Gospel Story Finder

Eighteen-year-old Chris Garrett has made a dramatic recovery from drug addiction so severe that he is considered lucky to be alive. He first drank alcohol as a small boy, was smoking marijuana by his early teenage years, and, within a few years, was using anything he could find: marijuana, cocaine, LSD (lysergic acid diethylamide), opium, crack, speed, and many types of prescription drugs. He even grew marijuana among his mother’s house plants. To finance his habit, he burglarized people’s homes, picked pockets, and took money from purses left in parked cars during church services. Three years ago, Chris entered a treatment program that took him fourteen months to complete.
Chris did not look like what most people think a drug abuser looks like, which is perhaps part of the reason his habit escaped his parents’ notice for a time. He was neat, well-dressed, and well-groomed. “You don’t have to look like a drug-user or associate with the ‘bad’ kids anymore to get into trouble,” says Carol White, a community leader in drug prevention. “I know one boy who started using drugs at work, and he used drugs with his closest friends and their parents. Many of those friends were leaders at his school.”

Elyssa also loves her tata (grandpa). When Elyssa was a baby, Tata would play the guitar for her. Later they sang together. Tata was with her a lot because he developed a serious disease and couldn’t go to work. Each day, he picked her up after school and took her to eat at a place of her choice.
Since Tata couldn’t go to work, he did much of the cooking at home and became a really good cook. Elyssa helped him and became a good cook herself. Their specialty was empanadas, a sort of meat pie that is held in one’s hands. Nana remembers her working beside Tata, flour all over her little face.
“They grew very close,” Nana recalls. “She was his life.”

In a few days we will dedicate the beautiful Denver Temple.

When it was announced that we would build a temple in that city and had selected a site on which it should stand, opposition rose against us. We gave up that site and tried another. Again we were thwarted. But we were determined to go forward, putting our trust in the Lord that He would guide us in accomplishing His purposes. Two other possible sites were selected. At the time, President Kimball and President Romney were both ill, and mine was a serious responsibility. I asked President Benson, then President of the Council of the Twelve, if we might go to Denver together, and there with Elder Russell Taylor we looked over these sites. I give you my testimony that we were guided by the Spirit in choosing the ground on which that beautiful new structure now stands. It will be dedicated later this month as a house of God.

Among the lessons taught me by my father was gratitude for what it meant to be a General Authority. Some years ago Father, then over eighty years of age, was expecting a visit from a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles on a snowy winter day. Father, an artist, had painted a picture of the home of the Apostle. Rather than have the painting delivered to him, this sweet Apostle wanted to go personally to pick the painting up and thank my father for it. Knowing that Father would be concerned that everything was in readiness for the forthcoming visit, I dropped by his home. Because of the depth of the snow, snowplows had caused a snowbank in front of the walkway to the front door. Father had shoveled the walks and then labored to remove the snowbank. He returned to the house exhausted and in pain. When I arrived, he was experiencing heart pain from overexertion and stressful anxiety. My first concern was to warn him of his unwise physical efforts. Didn’t he know what the result of his labor would be?
“Robert,” he said through interrupted short breaths, “do you realize an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ is coming to my home? The walks must be clean. He should not have to come through a snowdrift.” He raised his hand, saying, “Oh, Robert, don’t ever forget or take for granted the privilege it is to know and to serve with Apostles of the Lord.”

I remember as a youth walking with my mother up the dusty road to the bishop’s house in a day when we often paid tithing from our animals and produce. As we walked, I said, “Why do we take the eggs to the bishop?” She answered, “Because they are tithing eggs and the bishop receives the tithing for Heavenly Father.” My mother then recounted how each evening when the eggs were brought in, the first one went into a small basket and the next nine went into a large basket. I first learned the law of tithing from my beloved mother.

A convert to the Church, I grew up in Norwich, England, which is about 110 miles from London. During the Second World War, my father served in the British army and was stationed in Italy. In fact, I didn’t meet my father until I was five.
When I was about four years old, Mother would take my brother and me into the city every Saturday morning. At 10:30 we would be walking by a large clock that chimed. Mother would say, “Oh, it’s 10:30.” She would buy us a little something, not anything very significant, but something to try to brighten us up because Dad was away.
One particular Saturday morning when we were about to leave home, Mother said, “I don’t think we’ll go shopping today. I’m going to take you to the woods.”
After we arrived at the woods, we played in the grass and trees and enjoyed ourselves. Suddenly we heard an air raid siren. Planes were coming in overhead, so we hurried home. The next day, we discovered that at 10:30 A.M. bombs had been dropped, demolishing the whole area around the clock in the city.
That incident really had an impact on me. Mother often commented on the feelings she’d had that day. She wasn’t a member of the Church, but, not knowing why, she had had an impression, a prompting, to do something different. That was a great example in my life of parents being guided by the Lord to take care of their children beyond their normal understanding.

