Gospel Story Finder

Twelve-year-old Elizabeth watched Carol’s long fingers glide smoothly over the black and white piano keys.
“Excellent, Carol!” Mrs. Brown exclaimed for the second time in a matter of minutes. “You’ll do beautifully in Saturday’s competition. I’m expecting you to win that trophy again this year.”
Elizabeth squirmed uneasily and rubbed her moist palms together. The grandfather clock against the wall seemed to stare at her. It wasn’t easy following Mrs. Brown’s best student at piano lessons every week. No matter how hard Elizabeth practiced, she always felt a bit inadequate compared to Carol.
“The competition begins promptly at two o’clock Saturday,” Mrs. Brown told Carol.
“I’ll be here,” Carol replied. “I want to add this year’s trophy to my collection. See you Saturday, Mrs. Brown.” Carol walked confidently across the room to the door, ignoring Elizabeth.
“Let’s get started, Elizabeth,” the teacher said, motioning her toward the piano. The bench felt hard and unfriendly as Elizabeth sat down and slid to the center. In a way, Mrs. Brown still frightened her, even after two years of lessons.
“Arch those fingers, and wrists down,” Mrs. Brown began. “And please count out loud.”
Elizabeth began her scales. “One, two, and three and four and one,” she repeated again and again. Her fingers were loose and steady. Those extra hours of practicing were making a difference.
“Sounds good, Elizabeth.” Mrs. Brown’s voice sounded a little surprised. “Now let’s try your piece for the competition Saturday.”
Elizabeth took the teacher’s request as a challenge. Her fingers were like the smoothly moving parts of a machine as they glided almost effortlessly over the keys. The music was soft, then loud; sweet, then proud. She turned the last page and finished the piece boldly.
“Good, Elizabeth!” Mrs. Brown exclaimed. “Very good. In fact, Elizabeth, that performance deserves a bravo!”
Elizabeth smiled, her eyes glistening happily. She knew that she had to be good to receive comments like those from Mrs. Brown.
“Those judges are going to have quite a decision to make on Saturday if you play this well then, Elizabeth,” her teacher praised her at the end of the lesson. “The best of luck to you. Remember, the competition starts at two o’clock.”
Elizabeth walked outside in a daze and waited for her ride. Bravo! she thought, recalling Mrs. Brown’s words. She sat down on the grass and began imagining herself in a large, dark concert hall, bowing to thunderous applause. Hot theater lights made her perspire as she curtsied proudly.
The out-of-tune honk of her mother’s car horn startled Elizabeth and brought her back to reality. “Mother!” Elizabeth cried. She grabbed her books, jumped up, and ran excitedly to the car. “Mrs. Brown liked my playing today. She said I even have a chance for the trophy at the competition on—“
“Slow down, Elizabeth,” her mother interrupted. But there was a pleased look on her face. “Tell me all about it from the beginning.” She pulled the car slowly into the street.
“Oh, Mother,” Elizabeth began, “after I listened to Carol play today, I was really discouraged. She never makes a mistake, and she’s won the trophy the past three years.”
“Carol is a good player,” her mother responded honestly.
“But when I played my piece for Mrs. Brown, she liked it. She said ‘Bravo,’ Mother. And she said that the judges would have a hard time choosing a winner on Saturday.”
“All those hours at the piano are really beginning to pay off,” her mother replied encouragingly. “I always believed that you had a real talent for the piano.”
Elizabeth spent many hours the next three days seated at the upright piano in the corner of the living room. Her fingers worked endlessly. All she could think about was winning the trophy.
Autumn turned annoyingly into winter the Saturday of the competition. Gray black clouds filled the sky, and before noon large snowflakes were falling.
Elizabeth practiced playing her piece for what seemed to be the thousandth time. Nervously she put on her favorite blue dress. Her shining dark brown hair lay clean on her shoulders.
“I’m ready to go,” she told her father. Her little brothers wore their white shirts and dress pants.
“Let’s get started then,” Dad said. “This storm has turned into a blizzard. We’ll need extra time to get to the competition.”
The windshield wipers on the car slapped noisily from side to side, sweeping the snowflakes aside as they accumulated. As the car wound slowly toward the studio, the storm worsened, and cars began sliding on the road.
“What if we’re too late, Dad?” Elizabeth asked anxiously.
“I think we’ll make it, if we’re careful,” her father reassured her.
Elizabeth relaxed momentarily, leaned back in her seat, and closed her eyes. We just have to make it! she thought. I’ve worked too hard to miss the competition.
The monotony of the windshield wipers was interrupted by a slushy, skidding sound. Elizabeth opened her eyes to see a large sedan slide off the road.
“Looks like they’re in trouble,” her father said grimly.
Elizabeth stared out the window at the struggling vehicle as their own car crept slowly by. The sedan seemed to be hopelessly stuck.
Suddenly Elizabeth recognized it. It was the one always parked in front of the piano studio when she arrived for her lesson. Carol was inside that car! Mrs. Brown’s best piano student was agonizing, no doubt, as she listened to the car’s wheels whine desperately.
A triumphant smile spread over Elizabeth’s face as she imagined the trophy on her dresser. After all, it was not her fault that Carol’s car had slipped off the road.
The big sedan was not much more than a spot in the distance now, and Mrs. Brown’s studio was just a few minutes away. But Elizabeth felt uneasy. Her earlier enthusiasm for an easy victory had disappeared. Several times she squinted out the back window at the stalled car. It had not moved.
“We’re going to make it, Elizabeth!” her father said happily. “We’ll be there in no time.”
“Dad, you have to turn back,” Elizabeth declared firmly.
Elizabeth’s mother and brothers stared at her.
“Carol was in that car back there that slid off the road. If we don’t go back and help, she’ll never make it in time to play.”
“I’ll do whatever you want, Elizabeth, but we’re sure to be late.”
“Then stop and turn around, Dad. Now. We can both still make it if we play last.” Elizabeth sounded sure about her decision.
Slowly her father brought the car to a halt. He turned it around carefully and drove back to the car that was stuck.
Later the audience clapped enthusiastically as Carol stood and walked to the judges’ stand. She had performed flawlessly. Her hands grasped the tall trophy.
Behind Carol, out of the bright lights, Elizabeth stood with the other contenders. She had not won the trophy, but she knew that her parents were equally proud of her. A feeling of contentment came over her as she realized that some things were even more important than winning a trophy.

