Gospel Story Finder

Hans’s family is made up of Hans and his mother. When he was born, his mother was not a member of the Church. But the family she worked for as a housemaid were Latter-day Saints. They asked if they could take the baby to church to receive a blessing.

Although Hans’s mother didn’t want to go, she allowed them to take her baby for the blessing. Hans has attended church ever since. Wherever he and his mother have lived, she has found members to take him to church.

Hans was baptized when he was eight years old and is now preparing to become a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood.

Why didn’t Hans’s mother ever go to church with him? “Because my past was very sad and dark,” she says. “I didn’t understand that Heavenly Father’s love for me was so great. I didn’t know He could forgive me for my mistakes. But Hans was a light leading me to the truth.”

Not many things intimidate Kristine. When her stake planned a pioneer trek, she signed up even though everyone was worried about her and whether she could make it. “But I was fine,” says Kristine.
When Kristine was born, one of her legs was shorter than the other. The femur was simply not there. So Kristine wears a special prosthetic leg. She wears it so well, in fact, that she says, “A lot of people don’t notice or at most ask me if I’m limping. They don’t really know.”
As the stake youth set out on a three-day trek, Kristine was making friends with her trek family and doing her part setting up and packing their handcart. After walking 10 miles the first day, Kristine, along with many others, developed some blisters. But she refused to ride to catch up and kept walking, just like the pioneers.
When it came time for the women in the family to pull the handcart up the steepest part of the trail, Kristine was right there in front. “I thought about the women who had to pull their sick husbands and children up places worse than this,” says Kristine. “I did not know how they could do that.”
But many others were wondering the same thing about Kristine. She had such a good excuse not to go or not to participate, but that isn’t how Kristine is. There are very few things that stop her, and her attitude will carry her far in everything she tries.

For as long as I can remember, our family had no contact with my dad’s side of the family, except for his two sisters. I had never known my grandfather, much less anything about my father’s genealogy. That all changed a few years ago.
My grandfather had disapproved of our religion, and in past years he had often criticized it in his letters to my family. My father had tried many times to reason with him, but it never worked. So unfortunately, when I was four years old, our family lost all contact with him.
Then in January of 2002, I began looking through our family records for names to take to the temple during an upcoming temple trip. To my disappointment, I discovered only five temple-ready names in my mother’s files. We had very few names on my father’s side, and the few we had were already done. I prayed hard for a long time about where to start researching further.
Then one day, out of the blue, we received a letter from my great-uncle Birl, my grandfather’s older brother. He wrote that he wanted to get back in contact with our family, and he enclosed his e-mail address and two sheets of genealogy. The Sunday before we received the letter I had been set apart as the first counselor in the Beehive class presidency. My blessing said I would “receive the materials needed to support the Church and my family.” I felt that Uncle Birl’s letter was the answer to that blessing and my prayers.
Still, I was a little uneasy at first. I had never even heard of my Uncle Birl before, and for all I knew he could disapprove of our religious beliefs as my grandfather did. But the more I thought about it, the more excited I got. I finally had names for the upcoming temple trip.
After looking over the genealogy, I went to my room and got down on my knees, asking my Heavenly Father for guidance. Should I contact my uncle and pursue the rest of the family history? My answer came. A few minutes after I finished my prayer, a peaceful feeling washed over me, bringing me again to my knees in awe. I knew that this would unite our family again.
That night I e-mailed my uncle. Since then, Uncle Birl has sent me vast amounts of information, including his complete database of more than 6,000 names he has been compiling throughout his life. Many of these files he had already given to the Church. He has told me more than once that he has great respect for our beliefs.
I love my Uncle Birl very much. Through him, I was finally able to meet my grandfather and reopen the gates of communication between us. With all this help, our family has been able to supply the members of our ward with many names they can take to the temple.
Every time I go to the temple to perform baptisms for my ancestors, I know I am really making a difference. I truly believe this is one of the greatest services we can do here on this earth. And every day as I learn more about my ancestors, I am also learning more about who I am.