Several years ago, a big storm blew over our home during the night. After just a couple of minutes and several flashes of lightning, our little Manon climbed into bed with us. My wife Véronique, wanting to reassure our daughter, carried her over to the window and said: “Don’t be afraid. Look how beautiful the lights in the sky are”. But at that very moment, a bolt of lightning ripped through the sky with a frightening crack. Véronique stepped back in fear, and Manon was even more terrified!
As I watched the power of the elements that night, I could not help but think of our Savior Jesus Christ, the Creator of all things. I also thought of our Heavenly Father who gave His Only Son to save us. They accomplished the most significant act in the universe: clearing the way for us to attain eternal life.
I then thought of Moses, who was overcome with fear when the Savior asked him to deliver Israel. The Lord said to him:
“Who hath made man’s mouth? or who maketh the dumb, or deaf, or the seeing, or the blind? have not I the Lord? Now therefore go, and I will be with thy mouth, and teach thee what thou shalt say. ”
The Lord’s voice must have sounded like thunder throughout Moses’ body! Like Moses, we have a responsibility to gather Israel into a land of peace, into the stakes of Zion. Whatever our ability to express ourselves, we must move forward in faith. Do we feel capable of doing what the Lord wants us to do? Can we feel our responsibility in the gathering of Israel? Of course, it starts with ourselves, our spouse and our own children.
While my wife and daughter were very frightened by the storm, I thought to myself: “I hope it rains now, because it’s been so hot!” Different perspectives lead to different actions. Where do we stand when life does not lead us down the easiest path, or the path we wanted to take? As the storm grew increasingly fierce, I thought as well of Joseph Smith, who was often overwhelmed by all the responsibilities he had been given at such a young age. He frequently fell to his knees to plead with our Heavenly Father. Perhaps one of the most moving of these moments took place in Liberty Jail, when he felt abandoned by the Lord. The Lord said to him:
"And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good. The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he? …therefore, fear not what man can do, for God shall be with you forever and ever. "
These words must have felt like a clap of thunder throughout his sick and weary body. But because they came from our Savior, they gave him the strength and hope he needed to move forward, despite his hardships. Do we fall to our knees enough to receive His strength and hope?
The Lord often uses the gentle, calm voice of the Holy Spirit to speak to us, to comfort us, to warn us, to guide us, and to soothe us. He does so in moments of doubt, but also in times of turmoil, despair or distress. To ensure that we always hear this little voice, we must get used to hearing it, or rather feeling it, in quiet moments. Then, however gentle it may be, it will penetrate our hearts and minds like a bolt of lightning.
I so testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When Julia Wigley arrived in Ireland with her parents nine years ago, she soon found a friend who has stayed by her ever since. This loyal pal was a pony and helped spark her interest in riding, training, and grooming horses, a hobby that has become an enjoyable job as well.
A Laurel from the Cork Branch of the Ireland Dublin Mission, Julia is now assistant trainer and horse breaker at a stable in Macroom, Republic of Ireland. Her responsibilities include exercising some of the horses and showing them in competition. This has resulted in some interesting experiences. For example, when she first began, Julia could mount Sebastian, a good-sized jumper, only when he was saddle deep in the river and she transferred from another horse. She was later the one who showed Sebastian when he took the championship cup at the Ballingeary Agricultural and Horticultural Show in Ireland.
In addition to her equestrian pursuits, Julia is captain of her school’s volleyball team, studies mechanical drawing and building construction at school, is the chorister in her branch, and takes care of the children during the Sunday morning Relief Society.