How about basketball? I play point guard for both of the teams I am on. I’m pretty fast. Most of the other players are in wheelchairs because of injuries, so they sit regular height. I’m shorter, so I have to use my speed. I appreciate my coach, who spent so much time teaching me. Now I like to serve by helping the little kids who are just starting out. Some of them have a hard time, but I enjoy encouraging them.

When I received my August 2002 issue, the first article I read was “Carving A Character.” About half-way through diabetes jumped off the page at me. Before I continued, I called my sister to come listen to the rest of Matt Rogers’s story. My sister was diagnosed with type-1 diabetes when she was four years old. Even though she has had the disease for four years, lately she has become very depressed about her illness. She feels like no one else understands what she is going through, and she tries to ignore her illness, hoping it will disappear. I loved reading her the scripture Matt mentioned (Ether 12:27); his diabetes had been something to help shape his life. It gave my sister a different perspective. Now she tells me she wants to be a sculptor!
Kassandra GreerWalkersville, Maryland (via e-mail)

Newell B. Stevenson, a lifelong friend of Elder Faust, recalls that Butler Hill was also the local ski resort. “We used to go skiing there,” he relates. “That was back in the days when we didn’t know what ski boots and ski bindings and all those sorts of things were. We built ourselves a jump, and if you had a little good luck, you made it all the way down to the bottom. Of course, once you got to the bottom of the hill, you had to walk back up. Once Jim (Elder Faust) lost a ski and fell hard and broke his collarbone.
“We used to swim together a lot during the summer at a cold-water, spring-fed lake near our home. If we could have spent our lives there, we would have. A couple of times we went there in the early spring and dared each other to get into the water. We were so cold we got out in a hurry!”
Other sports also attracted Elder Faust’s interest, especially football and track. His father was his most ardent supporter. In recalling those days, Brother Stevenson said, “I don’t think I ever went to an athletic event that those Faust kids were in when their father wasn’t there to support them.
“Even as a boy—but particularly when we got into our teens—Jim was the spiritual leader of our group. We did everything together, and I have to give him a lot of credit for keeping us out of trouble. He wasn’t overbearing, domineering, or falsely pious—he just always did what was right.”
“It is wonderful to be a parent and a grandparent,” Elder Faust declared. He and his wife, Ruth, have five children—three sons and two daughters—and sixteen grandchildren.
Stressing the importance of the influence of parents and grandparents, Elder Faust counseled, “Boys and girls, have confidence in the direction and counsel and advice of your parents and grandparents who love you more than anybody else in the world does. They always have your interest at heart. I have sometimes questioned the advice and direction I received from my parents and grandparents, but I never questioned the fact that they loved me. I learned that they were in a better position to know more about right and wrong than I did from my limited understanding and from my limited experience.”