During this difficult time, I developed the habit of sitting down at the piano at the end of each day and, with one hand, plunking out favorite hymns and Primary songs. I would play “Our Savior’s Love,” “When He Comes Again,” “I Feel My Savior’s Love,” “I Am a Child of God,” and many others, always ending with “Abide with Me; ’Tis Eventide.” This nightly ritual became a comfort to my family. No matter what the day had been like, if Mom sat down at that keyboard and played some hymns, it seemed all was right with the world—or at least more bearable.
One day when I felt I had had all I could take, I sent the children into the house and sat in the car to have a good cry. After I had calmed down and prayed, I went inside. As I opened the door, I heard the soft notes of one of my favorite hymns. My son was at the keyboard, playing hymns to soothe and comfort me in my distress, as I regularly did for him and his sisters.

This training has paid off. The Tse sisters, Ling-ling, 20, Wai-wai, 19, Mei-mei, 15, and Bing-bing, 14, know why members are referred to as “active.” Within two days of their baptism, the younger three sisters all had at least one position in the Lai Chi Kok Branch. (Ling had joined the Church when eight.) Even before they were members, they had “unofficial” responsibilities in the branch. Today Ling teaches the Gospel Essentials class for investigators and serves as a district missionary working with the full-time missionaries. Wai writes for the mission newsletter and fellowships inactive members. Bing is the Merry Miss teacher in Primary. And Mei is the Junior Sunday School coordinator. Her hardest job, she says, is convincing the children that they really can manage a short talk assignment.
Ling was the first of the sisters to join the Church. Their uncle is a member and would take her to Church when she was a child. Shortly after she was baptized at age eight, her mother forbade her to attend her meetings. Several years passed before she was allowed to return. By then she was 14, and the missionaries had retaught her the discussions. Her first Church responsibility was taking care of the bulletin board. It was through Ling that her three sisters became interested in the Church. Their parents and two younger brothers are still nonmembers, and the sisters say their greatest desire is to see their entire family active in the gospel.

Nearly 200 years ago, the American short story “Rip Van Winkle” became an instant classic. The main character, Rip, is an unambitious man who is very good at avoiding two things: work and his wife.
One day, while wandering in the mountains with his dog, he discovers a group of strangely dressed men drinking and playing games. After accepting some of their liquor, Rip becomes drowsy and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens his eyes again, he is surprised to find that his dog is gone, his rifle has rusted, and he now has a long beard.
Rip makes his way back to his village only to discover that everything has changed. His wife has died, his friends are gone, and the portrait of King George III in the tavern has been replaced by a portrait of someone he does not recognize—by General George Washington.
Rip Van Winkle had been sleeping for 20 years! And in the process, he had missed one of the most exciting periods in the history of his country—he had slept through the American Revolution.
In May 1966, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. used this story as an illustration for his speech “Don’t Sleep Through the Revolution.”1

One day I was complaining to my mom about how boring sacrament meeting was. I felt that it was just for adults and that it didn’t help me at all.
My mom told me it was boring because I wasn’t really trying to learn. She said that if I would pray before sacrament meeting to understand the talks and then really try to listen, I would hear the answers to questions I had. She also said the Spirit could help me understand the message in a way that would make the talk just for me.
I wasn’t really sure if that would happen, but I decided to give it a try the next Sunday. When I got up Sunday morning I prayed to learn something in sacrament meeting. Then right before sacrament meeting began, I prayed about it again. During the talks I tried really hard to listen and understand, instead of thinking my own thoughts as I usually did.
I couldn’t believe it! The first talk was about receiving personal direction from the speakers in sacrament meeting. As the meeting went on, I felt like every speaker was saying exactly what I needed to hear, and I felt the Spirit telling me that the things I heard were true.
Now I look forward to sacrament meeting because I know I will always learn something if I go with the right attitude.

We moved to a new state and city four months before Christmas. There are ten in my family, five of us teenagers, and this was our first move. We were having a hard time adjusting.
My mother announced that we would be doing a family project of helping a nonmember family in our neighborhood. We didn’t know them very well, but the service project helped us take the focus away from our own lonely feelings.
After Christmas, the mother of that family of five told my mother that her husband was out of work and she was supporting the family on a part-time job. It turned out to be one of the best Christmases they’d ever had.
—Adrienne Pippin, 15Portland, Oregon

Photograph by Hemera/Thinkstock
Thomas Edison worked several years and tried more than 1,000 different materials before he found a suitable filament (the thin wire at the heart of a light bulb) that could provide long-lasting, affordable light. Ever the optimist, Edison viewed each material that didn’t work as a mere stepping-stone toward finding one that would. And once he did, the world was never the same.