Mindy unfolded her collapsible cane, ready to go when her mother had the car warmed up.
“Come on, Mindy,” she heard her mother call. “Time to go.”
Mindy clutched a manila envelope under one arm and went down the steps of the porch. One, two, three, she counted silently, moving her cane down the steps as she went. Then she moved it back and forth on the sidewalk, exactly twenty-three steps to the car.
“Let me carry that, honey,” her mother suggested, taking the envelope from Mindy’s outstretched hand. Mindy folded up her cane and slid into the front seat.
She held her face out the window as the car moved off down the street. The air felt cool and brisk and made her hair dance. Mindy was so excited she could hardly stand it. Today she was going to enter her poem in the children’s poetry contest the school district was sponsoring. She had carefully written several poems on her braillewriter, then picked out the best one. Her mother had typed it up for her to give to the contest judges.
“This is very good,” her mother had said. “I hope the judges will think so too.”
Mindy was hopeful, but it was exciting just to have written a good poem. She leaned back, humming a little tune to herself. “Tell me what it’s like outside,” she asked her mother after a while. “I can hear some birds singing and the air feels cool. Is the sun out?”
“No,” said her mother. “It’s hiding behind a cloud. It may even rain today.”
Mindy hoped it would rain. She liked to feel the drops against her face or hear the rain beating on the roof. She liked the smell of damp earth and the booming thunderclaps.
“We’re almost there,” Mindy said. “I can hear the trains that run near the school and smell the flowers that grow by the fence.”
Mindy put her fingers on her watch that had no glass to cover the hands. “It’s four-fifteen,” she said. “We still have a few minutes.”
After the car had been parked at the school, Mindy opened the door and stepped out. Extending her cane, she asked, “Mother, may I have my poem now?”
“Just a moment,” her Mother replied, “until I explain where we’re going. Turn right, up one step, then about five steps to me,” directed her mother, who had become very good at judging distances for Mindy.
Mindy followed her mother’s directions, then reached for the envelope. Tucking it under her arm, she walked beside her mother, stepping up when the steps went up and down when they went down. Using her cane, she could go anywhere as long as she knew the right direction.
Someone was walking behind them. Judging by the click of high heels and the shuffle of another pair of shoes, Mindy was pretty sure it was a woman and a boy. Probably another contestant with his mother, she thought. The woman was murmuring, and Mindy could barely hear what she was saying.
“Look at that girl,” Mindy heard the woman say. “Poor little thing. How dreadful it must be to be blind. I hope the judges take that into consideration and give her a prize. She really deserves one.”
Mindy clutched her envelope tighter. She had worked hard on her poem, and she certainly didn’t want to win because she was sightless. Just before they entered the auditorium, she took her mother’s arm. “About how many steps to the judges’ table?” she asked.
Her mother looked in the door and replied, “About ten steps straight ahead.”
“Do I have to write anything?” Mindy whispered.
“No,” answered her mother. “It looks like the judges are doing all the writing. You just have to answer their questions.”
Mindy folded up her cane. “Hold this for me, please,” she said.
Mindy slowly walked the ten steps. When she felt the edge of the table she stopped, held out the manila envelope, and someone took it from her.
“Name?” a man’s voice asked.
Mindy instantly turned slightly to face him. “Mindy Martin,” she replied.
“Age?”
“Ten.”
“School?”
“Franklin,” responded Mindy, hoping that she was looking straight into the face of the man asking the questions.
“Thank you,” said the man.
Mindy turned around and walked the ten steps back to her mother. “How did I do?” she asked, squeezing her mother’s hand.
“Just fine,” whispered her mother. She helped Mindy to a chair next to the middle aisle.
Everyone listened while the judges read the children’s poetry aloud. Then they waited while the judges had a conference to decide who the winners were.
After conferring with each other, a man walked to a microphone at the front of the room. Everyone was quiet when he cleared his throat. “We have reached a decision,” he said. “The first-place winner is … Charles Monroe, for his poem ‘Sunflowers.’”
The audience clapped appreciatively, and Charles went up to the microphone to read his poem. Everyone listened carefully and nodded in agreement that his poem deserved a prize.
The man stepped forward again after Charles had finished.
“The second-place winner is … ,” he paused a moment. Mindy held her breath, and turned her face in the direction of the man’s voice. “Mindy Martin for her poem ‘Rain.’”
“Mother?” she questioned anxiously.
“Out to the aisle and then twenty steps straight ahead,” her mother whispered back. Mindy stood up, afraid she might trip or walk into someone’s chair, but somehow she made it up to the microphone.
“Mindy, would you please read your poem,” the man said and put a paper into her outstretched hand.
Mindy didn’t even pretend to look at the paper. She knew the poem by heart. She turned her happy face toward the audience, toward where she thought her mother was and began to recite her poem:
I love to hear the gentle rain
Dancing on my windowpane.
I know how fast the thirsty ground
Laps up the drops that sprinkle down.
And when the rain is pouring hard,
Making puddles in the yard,
I love to snuggle warm in bed
And hear the rain pound overhead.
The crowd applauded in approval. Mindy made her way back to her mother, who gave her a little hug. “I knew you could do it!” she said.
“And I won on my own,” said Mindy, “because my poem was good, not because I’m blind.”
Mindy’s mother gave her another hug. “You deserved to win, Mindy. Your poem was good. No one could argue with that.”
When the contest was over, Mindy put out her hand.
“I’ll take my cane now,” she said, smiling.