Mari frowned. Grandma was telling the same story. Again.
Grandma came to live with Mari’s family several months ago. Mari loved her, but being around Grandma was sometimes tiring. She told the sames stories over and over again. Sometimes she’d start over before she even finished telling the story.
Mari sighed. “Grandma,” she said, “you already told me that story.”
Grandma looked down. “I did?”
“Yes,” Mari said. “You told it to me just a few minutes ago.”
“I don’t remember,” Grandma said. She looked sad and confused. Then she stood up and wandered back to her room.
Mari felt sorry that she had upset Grandma. Ever since Grandpa died, Grandma had gotten more and more forgetful. Once she even left the stove on, and it started a fire in her kitchen. That’s when Mom and Dad brought Grandma to live with them.
Mari found Dad in the kitchen. “I really love Grandma, but I get tired of hearing the same stories. Why doesn’t she remember that she already told me that story about fifty million times?”
Dad smiled. “I bet it’s not fifty million times. But I know it’s hard. Your grandma has a sickness in her brain that makes her forget things. Her stories are her way of trying to remember who she is.”
Mari hung her head. Why hadn’t she been more patient with Grandma? Grandma had always treated her with love. She called her “my Mari.” Mari thought about when she used to help Grandma plant flowers and weed the garden.
Mari knocked on Grandma’s door.
“Come in,” Grandma said.
Mari opened the door. Grandma was sitting in a chair with the scriptures open on her lap.
“Grandma, would you please tell me how you and Grandpa joined the Church?” Mari asked.
Grandma looked up. “You want to hear about Grandpa and me?” she asked in a hopeful voice.
Mari sat down next to Grandma. “I do. I want to hear everything.” Mari took her grandma’s hand. “You’re very special to me, Grandma. You always will be.”
Grandma smiled, sat back in her chair, and started to tell the story.
Mari had heard the story many times, but this time, she didn’t feel annoyed or impatient. Instead, she felt love and amazement. She knew Grandma and Grandpa had sacrificed a lot when they joined the Church in Germany. Her grandparents had moved far from their home so they could live near other Church members.
Grandma finished the story and smiled. “You are a good girl, my Mari.”
Mari hugged her grandma. “Thank you, Grandma. I love you.”
This story took place in the USA.

This story took place in Guatemala.
“I’m so excited to go to church at the chapel!” Anahí said at breakfast.
Because of the COVID-19 pandemic, Anahí and her family hadn’t been able to go to church in person for almost two years. But today they would finally be able to! Anahí was glad she could see her friends and have the sacrament with their ward again.
Anahí and her family sat down in the chapel. Anahí waved to her friends.
Soon it was time for the sacrament. After the hymn, Anahí folded her arms and bowed her head. She listened to the sacrament prayer. Then she looked at a little picture of Jesus. It helped her remember to be reverent.
A young man brought the tray to their row. But when the tray reached Anahí, it was empty!
Then Anahí looked closer. In the corner of the tray, there was one crumb left. She picked it up and put it in her mouth.
For the rest of the day, Anahí worried. She kept thinking about the tiny piece of bread. All through dinner she worried. She didn’t even eat her ice cream for dessert. She just sat at the table while Mami washed dishes.
Did the sacrament count if I only took a crumb? she thought.
Mami dried her hands on a towel. “Is something wrong, love?”
Anahí shook her head no.
“Well, your melted ice cream makes me think something is bothering you.” Mami smiled and sat down next to Anahí. “What is it?”
Tears filled Anahí’s eyes. “I was excited to take the sacrament today. But when the tray got to me, there was only a crumb of bread left.” She took a big breath. “Did I take the sacrament wrong?”
“No,” Mami said. She hugged Anahí close. “I saw you looking at the little picture of Jesus you carry in your scriptures. What were you thinking about?”
“I was thinking about how Jesus loves me. And about the nail prints in His hands and feet. And all He did for us.”
“Don’t you see?” Mami asked. “That’s why we take the bread and water. To remember the sacrifice Jesus made for us.”
“So the size of the bread doesn’t matter?”
“No. What matters is how you felt as you remembered the Savior,” Mami said. “And even though you just had a tiny piece of bread, Jesus’s love for you is not tiny. He loves you so, so much.”
Anahí smiled. She knew Mami was right. The sacrament could always be a special time to remember Jesus—even with just a tiny piece of bread.