Life seems to have a way of changing the most carefully made plans, but no one would have expected the traumatic experience that awaited Don. His fun on the reservation was cut short by painful events, and his mission began in a much different way than one would have imagined.
While riding in the back of a pickup with some of his friends, Don accidentally fell out onto the hard, black pavement and skidded painfully along its rough surface. That was the last thing he remembered until he awoke in a hospital bed, his body in physical torment.
An excruciating pain in his back persisted through the long night, and as the new day began, Don found himself unable to move his arms, hands, or legs. He was paralyzed from his neck down!
Following an emergency operation, he awoke in a recovery room conscious that the pain in his mended back was subsiding; but he was also painfully aware of his helpless limbs that refused to respond to his efforts to move them.
Don’s concerned doctors had little hope that this condition would ever change. As he lay helpless in his hospital bed, fighting back the tears of discouragement, he poured out the feelings of his heart to his Heavenly Father, asking for strength to endure and for a recovery from his affliction if it were His will.
Night after night while others slept, Don struggled through the long, dark hours attempting to move his helpless hands that lay inertly by his side. He would pray and try, pray and try, repeating over and over in his mind, “I can do it, I can do it, I can do it!” Then, as the early morning light filtered softly through the blinds of his window, he would surrender himself wearily to a merciful sleep.
On one such interminable night, Don’s heart suddenly pounded with excitement as an almost imperceptible movement was made by one of his fingers! Holding his breath in suspense, he moved his finger again!
There was no sleep for Don that night. A wonderful, elated feeling of hope buoyed his troubled spirit and gave him renewed determination to regain the use of his hands.
Each night became a new adventure as gradually, with great effort and perseverance, the use of his hands and arms slowly returned to him.
In the meantime, Don’s doctor had procrastinated the unwelcome task of informing him that he must mentally prepare himself to accept his paralysis as an unalterable fact of his young life.
With great difficulty, the doctor broke this news to Don. It was a poignant moment for the good doctor who turned quickly to leave the room to conceal his emotion. As he made his exit, he stole a last glance at Don lying quietly in his bed. Just at this moment, Don reached his arm up to the head rail of his bed and pulled himself into a more comfortable position. The startled doctor could not contain himself. “Do that again, Don! Do that again!” he shouted with excitement. Soon the room was swarming with nurses and doctors who came running to learn the cause of the great commotion. It was a moment to be remembered.
Although Don was happy to feel the strength gradually return to his arms and hands, he had to fight back the tears when he looked down at his helpless legs.
In these trying circumstances he began to fulfill his desire to be a missionary. He told his roommate about the Book of Mormon and gave him a copy to read. Charles, a Hopi Indian boy, immediately became engrossed in the book, and, when darkness came at the close of the day, he continued reading. He devoured the words of this book for three days and two nights, jealous of the time it took to eat or rest. Finally, when he had turned the last page, he rose from his bed and walked over near Don’s side and asked, “Don, where did you get this book? I have shared in the traditions of my people that we hold to be sacred. Many of our traditions are written in this book. Where did you get it?”
Don happily shared his testimony with this new friend as he told him of the restoration of the gospel and of its special meaning to them as Lamanites, a covenant race and descendants of the Book of Mormon people.
Soon after this Charles was released to go home, anxious to share this new message with family and friends. Don was moved to a rehabilitation center in Denver, Colorado. He was quite unprepared for what he encountered at his new residence in the paralytic ward. Everyone seemed depressed, discouraged, and despondent. Patients could not understand how Don, who was in an equally distressing condition, could seem so happy. Some of them asked, “Why are you always so happy and smiling?” Don replied, “My smile keeps the tears from my eyes, and my laughter keeps the lump from my throat.”