But the most important change for the future, agree Dominican members, has taken place in the home. After Rafael and Miledy Dilone’s family of five joined the Church “even the neighbors congratulated us because of the new closeness they saw in our family,” says Rafael, a high councilor who works as a shoemaker at home and enjoys spending the days near his family. For Miledy, her family’s baptism and a noticeable improvement in her marriage strengthened their family life: “We were such a crazy family before. Now we know how to love each other.”

The scriptures have been an important part of my life. When I was seven years old, my father told me, “Son, one of the best things you can do in your life is read the Book of Mormon. I’d sure like to see you do that.”
So I started to read it. At first, my love for the sacred books came from my father. He worked long, hard hours, but I can’t remember many evenings when I didn’t see him reading the scriptures before he went to bed.
As I read the Book of Mormon, I felt good about it, and things happened to me that made scripture-reading a basic part of my testimony.
When I started to read it, I did not understand all the words in it. I have to admit that I read through the Isaiah references fairly quickly. But when I had questions, I went to my father. To this day, when I read certain scriptures, I hear them in my father’s ringing voice.
After college, I taught at Brigham Young University for a few years. Then I started my own business. In my business, it was important for me to know what was going on in the world, so I got in the habit of reading several newspapers. And I always started my day by reading them. Of course, I read my scriptures during the day too.
Recently, however, I began to read the scriptures before I read anything else. What joy and satisfaction has come from reading the scriptures first! It not only begins the day right, but throughout the day I’ll find myself using a scripture or scripture story I read that morning, especially as I talk about the gospel.
Children, the scriptures are easy to understand. You can sense not only their meaning but also the spirit of them. When you read the scriptures, the Holy Ghost will whisper to you that the gospel is true. That knowledge can change your lives!

