dozens of friends. They are the children in his Primary.
When Hayden first went to Primary, he cried and didn’t talk at all. He lives with his grandparents, and his grandmother had to stay with him to help him in Primary. Then his Primary leaders had an idea about how to help Hayden. And every child in Primary would get to help too.
Now Hayden goes to a class with his own teacher. The Primary children take turns going to Hayden’s class. Two older children go during senior sharing time, and two younger children go during junior sharing time. They look at books with Hayden and help him learn to do new things. They also help him learn how to get along with friends.
One of the older boys drew a picture of Hayden’s favorite animated character. Hayden loved it! One five-year-old friend has been very patient as he shows Hayden how to use things. All of the children try to be kind and helpful.
Thanks to the Primary children, Hayden has learned a lot. And thanks to them, Hayden doesn’t have just one friend—he has a whole Primary full of them!

My classmates and I were staying overnight at Tanyllyn Lodge as part of our sixth-form geography field trip into the Welsh mountains. I was glad that my friend Louise and I were assigned to share a room.
It took us a while to get ready for bed. We took turns using the one tiny sink in the room, and the even tinier mirror. Our clothing for the next day had to be set out along with our hiking boots and thick socks. Louise finished her preparations before I did and climbed into her bed.
When I had finished doing everything except saying my prayers, I hesitated beside my bed. Louise was not a member of the Church and had no idea that I prayed each night.
My first instinct was to slip into bed as she had done and then feign sleep while I silently prayed. But I anticipated two big flaws with that decision. First, I knew Louise would start talking to me and I’d never make it through my prayer uninterrupted. Second, I was a little daunted by the next day’s grueling agenda and felt that I needed the comfort of a fervent prayer on my knees.
I dithered in indecision for a few minutes, then turned to Louise and told her I was going to say a prayer. She looked a bit startled, but before she could say anything, I went down on my knees at the end of the bed, bowed my head, closed my eyes, and offered a silent personal prayer. She was still watching me when I rose.
There was a rather awkward silence as I crawled into bed. As I furiously searched for something to say, Louise said, “Sian, do you do that every night?”
“Yes,” I replied.
There was a slight pause, then, “What do you say?”
The question surprised me. I had never really considered the possibility that someone would not know how to pray. I told Louise that I began my prayers by addressing our Father in Heaven, I thanked him for things I had received, asked him to help and bless me, and then closed my prayer in the name of Jesus Christ.
There was another pause, and during the silence I felt my heartbeat quicken. Before I lost my nerve, I asked her if she would like to pray with me.
“Okay,” she said, with curiosity in her voice. “What do we do?”
We knelt together by the side of the bed, and I said a prayer aloud. When it was over, I asked her how she felt.
She smiled shyly, “Well, you’ve given me something to think about,” she responded.
I don’t know what Louise’s thoughts were as we lay in our beds afterward. Mine were thoughts of gratitude. Lying there in the dark, I knew the Spirit had been in that room confirming to me that we do have a Heavenly Father who loves us and listens to our prayers. I hope that Louise felt it too.