With courageous determination Don took advantage of the special care he now received. Long after others would tire and leave the gymnasium, he would remain—trying, trying, trying. Through his valiant effort, accompanied by humble petitions to his Heavenly Father, he was finally strong enough to go up and down the parallel bars alone; and then he was able to walk with braces and crutches. His new mobility permitted him to attend church services. This spiritual comfort brought him great joy, but he was totally surprised by the reception he was given upon his return to the hospital. Everyone teased him for going to church! In his characteristic way, Don’s smile merely broadened at their taunting. He resolved to do something about the gloomy atmosphere in this, his new home, so he happily embarked upon the next chapter of his mission.
In the days that followed, he could be seen wheeling himself down hallways and into every room where patients would receive him, preaching the gospel to all who would listen. He became known good-naturedly as “the prophet,” a title that he accepted graciously.
In the evenings he often lifted his voice in song as he accompanied himself with his guitar. Others began to join in, and the spirit spread. Friday nights soon became known as the time for a hootenanny, and patients joined together with voices raised in song and laughter. Patients began to smile and call each other by name. This new spirit extended into other activities as well.
One of the more dramatic examples was the organizing of a wheelchair olympics.
On the day agreed upon, patients wheeled excitedly from place to place as they marked out a course for the coming events. Wheelchairs were lined up at a starting line, while occupants leaned forward, intently waiting for the starting signal. The signal was given, and they were off in a flurry of wheels and laughter. After a breather and an untangling of wheels, patients were given a chance to challenge another wheelchair. Don looked around, and pointing his finger at one of the chairs, said, “I challenge that chair.”
“Don, you can’t do that,” the astonished attendant replied. “That chair has a motor!”
The competitive young man was undaunted and remained firm; so a course was set and an eager audience waited expectantly for the signal to begin this most unusual race. Soon the signal was given and Don’s hands fairly flew as he propelled his chair toward the finish line. When he had gained full momentum, he ventured a cautious look toward his opponent, only to discover that he was shifting to a higher gear! To complicate matters further, a woven wire fence was stretched a few short feet behind the finish line.
With the heart of a champion, Don ducked his head and gave it everything he had. He crossed the line only inches ahead of his opponent and crashed happily into the wire fence. He was picked up and dusted off amid excited expressions of admiration. He had won!
All was not happiness for Don, however, for he longed to see his home, his family, and his friends. In spite of his high resolve, his vision clouded when he looked down at his crippled legs. Wonderful Church members tried to fill his hour of need, and Don said, “Through their kindness they put a smile on my face and laughter in my mouth.”
As time drew near for him to be released, he began to worry about his acceptance by friends and family upon his return.
The day finally came when his foster parents arrived. It was an ordeal for Don to muster up enough courage to direct the question that had filled his mind completely. “Do you want me to come back?” he asked apprehensively. They softly replied, “Of course, Don. We have a bed waiting for you.” The kind response was too much for him! This time his tears flowed freely and mixed with theirs in a demonstration of joy and love.
On the night of Don’s departure, a special hootenanny was held in his behalf. His many new friends shook the rafters with a song rendered in his honor: “Too Many Chiefs and Not Enough Indians Around This Place.”
The courage and spirit of this young man had touched the lives of others and left an indelible impression.
Two of the residing patients and two members of the nursing staff who waved good-bye to Don had embraced the gospel of Jesus Christ as a result of his influence. Many looked to the future with new hope, and each felt a personal loss at his departure.
Upon his return home, Don’s numerous friends were out to greet him and welcome him back into their circle of friendship. Don soon found a job at an LDS mailbox bookstore that enabled him to meet the payments on his car, a vehicle equipped with special controls that would carry him to his work and to the Mesa Community College where he was enrolled for classes.
As I concluded my visit with him, he handed me a letter. “What is this?” I asked. “It’s a letter from my physical therapist in Denver,” he smiled in reply.
I unfolded the pages and began to read. “Dear Don,” the letter began, “I don’t know how to thank you. Yesterday was the happiest day of my life. It was the day I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
I hope I will remember the example of Don. I hope I will remember his parting words when I asked about his future. He looked directly at me and spoke with conviction: “I’ll wipe away my tears and let the winds of discouragement blow. I cannot fail, for God is with me.”