Jeremy couldn’t see what all the fuss was about, just because his older sister Michelle was probably about to get married. He was, of course, glad in a way, because it meant he could have her room. Also, he had hopes her future husband would be like a brother to him. Jeremy needed that. He felt like he’d been dominated by women and girls his whole life. He was the youngest and the only boy in a family of four girls. Michelle, the next youngest, was five years older than he was and had been his chief baby-sitter as he grew up.
There was a time when they hadn’t gotten along. It began when Jeremy was eight years old and lasted for five years, until Michelle went off to college. During that time, Jeremy resented being ordered around by Michelle. “You’re not my mother,” he used to say.
After Michelle left for college, Jeremy and Michelle didn’t see each other much. But at least when she came home for Christmas her freshman year, she was sort of nice to him. That was a big improvement over what it had been.
Now, after two years at college, Michelle was about to be engaged. When she brought Christopher Kent home to meet the family, Jeremy had never seen her act so strange. When she saw Jeremy, she tousled his hair like they were, … well, brother and sister, which, technically of course, they were.
“Christopher Kent, huh?” Jeremy said. “Are you any relation to Clark? Are you like Superman in disguise? Can you leap buildings?”
“Don’t mind Jeremy,” Michelle said quickly.
“That’s all right,” Christopher said. “People say that to me all the time.”
Jeremy felt bad for Christopher because he could tell Michelle was putting on this big act to make him think she was a nice person. But Jeremy knew better.
“Has she ever grabbed your ear and pinched it when she wants you to do something?” Jeremy asked Christopher.
“Well, no, actually she hasn’t,” Christopher said slowly.
“She used to do that to me all the time. It really hurts.”
“I used to baby-sit Jeremy when he was little,” Michelle said with a pained smile on her face.
“She was really mean to me,” Jeremy added.
For one brief instant the old fire returned. “You deserved it, Jeremy.”
“What did I do?” Jeremy asked, trying his version of an angelic smile.
Jeremy was baiting Michelle to see if she’d lose her cool. He wanted Christopher to see the mean Michelle who had tormented him so much when he was younger.
Fortunately for her, Michelle displayed unusual self-control. “It wasn’t much, really, just little things,” she said with a kindly smile.
“You mean like the time I reset the timer when you were in the backyard trying to get a tan, so you got a real bad sunburn just before the junior prom?”
For Christopher’s benefit, Michelle smiled and said, “Jeremy always liked to play little jokes on me.”
For the rest of the evening, Michelle kept Christopher away from Jeremy. But Jeremy had a plan. He waited until Christopher had gone to the guest bedroom for the night, and then he went to the door and knocked.
Christopher opened the door.
“We need to talk,” Jeremy said.
“All right. Come in.”
“Actually, I was thinking maybe I could talk better if you took me out and bought me something to eat.”
“Really? Well, all right.”
“I’m kind of in the mood for pancakes,” Jeremy said.
It was not until he had finished one stack of pancakes at the all-you-can-eat pancake house that Jeremy began to talk seriously with Christopher. “Are you going to marry my sister?”
“Yes. We’re going to announce it in a couple of weeks, so don’t tell anyone. Okay?”
“That’s what I thought. See, the thing is, I don’t understand why you’d want to marry Michelle.”
“I’m in love with her.”
Jeremy shook his head. “That is so weird. Why would you want to marry Michelle? There’s lots more girls out there.”
“She’s beautiful and talented and …”
Jeremy stopped Christopher. “Hold on. You think she’s beautiful?”
“Yes, don’t you?”
“She used to spread this gunk on her face at night. I think it was made from guacamole. And she used to hang all this stuff to dry in the bathroom. It was like I had to hack my way through a jungle sometimes just to get in there to brush my teeth.”
Christopher laughed. “Really? You know, I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t be happy we’re having this little conversation.”
“Do you think she’s a nice person?” Jeremy asked.
“Yes.”
“She’s not, not really. Oh, sure, she puts on this big act for you, but you should have seen the way she treated me when I was little. She called me a little brat.”
“And you never did anything to earn that title?”
Jeremy smiled, “Well, maybe once or twice.”
“I thought so.”
“You’re a normal guy, aren’t you? I mean, you like football and basketball and pizza, right?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Did you play any sports in high school?”
“Soccer.”
“Really? I play soccer.”
“There you go then.”
“Did you go on a mission?” Jeremy asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s good. I’d want the guy who marries Michelle to have served a mission.”
“Are you going to serve a mission?”
“I guess so.”
“Good for you. It was the best thing I ever did.”
“Are you going to marry my sister in the temple?” Jeremy asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s good.”
“Do you know what getting married in the temple means?”
“It means forever.”
“That’s right.”
Jeremy paused for a minute trying to let his mind grasp the concept of eternity. “This is so weird. I don’t understand any of this. I mean one day she goes off to college, and the next she’s back here about to get married.”
“People change,” Christopher said.
“I guess so. I just wasn’t ready for it, that’s all.”
They had finished eating. Christopher paid the bill, and they walked out to the car.
“Can I ask you a question?” Jeremy asked as they pulled onto the street.
“Sure.”
“You will treat her okay, won’t you?” Jeremy asked.
“I will, Jeremy, I promise.”
“The reason I asked is … well, even though we didn’t always get along, she is my sister, and she wasn’t mean to me all the time. Sometimes she helped me a lot. Like I could ask her questions about things that were happening in school. She’d gone through it all before, so she knew a lot of things. She helped me know what teachers to get, and what to say when people were trying to get me to make some bad choices. One time she went to one of my games, and I really messed up and lost the game, but she stuck up for me in front of the whole team. Then she took me out and bought me something to eat, and we sat in the car and talked, and she said I’d done my best and that’s all that mattered. One time when I got kicked out of class for talking back to one of the teachers, she came to my room and just listened to me, and she didn’t say I’d done wrong. She just listened to me. That meant a lot to me, but I never told her … but I should’ve … and now you’re going to take her away … just when we were starting to get along. But see, the thing is, I still need her.”
“I’m not taking her to Mars. She’ll still be around. You can still ask her advice.”
“But she’ll be an old married lady.”
“She’ll still be your sister, no matter what. She’ll still love you.”
Jeremy gasped. “You think she loves me?”
“I know she does. She talked about you on the first date we ever had.”
“What did she say about me?”
“She told me about the time in high school when she had a date, and you went out and changed the number on your house, so the guy drove around for an hour trying to find your place.”
Jeremy smiled, “Yeah, those were the good old days.”
“Jeremy, I think you need to tell her how much she means to you.”
“I could never do that.”
“Why not?”
“She’d have a heart attack or something,” Jeremy said.
“I think you ought to risk it.”
“What would I say?” Jeremy asked.
“Just tell her what you told me.”
Jeremy thought about it. “I guess I could do that.”
They drove back home.
“Do you think I’ll ever be like you?” Jeremy asked.
“I’m sure you will.”
“This is so weird.”
“It’s not weird. It happens all the time. Let’s go in and get Michelle up so you can talk to her.”
“Tonight,” Jeremy asked, feeling himself getting panicky.
“It has to be tonight. We’re leaving in the morning.”
Jeremy felt nervous. “I’m not sure how to do this.”
“Just do it the same way you did with me.”
Fifteen minutes later, Jeremy and his sister left to go get some pancakes. After that night it was months before Jeremy could look another pancake in the eye.
But at least he finally told his sister he loved her.