I can still remember a powerful teaching moment from my mother in Brooklyn, New York, USA, 70 years ago. After my father had baptized me and while I was still in my wet baptismal clothes, my mother sat me down on a rusted metal folding chair in front of the baptismal font. She reviewed with me the importance of baptism by priesthood authority, the purpose of my baptismal covenant to take upon myself the name of Jesus Christ, and the law of obedience. Then she asked me how I felt. I remember telling her I had a warm feeling all over and that I would like to feel that way for the rest of my life.

My mother looked into my eyes and taught me that in a few moments my father would lay his hands upon my head and would confirm me a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He would confer upon me the gift of the Holy Ghost, she said, and if I remained worthy, true, and faithful to the commandments, the Holy Ghost would be with me to provide guidance and direction throughout my life. Although I had this experience with my mother many years ago, I have never forgotten that important teaching moment.

We take an oath to be friendly, kind, and courteous. At a national jamboree a 12-year-old Scout got separated from his patrol. He was standing alone in a sea of Scouts and about to break into tears. An older Scout saw him and went over and introduced himself. “I have a gift for you,” the older boy said. “It is a hand-carved bolo tie. A great Scouter, Bill Burch, carved it. He numbers each one. He has carved over 40,000.”
The older Scout presented the tie to the young scared Scout. About that time the patrol found the boy. They gathered around him, and for a few moments he was the center of attention with his new bolo tie. The tears had disappeared; he felt important. The older Scout had truly been friendly.

When I was younger, I attended a private university in my home state in Mexico. I always got along very well with the teachers and university director. I was a great student and got good grades, and the director and I stayed in touch after I finished my degree.
One day in 2010, I was talking with the director. She told me that the university was short a few teachers, and she offered me a job because of my skills and experience.
It felt like such a blessing to me. I was out of work at the time, and we were struggling just to eat. It would be a dream for me to teach so I could provide for my wife and children.
I said, “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”
She said, “Great! The next semester starts in 15 days. We need you to fill out this paperwork and come to the orientation so that you can start working.”
When I went to fill out the paperwork, another teacher saw me and asked what I was going to put where it asked about my religion.
I said, “I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
He said, “I recommend that you don’t put that down. If you do, they are going to reject your paperwork immediately.”
I asked myself, How could this be? It’s the twenty-first century. How could religion be an issue? Besides, I felt that I needed to be honest, so I was. I finished the paperwork and emailed it. The next day, I waited to receive information on my teaching schedule. Nothing happened.
The day after that, I contacted the director and asked her about it. She said, “You know what, it’s not going to work out.”
I asked, “Why, what happened?”
She told me, “Your class curriculum doesn’t satisfy the academic requirements.”
This made no sense because she was the one who had offered me the job in the first place. The administrators later told me the truth: I lost the job due to my religion.
Because the university had no written rule or policy regarding the beliefs or religion of the faculty, I had been unfairly discriminated against. It was very hard for me personally, but especially because I didn’t know how I would provide for my family.
One of the things that helped me was thinking about how Nephi was able to build a boat without knowing how to do it before he started (see 1 Nephi 17:7–55; 18:1–4). Knowing that God can guide me and provide the things my family needs helped me make it through this challenging time. As I considered my situation, Heavenly Father helped me so that I never felt angry, and I decided I should let it go. He helped me focus on my family and find a different job as a reporter, and that was a great blessing.