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. 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.

A few months ago our two youngest granddaughters visited us—one each week. I was at home and answered the door. My wife, Mary, was in another room. In both cases, after a hug, they said almost the same thing. They looked around and then said, “I love to be in Grandma’s house. Where is Grandma?” I didn’t say it to them, but I was thinking, “Isn’t this Grandpa’s house too?” But I realized that when I was a boy, our family went to Grandma’s house. The words of a familiar song came into my mind: “Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s house we go.” Now, let me say unequivocally that I am thrilled with the educational and other opportunities that are available to women. I treasure the fact that the backbreaking work and domestic drudgery required of women has been reduced in much of the world because of modern conveniences and that women are making such magnificent contributions in every field of endeavor. But if we allow our culture to reduce the special relationship that children have with mothers and grandmothers and others who nurture them, we will come to regret it.

Today, while eating my donuts and milk (an after-school-snack) and deciding what to wear to work, I was singing melancholy songs to myself (in my head) and feeling blue. Then Dad, having sorted the mail, plopped the New Era on the table beside me. Instantly my sad song vanished, and as I opened the cover, my blues left too (unable to exist in a mind now full of anticipation and excitement). I read “Feedback,” “3 Rs of Free Agency,” and “A Visit with President Lee” before having to leave for work. Jonathan Seagull never had it so good. In the space of fifteen minutes I was transformed from the depths of apathetic blight (that attacks so strongly the last few months in high school) to that beautiful, sweet, tender, spiritual state that swells my heart and fogs my eyes with love for all that is good.
Bruce R. SnowCarlsbad, New Mexico

I have a friend who is not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She had a party where we got our nails done and watched movies. She wanted to rent R-rated movies. I told her that I don’t watch those kinds of movies. One of the girls told me that she once watched a movie that she wasn’t supposed to watch, and her mom didn’t ever find out. I told her that I still wouldn’t see that movie. We ended up getting two other movies.
The next morning her mom made coffee. She offered me some. I told her that I wasn’t allowed to have coffee, and she told me that a little wouldn’t hurt. I politely told her that I did not want any. She didn’t say anything else after that. I’m glad that I could obey the Word of Wisdom.

Deposition (oil on canvas)
Sarah Hawkes, born 1998, Utah
The composition of this work resembles many images of the Savior as His body was removed from the cross. The central figure here is the artist’s mother, a woman who has fought breast cancer. The other women in the piece represent the nurses, doctors, and friends who supported her on her journey. “[My mother] believes it is a spiritual gift of women to understand how to lift one another spiritually, emotionally, and sometimes physically” (Sarah Hawkes).

My friend Julyette and I were chatting online when she told me she was looking for a church that had a living prophet who spoke with God face-to-face. I thought God had stopped speaking to men here upon the earth because we have a Bible, and I thought that was sufficient for our salvation.
But she said, “If God no longer called a prophet here upon the earth, He would be a liar, for He promised he would never do anything without calling prophets” (see Amos 3:7).
I asked her, “Where is this living prophet?” She did not know.
I began to reflect about how we could discover the right church. I knew that there were many different Christian churches with different doctrines. I thought, “Well, the Internet has a lot of sources,” so I searched for “the true persecuted church.” I don’t know why I typed it in that way, but several lists of churches appeared, including The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. There are many Christian churches in Brazil, but I had never heard of this church.
Upon entering the Web site, I read the story of a 14-year-old boy who had seen God and Jesus Christ face-to-face and had translated the Book of Mormon by the power of God. I had never heard anything about Joseph Smith or the Book of Mormon before, and I thought it was interesting. But what caught my attention was that the Book of Mormon told of Jesus Christ appearing to the ancient inhabitants of the American continent.
I had a great desire to read this book, so I requested a copy. I told Julyette about the site, and after she read the story of Joseph Smith, she was certain this church was the Church of Jesus Christ. She said I had been prepared by the Lord to find the Church for her.
I was impressed with her conviction and wanted to know for myself. I asked my mother if she knew about the Book of Mormon. She told me my sister had a blue book from two missionaries. I borrowed the book and read it from cover to cover in one week; I wasn’t interested in anything else. What a feeling of peace I had! I remembered a promise that everyone who read the book should ask God if it were true, and He would respond (see Moroni 10:3–4).
Early in the morning I went to my room to offer a prayer. I placed my trust in God and asked Him if the book was true, and I felt a burning inside. I did not know what the feeling was, but I felt joy. That night I had a dream in which a Book of Mormon prophet appeared. I asked him if the book was true, and he said it was. When I woke up I thought, “The Book of Mormon really is true.”
I asked around until I found someone who knew the directions to the church. One Friday I rode my bicycle to the chapel, but no one was there. I prayed for help to know when meetings were held. I went again the following week. When I arrived, an elderly lady told me that Church meetings were on Sunday mornings. I returned home happy and excited with my heart beating rapidly.
When I arrived on Sunday morning, I was well received by the members. I was impressed with the organization of the Church. I felt peace and joy in my heart during the meetings, and I asked the missionaries to come to my house to teach me. I returned home and told my mother that I had found the right religion.
The missionaries taught me about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I already knew the story of Joseph Smith, so when they invited me to pray to learn the truth, I told them I had already received an answer and told them about my experience. They were impressed with my testimony and suggested a date, May 15, 2004, for my baptism. In the meantime, my friend Julyette was also baptized. My baptism was the greatest joy of my life, and my friend and I are very happy we found the true Church of Jesus Christ.