When I was in nursing school we completed our study of death and dying by spending time with terminally ill patients in hospital. The assignment consisted of an entire eight-hour shift with that patient filling their psychological as well as physical needs. I can’t express how reluctant I was to face such a patient. I really felt I wouldn’t be able to do it. I even thought of telephoning the school to say I was sick, but my class grade depended upon completion of this assignment.
I felt very inadequate that day as I stepped onto the elevator of the hospital. A constant prayer had been in my heart and mind all through the night and was answered in part as the elevator ascended.
“Don’t be afraid,” the voice whispered.
I doubted back, “But what will I say? How do I talk of death to someone who isn’t a Latter-day Saint?” My mind continued, “I’m the only Latter-day Saint in my whole class … in the whole school. Some of the hospitals I work in don’t have a Latter-day Saint in them on the staff or as a patient.”
Once on the fourth floor, I looked at my patient’s medical chart. This was not our usual routine as we were to assess our patient personally before we ever went to their chart; it was part of the learning exercise. However, something told me to look at her chart before I entered the room. Everything checked out. “Eve Crisp. Terminal cancer—final phase.” But there in the corner under religious affiliation were the letters “LDS.”
Quickly I slipped into her darkened room. Her eyes dimmed by months of suffering brightened a bit as I took her hand in mine and introduced myself as Sister Cain.
We visited easily as I met her physical needs. I learned that my patient still had several children at home. She was only forty-seven years old. She spoke of the Church and a time that she had traveled to attend a general conference. It was one of her fondest memories. I mentioned the upcoming April conference broadcast that would be broadcast the following Sunday morning. She smiled.
Often during the day she would respond to the cries of a little boy down the hall who had been badly burned by saying, “Poor thing, he must be suffering so.” Her sympathy and compassion seemed overwhelming for one suffering so much herself. I marveled at her. The time came all too soon for me to leave. Before I left, I straightened her pillow and reached for her signal light on the bed sheet. As I placed it in her hand she held on to mine and answered the question I was unable to ask.
“The Lord is perfect. His plan for me is perfect and I know he loves me.”
I embraced her and moved silently out into the corridor. I took a deep breath before returning to the main desk to write a note on her chart. The note read: “Please see to it that Mrs. Crisp’s television is tuned to the LDS general conference on Sunday morning at six o’clock.” I then went to a report meeting and bore my testimony to a class of nonmembers that I could only hope would appreciate my remarks.
The following Monday, my supervising instructor called me from my class work into her office. Sister Crisp I was told had died that Sunday morning shortly after the television show she had been watching had ended. I shed tears for her that I would shed for no one else. She had taught me so much—“The Lord is perfect; his plan is perfect and I know he loves me.”

When the typical teenager makes a “to do” list, it often includes homework, classes, Church activities, and a social life. But what if you added practices and games for three sports into the picture? Then it would be completely full, right? No room for service or volunteer work?
You won’t convince Blake Moore, a priest in the Forest Green Ward of the Utah Ogden Weber Heights Stake. Blake has received national recognition for his athletic skills, but he still feels service is a top priority. In fact, his dedication to service helped him to receive his latest honor, the High School Heisman Award.
In the United States, the Heisman Award is given to the best collegiate football player each year. A few years ago, a similar award was started for high school athletes. But the selection committee wasn’t just after the best football player. They were looking for a well-rounded person—someone who did well at school and was involved in his or her community. They found what they were looking for in Blake.
How does he fit it all into his busy schedule?
“You have time for what you make time for,” he says. “I don’t get it when people say they don’t have time for things. Everyone has the same number of hours in the day.”
Much of Blake’s service began through the Scouting program. In fact, for Blake’s Eagle project he organized a book drive for St. Ann’s homeless shelter and focused mainly on gathering children’s books.
But Blake’s service doesn’t end with his Eagle project. He is the area chairman for the American Cancer Society. He collects cash donations from people living in his Ogden neighborhood to be used for research and publicity. He is also the youth representative on the Utah state committee for the March of Dimes. He volunteers at a homeless shelter and a local hospital, and he also contributes his time and muscle to Habitat for Humanity.
Athletically, Blake has done it all. He is the captain of the football, basketball, and baseball teams. He also carries a 4.0 grade point average and is the senior class president.
Trying to get Blake to talk about his successes is like pulling teeth. But he finally admits that he has tried to be a well-rounded person—not just a student or an athlete. One thing he does emphasize is that it is “cool” to serve. “I want others to know that it is not nerdy to do service,” Blake says. “How could it be? Service is the best thing to do.”
Blake points out his flaws as if he is uncomfortable with all the recognition of his strengths, but he is not hesitant telling about the role his family has played in his life, where he is the youngest of five children. “The examples I’ve had in my life have really helped me. I learned from my brothers and sisters how to handle situations and leadership responsibilities. They’ve given me a lot of guidance.”
Two of his siblings are currently serving missions. “My brothers and sisters are my heroes. I owe so much to my family.”
The Moores believe this award is more than just honoring Blake. “We really feel that the Lord had a hand in it,” Blake’s mom, Leslie, said. “We hope this will further His work as kids see a good, moral person being honored.”
“Many kids that get this much attention would be ruined by it,” said Blake’s dad, David. “But Blake is the same person in all aspects of his life, on and off the field, in and out of the spotlight.”
Blake sincerely loves others, especially children. “I think it’s because I never had little brothers or sisters,” he says. “I really like getting to know the neighbor kids. I can see that they really look up to me. Children look up to athletes for role models, whether the athletes deserve it or not.”
The two national winners of the High School Heisman, one young man and one young woman, were selected based on three areas: athletics, academics, and community service.
Blake plans to attend a university for one year before serving a mission. “When I get back from my mission, I’ll have to decide how far to go with sports. I’ll pray about that decision.” Blake plans to use his love for people and his academic talents to be a pediatrician.
But no matter what the future holds, Blake will always make time to help others. “Nothing feels better,” he says smiling, “not even playing sports.”