Masaki was listening for the sounds of a boat motor. Ever since he had first awakened, he had listened. Now it was almost noon and still no boat.
“Masaki!” called his mother from the kitchen hut. “Aren’t you ever going to get that firewood for me? How can I cook your dinner with no firewood? Why do you keep standing there, looking toward the sea?”
“I’m going now, Mother,” said Masaki.
She doesn’t understand, Masaki thought, why it is so important to hear the boat coming.
Of course, Masaki’s mother knew that the white man from America was bringing his family today—everyone in the village knew that. But it was especially important to Masaki and his brothers, sisters, and cousins. They had never seen a white child before. The white children’s father had told the chief of Masaki’s village, that three white children would be on the boat today—one girl, ten years old like Masaki, and two boys, twelve and six. Today they would all move into the house that the white man had built for them on the land next to Masaki’s village.
Masaki began chopping halfheartedly at a dead branch behind his father’s grass hut. Suddenly he saw his cousin, Samesa, running down the great stone hill that overlooked the bay. Samesa was waving his hands and shouting something. Masaki dropped his knife and ran to meet him.
“They’re here! They’re here!” Samesa was shouting. “I saw the boat turning into the bay and they’re all in it! A man, a woman, and three children. Quick, come and see!”
Samesa turned and ran back up the hill, followed by the rest of the village children. By the time they had reached the crest of the hill, the boat motor had stopped. Below them they saw the white man pulling his boat up on the white sandy shore, directly in front of the new house. He saw the village children and waved at them.
But the shy children ran away when the man waved. They hid behind some of the bushes that grew on top of the hill. From there they could watch without being seen.
“Look!” exclaimed Samesa. “They all have golden hair.”
“My father says that it is because they come from the North Country. Everyone there has white skin and golden hair,” said Mary, Masaki’s cousin.
“And see the mother!” Masaki’s older sister cried out. “She wears trousers just like the man!”
They all looked at the mother, who was wearing a pair of bright red slacks. This seemed very strange to the children. They had never seen a woman wearing anything except a sulu (long, wraparound skirt).
“The small girl wears trousers too,” observed Masaki. “I’m going to a bush nearer to the new house so that I can see them better.” And with that, Masaki jumped up and ran down the great stone hill, followed by the rest of the excited children. Everyone wanted to see more of these people from America.
As Masaki and Samesa ran through the forest toward the big house, Masaki thought about his new neighbors. How strange that they should come here to Fiji, so far away from the home of their ancestors. And why do they want to farm the land here in this place where only Fijians live? How very different the children are from my own brothers and sisters!
The white children neither laughed nor shouted; nor did they splash in the water when they got out of the boat as he would have done. Staying close to their mother, the children looked around with wide, frightened eyes. How odd that they should be afraid of this place, Masaki pondered.
The children reached the edge of the clearing where they saw the beautiful new house of the white man. Masaki and Samesa crept closer to the house and hid behind some banana stalks. The other children stayed farther away, hiding in the forest bushes. With their dark skins, it was difficult to see them in the shadow of the trees. But just then, Masaki saw the little golden-haired girl looking through the window straight at him.
“Hey, Masaki!” whispered Samesa. “See that girl. I think she sees you.”
“She’s looking right at me,” agreed Masaki.
“What are you going to do?” teased Samesa. “Maybe her father will come out and give you a strapping! Or maybe her mother will cook you for dinner.”
The children who were close enough to hear Samesa’s teasing were laughing and snickering at Masaki. Then Masaki did the only thing he could do to prove that he was not afraid. He got up from his hiding place and walked straight over to the front door.
“Hello!” he called. As Masaki knew nothing of the American custom of knocking, this was all that he could do.
The father heard Masaki and came to the door. When he saw the frightened Fijian boy, he called to his own children to come. Then the father put out his hand and took Masaki’s trembling hand into his own.
“Come in, son,” he welcomed Masaki. “Come in and meet my children. They have no friends in this new place. We are having our lunch. Come eat with us, and then you can play with them.”
Masaki was taught English in school and could understand most of the words. But it was the warm, friendly smiles of the family surrounding him that induced Masaki to go inside.
Once inside the house, Masaki was glad that he had done the manly thing and had not run away like a frightened pigeon. These strangers weren’t so different after all. The little girl—her name was Alice—even knew how to play marbles! And they ate fish, just like the people of Masaki’s village, and something called potato that tasted just like the kawai that Masaki’s father planted in the garden at home.
Then, as Masaki was preparing to return to his village (for he had suddenly remembered his mother’s firewood), he saw a beautiful picture lying on an unopened box. It was of the Savior with a lamb in His arms. Masaki stood admiring the portrait as the family quietly gathered around him.
Masaki looked up at his new friends standing silently beside him. Suddenly he realized that they would never seem like strangers to him again. For they, just like him, were children of God.
It was with a full heart that Masaki raced back to the village that afternoon with his mother’s firewood. There he was met by a mob of brothers, sisters, and cousins. He had so much to tell them!