After Old Panama burned down, the people of Panama chose a location a few miles away that was easier to defend and started building their city from scratch. It probably wasn’t easy, but the results soar above Old Panama’s ruins.

Mayka and Minerva Moreno’s personal progress has followed a similar course. When the sisters joined the Church, Mayka was the age of the Beehive girls, and Minerva was only a few months away from entering the Young Women program. They were essentially starting from scratch in the gospel, without the benefit of a foundation built in Primary. Now, several years later, they look back at what Personal Progress did for them as new converts.

“We didn’t get to go through Primary,” Mayka says. “Personal Progress helped me to understand the doctrines of the gospel. It strengthened my testimony a lot about Christ’s Atonement and other things I didn’t understand.”

“I’ve learned so much more about the gospel and about Joseph Smith,” says Minerva. “I’ve been able to figure out what are the lies some say about the Church and what is the truth.”

Their mother, Justa, has noticed their progress as well. “I’ve seen a great change in them,” says Justa. “It’s been complete, 100 percent, but for the good—in their daily lives, their behavior, their friends, in school.”

“I have learned so many things,” Mayka says. “I’m not the same person I was. I’m better.”

The year before I served my mission the bishop called me into his office and extended a call for me to be a CTR B Primary teacher. I accepted the call, excited to teach the seven- and eight-year-olds in my class. At the same time, I also worked at a local supermarket. It was a good job.
Not long after I was hired, the manager and assistant manager of the store where I worked informed me that I would have to start working on Sundays. The manager said, “I am not going to work around the Mormons or any other church.” To keep my job, I knew that it would mean giving up my calling. My manager wouldn’t discuss it any further.
I sat down with the bishop and explained the whole situation. This was one of the first times we talked about a mission. I wasn’t sure that I would even go on a mission. But if I did go, I would need a job to earn money to pay for it. But I also wanted to keep the Sabbath day holy and be able to attend church and teach Primary. After a long discussion with the bishop, I decided to quit my job. Not long after that, I found a job at another store that allowed me to have Sundays off. I kept my calling, and for the next several months I helped those children prepare for baptism.
One day I was looking at the missionary discussions, just to see what was in them, and it suddenly became clear to me why it had been so important for me to teach Primary. The discussions taught about Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, the Book of Mormon, the First Vision, faith, repentance, baptism, and the gift of the Holy Ghost—the very same principles I had been teaching my Primary class. I decided to pray about a mission.
I received an answer to serve a mission. I was interviewed by my bishop and received a call to serve in the Jacksonville, Florida, area. Teaching Primary gave me a better understanding of the things I would need to know to be prepared to serve a mission.
When I quit my job, some people might have wondered why, especially when someone else could have easily taught that Primary class. But giving up my job to keep the Sabbath and teach Primary resulted in a greater blessing for me.