“When I was seven, I was like any other seven-year-old,” says Brennah Kahaunani Payne. “I went to school, went to church on Sunday, and lost teeth.” But then Brennah was in a terrible car accident. She had to stay in the hospital for six months and have nine surgeries.
Many people helped Brennah in the hospital—doctors, nurses, and even a schoolteacher. Brennah thinks her hospital stay was like a “little mission.” She gave pass-along cards to several people to tell them about the Church. And she tried to comfort other children whenever she could.
But Brennah never got to meet some of the people who are most special to her. They are the people who donated blood that helped save her life. After her accident, Brennah lost a lot of blood. The doctors gave her blood that other people had donated.
Brennah wanted to thank those special people and encourage others to donate blood too. So she went to places where people were donating to say thank you. She passed out candy bars with little cards that said, “It’s SWEET to donate blood!” In California, where she lives, she told her story to community groups, at churches, and on the radio and TV. Brennah has made many friends by just being her cheerful, loving, enthusiastic self.
At age 10, Brennah is back to singing, dancing, and swimming. She feels her experience taught her several things. “It softened my heart and helped me see all the blessings I have,” she says. As the youngest of five children in her family, she now knows that “being small doesn’t mean you can’t do great or big things.” She has also learned how much Heavenly Father loves her as He helped her through her trials. And she has a message for all children: “You should always know how much Heavenly Father loves you.”

Thank you for the article “No Laughing Matter” (June 1994). I have had a very similar incident happen to me at school when a girl from my gym class saw me reading the Book of Mormon before school. She told a number of her friends and they all bowed to me in class and taunted me. It made me ashamed until, just like the girl in the story, I realized that it didn’t really matter as long as I was doing what was right. Thanks for the reassurance.
Debbie WilliamsSalem, Oregon

Like many people my age, whenever the stake leaders come to our ward, I brace myself for an hour or two of lessons on morality and the danger of straying from the gospel path. I had never thought much about what they said or even really understood what it was like to get off the “strait and narrow path” until I had a rather painful experience.
My family lives out in what is affectionately referred to as “the sticks.” Next to our property are remnants of an abandoned plantation. The only secure building is a rickety old barn with a loft brimming with hay. Over the years this has become a favorite haunt of mine.
My lesson came when I was attempting to make my way towards the barn to mull over a problem a friend had asked advice on. In order to get there one must follow an almost hidden path along the stream to an old road. I had never experienced the obstacle of fallen leaves on the path before, so I was paying careful attention to the stream in order to stay at least close to the path.
After a while I felt this was unnecessarily laborious and time-consuming. I tried a shortcut, which I thought would not be a bad idea as long as I stayed within sight of the stream.
I was wrong. In the woods one cannot stray too far from the path or he will end up in an undesirable place. Well, I ended up making a wrong turn.
When I finally realized that I was going the wrong way and would not be meeting up with the stream, I did not immediately turn around and try to retrace my steps. Instead, I thought I knew what I was doing, so I fought on through the tangle of trees. Suddenly I realized I was surrounded by the largest bunch of wild rosebushes I had ever seen. Being dressed in a T-shirt, shorts, and an old pair of deck shoes, I was not overjoyed at the prospect of fighting my way out of this predicament.
My dog, Peppy, had followed and when we arrived in this area tried several times to divert my attention and show me an easy way out. But my ego would not let me follow a dog. How could he know where I wanted to go? Eventually I got to the field next to the barn and then reached my destination, but not without much struggle and pain.