After Peter M. Johnson, the son of a facility supervisor and taxi driver, had accepted a basketball scholarship at Brigham Young University–Hawaii, he found himself standing before an institute teacher.
“You will [either] join the Church right away, or it will take you a while,” the teacher predicted.
The teacher was correct. More than a year later, Peter “fasted and prayed and received an answer.” He was baptized on August 16, 1986.

This story took place in the USA.
“Let’s start our family council with a prayer,” Trina’s dad said.
Trina knelt beside her brothers and sisters while her brother Taylor said the prayer. Then they all sat back down.
“Mom and I want to talk about Adam,” Dad said. Trina’s brother Adam was a missionary. He left three months ago, and Trina missed him a lot.
“He’s coming home from his mission this week,” said Mom.
Trina gasped. Is he OK? she thought.
“What? How come?” asked Taylor.
“He’s been struggling with anxiety and depression,” Mom said. “That means he has a lot of worry and sadness that won’t go away. He’s going to get some help from doctors here, just like he would if he had broken his leg or gotten sick.”
Trina didn’t know what to say. She had friends whose siblings had come home early from their missions to get help from a doctor. Would Adam be OK?
“We want to do all we can to help Adam. Will you please pray to know how you can serve your brother?” asked Dad.
Trina and her siblings nodded.
“You can ask us any questions and tell us how you’re feeling anytime. We sure love you,” said Mom. Trina ran to hug her, and the rest of the family joined for a group hug.
Over the next few days, Trina thought about Adam. She prayed about what she could do for him. She thought of times when she felt worried or sad and how much her family had helped her. But anxiety and depression seemed like pretty big things.
“What can I do to help Adam?” Trina asked Mom.
“We can’t change what Adam is feeling,” Mom said. “But we can support him and show him we care.”
“We can love him!” said Trina.
Mom smiled and hugged her. “That’s the best thing we can do.”
Trina knew there were lots of ways to say “I love you,” even without saying it out loud. When her family did nice things for her or gave her a hug, she knew they loved her. Trina could do that for Adam!
Trina decided she could start showing love for Adam now. She used chalk to write a message for him on the sidewalk. She hid nice notes around the house. She helped her siblings make a sign. It said, “Welcome home, Elder Dawson! We love you!”
The next day Trina’s family went to the airport. Trina helped her siblings hold the sign they had made. When Adam walked through the gate, Trina and her family ran to hug him.
“I love you, Adam!” Trina said.
When they got home, Trina took Adam’s hand and led him to the sidewalk to see what she had written.
“‘We are so proud of you, Elder Dawson,’” read Adam. He looked up at their parents and siblings. “Thanks, everyone.” He squeezed Trina’s hand.
Adam left to put his suitcase in his room. When he came back, he was smiling. “Does anyone know who’s doing all the nice things around our house? I just found a secret note on my pillow.” He winked at Trina.
Trina grinned. She couldn’t wait to think of more ways to say “I love you”!

A few years ago my rugby team participated in a weeklong tournament. This meant seven days away from home, parents, and Church leaders. Because we attend a Church school, everyone on my team was a member of the Church. Almost every evening that week, the other teams in our hotel would party in their rooms with loud music, dancing, drinking, smoking, and screaming harsh words at each other. Our team gathered in a room for our tradition of scripture study and evening devotionals. It felt good to do the right thing without being instructed by our parents. After the other teams observed us with surprise, we gained their respect. They were silent when they knew we were having evening devotionals. They seemed to be interested in what we were doing, and some even joined with us to read the scriptures and pray together.

We didn’t win the tournament that week, but we won in another way. We were able to shine our light, and through our examples, change hearts and minds.
Elisara E., 20, Samoa

Robert, an investigator in Canada, has attended a variety of LDS meetings and activities. He has researched various religions but continues studying the Church because of the inspiration he has found in its doctrine and the Book of Mormon. He attends institute to learn more and finds the social environment “refreshingly wholesome, friendly, with a really good vibe,” he says. “Mormons are the nicest people in the world.”