“Nice pants,” a girl giggled as she walked past me into class. I stood in the hallway of my new junior high school, confused by her sarcasm.
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” I whispered to myself.
It didn’t take me long to figure it out. In this school, designer clothes were the standard, and my jeans didn’t have the right label. I just didn’t fit in.
As the unkind comments grew, so did my feelings of inferiority. Along with my schoolwork, I started studying the other students’ styles. Time and new clothes helped end the teasing. Yet I still spent hours worrying that I didn’t measure up.
My craving to feel accepted continued into high school, where luxury cars in the student parking lot were a common sight. I would rather have been seen careening through the halls in a baby buggy than caught driving our family car. It was a minivan, old and turquoise. A recent accident supplied the final touch—a white hood. The van reminded me of a blue-and-white suede loafer, so I named it Old Blue Shoe.
Since I walked to school, Old Blue Shoe didn’t concern me much—that is, until my parents bought a new car and offered me the ancient vehicle. Was I grateful for something to drive? Hardly—I’d rather walk.
A short time later in history class, my teacher assigned a joint research project. Instead of the usual disappointment, though, I was overjoyed—my teacher had announced that Rick and I would be in the same group. Not only was Rick one of the smart kids, but he was also seminary president and an athlete. This was my chance to impress him, to prove that I could fit in with the popular kids. Before class ended, we’d agreed to do our work at the university library. Then I walked home, smiling the whole way.
That night, my parents dropped me off at the library so I wouldn’t have to drive the van. But I cringed when my parents said, “Get a ride home from one of your friends, okay?”
The library research time flew by, and I felt relieved when Rick offered to take me home. We walked down the library stairs and outside, talking about school. As we reached the parking lot, my insecure feelings poked at me, and I felt the need to explain why I was reduced to begging for rides. “My parents bought a new car and offered me their van,” I said, “but it was this ugly dinosaur, and, you know …” I shrugged, hoping to suggest I was too stylish to ride in a car like that.
I wondered why Rick got so quiet. He pulled out his keys and stopped in front of his car. The reason for his silence hit like Old Blue Shoe’s ghost on a rampage. It was a blue minivan—a newer model, but otherwise identical to the car I’d just ridiculed.
My stomach dropped. I opened the car door and slid into the seat, wishing I could hide in the glove box instead. I wanted to apologize, explain that his car was nice, in much better shape than my parent’s van. Yet I was too mortified to say a single word.
Rick didn’t speak either, except to ask for directions to my house. He pulled up to my curb, then left with a simple “Bye.”
My face burned with humiliation as I walked to my front door. Worse, I knew I deserved every bit of my embarrassment. I went inside and sank onto the couch to think. Until that night, I’d thought self-confidence came from appearance. Although my comment bothered Rick, driving that car didn’t. He had an assurance based not on looks, but an internal quality I lacked.
I realized I’d wasted years studying the “in” crowd, when I should have been working on what was inside. I wanted to change, to be more like Rick—a person who could have a “bad car day” without letting it ruin my feelings of self-worth.
I made a goal to stop just following others and try to become more like our Savior, Jesus Christ. As I looked to Him, I began to gain a confidence based not on how I looked, but how I served.
I learned a secret I wish I’d known before Rick gave me that ride home. I was much happier when I spent my time thinking of others instead of worrying about what they thought of me.

Take 50 eager students, 1,260 empty containers, and 21 tons of wheat, and you have an energy-packed service project that’s still sending tremors through southern California.
Junior college students at Los Angeles Pierce College—many of them enrolled in the Woodland Hills Institute of Religion—took upon themselves one goal: to help families get food storage.
And orders they got! In fact, so many people from throughout the Los Angeles area responded to the service project—even some nonmembers—that they had to arrange for three shipments of wheat to fill orders for 63 tons.
The first step was to investigate food storage requirements—protein and moisture contents as well as best packaging methods. With the tracks laid, the students began the task of crew organization, paper work, and word-of-mouth advertising in preparation for their first shipment of 21 tons of hard winter wheat.
The delivery day was never to be forgotten.
After the wheat arrived the real work began; the wheat was poured into containers, sealed airtight, and loaded during a heavy rain onto pickup trucks for personal delivery to each home.
“I’ve never been so wet and worked so hard in my life,” said Meli Estrada with a laugh. “And I’ve never seen so many kids having so much fun together.”
“Most of the people couldn’t believe we were delivering right to their doorsteps,” commented Claire Smith.
For most of the young people the real satisfaction came with the comments from customers who said, “This is what it took to really motivate us to get our year’s supply.” And, “We don’t have any room, but if kids are going to work this hard to get it to us, we’ll store it in our living room if we have to.” Another said, “I’ve never known a thing about wheat, but I’m going to learn right now how to make bread.”
A free bonus with all orders was a mimeographed sheet of whole wheat recipes and a food storage checklist.
The consensus of everyone involved in the food storage project was summed up by Pat Morley, a nonmember from Canoga Park: “It’s great to be together with your friends doing something fun and at the same time doing something that is so necessary.”