The churches, castles, and inns of thirteenth-century England are the setting for this dramatic story of Robin. Robin’s father, a great lord, was off to the wars, and his mother, a lady, was called to help care for the Queen, as there was a plague raging in the city of London. Robin is to go to a castle in the north of the land to begin serving as a page in preparation for knighthood. The plague overcomes the household staff. Robin becomes ill and is left unattended. How Robin eventually gets to his castle and how he learns there are different ways in which to serve make for exciting reading.

In February 2013, I returned to New Zealand on vacation. Being an avid hiker, I booked a four-day hiking excursion of the famous Milford Track in Fiordland National Park on the South Island.
I was joined by three Americans and 37 other hikers from around the world, including Australia, Brazil, England, Finland, Germany, Israel, and Uruguay. During our adventure, we shared thoughts, experiences, and opinions as best we could given our language barriers. It didn’t take long for our cultural differences and preconceived opinions to melt away under our growing bonds.
At the end of our third day of hiking, one of the hikers wanted to build upon our growing friendships and sprang to his feet, announcing that we should hold a talent show. He said he would begin the show. He chose to share his storytelling talent, which he had been practicing at his business office in Caesarea, Israel. His story went well, so he announced that he would tell another one. But as he shared some off-color remarks, I realized that the evening could easily turn out to be something less than uplifting.
During his story, I felt a strong impression to sing for the group. But what would I sing to my newfound friends from all over the world? The answer came to me forcefully: “I Am a Child of God” (Hymns, no. 301).
I felt a strong impression to sing for the group. But what would I sing to my newfound friends from all over the world?
I was anxious but drew upon my memories of and love for the Primary children of New Zealand. I rose to my feet and explained that I would sing a special song that I had sung nearly 40 years ago with children in New Zealand. I explained that I had been a missionary, had taught these children, and had grown to love them. I then said a silent prayer, asking for help to sing in a manner that would bless the group.
The song went well, and afterward I could feel the Spirit. My new friends smiled, and the song seemed to open their hearts. It wasn’t long before others rose and began sharing their musical talents. A group of four ladies, previously reluctant to participate, sang selections from their church choir. Another hiker taught us a Jewish folk song.
At the end of the talent show, a beautiful young woman from Australia sang three songs in Maori, her native tongue. Truly the Spirit of our Heavenly Father had distilled upon us and helped us realize that we were all children of God, not just “strangers and foreigners” (Ephesians 2:19) from various lands.

I don’t think any of us had any idea how big America really was. When we landed in Boston, we didn’t realize that our long journey was just beginning, rather than nearing its end.
From Boston, we traveled to Iowa City, Iowa, by railroad. The new railroad saved us weeks of traveling by wagon. The cattle cars were crowded, but we endured the journey well. The train stopped in Buffalo, New York, on the Fourth of July. We could only watch the people celebrate. How I wanted to join them!
Finally we arrived in Iowa City. From the train station, we walked three miles in rain and mud to the place where we were to meet the Church’s agent in charge of organizing the trek. We had been assured that everything would be ready for us when we arrived, but it wasn’t. The handcarts hadn’t even been built! We camped and worked at preparing for the journey until all was ready.
Eventually the handcarts were obtained, and our family was assigned to Captain Edward Martin’s company. Near the end of July 1856, we cheerfully began our journey to Zion. Our family had three carts when we started out. Each cart could carry about 120 pounds of baggage, 100 pounds of flour, cooking utensils, and additional food. There were 576 people in our company. I’d never been with so many members of the Church!
Pulling the handcarts wasn’t bad at first. But many of them broke down because they were built of green wood. We pulled those carts three hundred miles to Florence, Nebraska. The last members of our company, and the Willie company, arrived there on August 22. As soon as we arrived, there was some disagreement as to whether we should continue on. Some said that it was too late in the year. They felt that we should set up a winter camp in Florence and wait until spring to travel to Salt Lake City. But most of the Saints were for starting immediately. After much discussion, it was decided to continue on. We were anxious to finish our long journey. About a thousand miles remained ahead of us, but we had already come so many miles that another thousand seemed like a short trip. We didn’t know that the worst part of our journey was still ahead.