A self-described introvert, Robert wants to interact but says, “I tend to hug the walls, unsure of how to be part of the groups, some of them long-term LDS friends who don’t seem to need anyone else.” But it doesn’t take much to ease this sense of isolation. During an activity, he recalls, “someone came up to me after dinner and encouraged me to stay for the movie; otherwise, I would have left, but instead I had a great time. I just needed to know that someone wanted me there.”

Like Melissa, he appreciates LDS friends who explain doctrine but don’t get too specific about how to live it. Friends who listen more than they admonish are like “someone who walks beside you, as opposed to pushing from behind to make you go faster. Most of the time, you just trip and stumble.”

Robert has struggled to give up smoking. His discomfort illustrates how those who are new are deeply aware of their differences. “Not one member has ever said anything to me about smelling like smoke,” he says. “Yet if my clothes aren’t fresh out of the laundry, I will stay home from institute or church.”

Some people say the Laurels in Oregon’s Corvallis Third Ward are green.
But not the inexperienced, unsophisticated type of green. And certainly not the jealous type of green. Not even the type of green you turn when you’re seasick. Green is actually meant as a compliment because, in some circles, to be green means to be environmentally conscious—to be doing your part to look after the earth. The Laurels are so environmentally conscious that they decided to put on special ecological firesides for the entire stake and town.
Nobody can say exactly how or when the Laurels turned “green” and decided to put on the fireside.
After all, they live in a state that is exceptionally ecology conscious. High school students are paid quite well for picking up trash, and it shows. Everywhere you look, you see lots of green and very little garbage. And recycling programs are prevalent in almost every city.
Then again, they might have turned green at school. The Laurels attend very ecology-oriented high schools where students have managed to save about 344 trees and 158,000 gallons of water this past year by voluntarily recycling their paper. The halls are filled with recycling bins for aluminum cans, and on certain days, there are student council members outside to greet you when you drive up to school. If you carpool, you get to park in front. If you drive alone, you have to park in the back. Those student council members are often Laurels Lisa Rampton and Jenni Merten. They say it’s worth sitting out in the constant Oregon drizzle to get people thinking about saving gas.
The Laurels might even have grown green at church. They do belong to a church that esteems this earth as a beautiful gift from Heavenly Father.
It seems the Laurels get a message on ecology almost everywhere they go, and they’re doing their best to pass that green message on. “Ecology is somewhat of a trend,” says Lisa, clad in an “Earth Native” T-shirt. “But I think it’s a good trend. It’s not bad to be a fad follower in this case.”
To make their own contribution via the fireside, the Laurels had to start practicing what they were going to preach. The disposal company in Corvallis picks up sorted garbage and ensures that it will be recycled, so those whose families weren’t already sorting their trash into separate bins for paper, cardboard, plastic, aluminum, tin cans, and glass, began to do so. Was it hard to start going that extra mile?
“At first I didn’t want to take the time to wash a can, then take the label off, then take both ends off and smash it down,” says Sherri Lewis, who just entered the Laurel class when the ecology program was in full swing. “But when you start hearing about how recycling helps the environment, it makes you want to do it.”
“You get used to it,” says Kim Hale, who has three sisters, all involved in recycling. “Besides, we take turns taking the bottles and cans to the recycling center, and whoever takes them gets the money for them. That’s a little added incentive.”
The object was for each Laurel to bring a week’s worth of recyclables to the fireside to use as visual aids. It’s surprising to see how much can be recycled. The front of the multipurpose room of the meetinghouse, where the fireside was held, was brimming. “We used to put two big garbage cans out for the trash man each time he came,” says Jenni. “Now we only use one a week. It feels good to know we’re not putting such a strain on the landfills.”
Each Laurel had her own part in the fireside. Lisa conducted and talked about the spiritual reasons for keeping the world God gave us clean. Jenni spoke about the state of the world as it is today, complete with acid rain, air pollution, and dwindling resources. Then Tami McDaniel talked about what each person could do to help ease the strain on the environment.
Since this was a presentation for the whole family, children were involved too. For example, Kim had her six-year-old sister show some of the fun art projects she’d made from things that would usually be thrown away.
Over in the nursery, the Beehives tended the children who were too young to sit through the fireside. The children colored pictures of the earth and of things they like to do outside. They were given a lesson on the creation and their responsibility to keep things clean.
And what fireside would be complete without refreshments? The Laurels served nutritious food that came in as little packaging as possible. All the dishes involved were washed and reused, and instead of paper, they used cloth napkins.
Was the fireside a success? Judge for yourself. The Laurels were asked to repeat it a number of times, and each presentation had quite a few non-LDS people in attendance. Everyone was impressed.
While no one has statistics on how many stake members are now recycling, the fireside definitely helped the Laurels on the personal level. Tami, for example, had just recently been baptized when her class started the ecology project. Her family had been recycling for quite some time, and Tami was well versed on how to be green, so she felt she had something to contribute from the start.
It’s true that no one knows exactly where all this started, and now, no one knows where it will end. The Laurels feel good, about turning green, however, and hope it’s catching.

On Saturday, Ari’s family went to help at the food bank.
“What’s a food bank?” Ari asked on the way there.
“It’s a big building with shelves full of food,” Mom said. “People who don’t have enough money for groceries can go there to get food.”
“Lots of people in our ward are helping,” said Ari’s big brother, Ben.
“But how can I help?” Ari asked.
“There will be a lot you can help with,” Mom said.
When they got to the food bank, a woman named Kathy showed them around.
“Today we need to paint walls,” Kathy said. “But we need to wash them first.”
Ari’s family got two buckets of warm, soapy water. Ari liked the bubbles. Mom and Dad washed up high. Ben washed in the middle. Ari washed down low.
Soon the hallway looked bright and shiny.
“What else can we do?” Ari asked.
“I need a bag holder,” Kathy said. “Follow me.”
Ari held bags while Ben filled them with uncooked macaroni. They stacked the bags in a big box. Ari counted the bags. He and Ben filled 27 macaroni bags!
When all the work was done, Kathy called everyone over to a big scale. “Just for fun, we want to see how much you all weigh,” she said.
Everyone crowded onto the scale. They weighed more than 2,000 pounds!
“We weigh more than a walrus!” Ben said. Ari laughed.
“Thank you for helping,” Kathy said as Ari left. “I can tell you care a lot about others.”
Ari smiled big. There really was work he could do! He felt awesome.

One of the most special moments that took place at family home evening was when our son, Renan, was preparing to be baptized. Our two older daughters, Cynthia and Lilian, offered to teach the lessons for the month preceding his eighth birthday. My husband and I loved watching them teach the meaning and purpose of baptism—the same lessons we had taught them as they prepared for baptism. Four years later Renan followed the examples of his older sisters and taught lessons about baptism to his younger sister, Ellen.

My first encounter with preaching the gospel was also exciting. In a park near my office in Bogotá, I saw a multitude, and since I had some time, I went down to see what was happening. My surprise was great when I saw the missionaries with displays about the Church and with copies of the Book of Mormon. They recognized me and asked me to stand in the middle of the park with a banner saying, “Be happy; be a Mormon.” I stood for a while in that place. I was a Mormon, but at that moment I was not so happy! But I started to feel better about my ability as a missionary, losing my fear to talk with people about the Church. I let go of my own restrictions—so many “don’ts”—and realized that this is the Church of love and service, of sacrifice and blessings, of happiness and eternal life. My message to the missionaries, to the people that are investigating the Church at this time, and to the members is, “Don’t give up; continue looking for the best results in this wonderful work.”

Midalys
Some people used to treat Abner poorly because he is a member of the Church. They also said, “You shouldn’t run a business with your wife.” But I say, “Of course we can do this together!” In truth, this has been a great opportunity for the two of us. He helps me with the house and the children, and I help him run the shop.
God loves and guides us. Returning to Puerto Rico was the right thing for our family. This was Heavenly Father’s perfect plan for us.

For Kip Twitchell, a book of remembrance and a journal are a natural part of his life. In fact, for a group of seminary students attending Bonneville High School in Ogden, Utah, the whole concept of family histories has become an exciting project that they think about and work on often.
It all started when the seminary students invited a guest speaker to address an assembly of the seminary classes at Bonneville High School. While chauffeuring their speaker to and from the meeting, they began relating stories about their ancestors. The students became interested in doing something about their family histories when their guest challenged them to consider how the experiences of their ancestors have affected them individually. They reread copies of family histories, interviewed members of their families, sorted through and identified old photographs, and updated their own journals. They found that learning about their families helped them understand their own talents and attitudes.