Gospel Story Finder

The Latter-day Saint youth of New Mexico know how difficult it is to detach themselves from a prickly cactus. They got some extra practice, though, as they cleaned the site where the Albuquerque New Mexico Temple will be built. Armed with shovels, rakes, and gloves, youth from four stakes assembled on a hot Saturday morning to rid the property of sagebrush, garbage, and cholla, so the weeds could be mowed and the ground made safe to walk on for those attending the temple’s groundbreaking ceremony.
“It was hard work, but it will be totally worth it for the temple to come,” says Robyn Sampson, age 15.
Despite the burrs on their socks and an occasional scare from a snake or lizard, the Albuquerque youth succeeded in clearing the future temple site of every spiny cactus and broken bottle they could find. It might seem strange, but the youth actually enjoyed pulling cactuses and loading trucks with sagebrush.

Sister Brock remembers pondering the meaning of life when she was only five. When she was a teenager in Venezuela, the missionaries taught her and her family the gospel, and they were baptized. Filled with faith, she was called to be branch Primary president at age 16. Now, after a lifetime of service, she has come to realize that for her, “faith is a choice.” She explains, “I choose to make room for the Savior in my life. I have come to know that the Atonement is the most wonderful, selfless act of love for all humanity. My Savior and Redeemer, the Giver of peace, has become my very best friend—a constant for me.”

After the blessing, President McKay went out on the front porch and talked to me. He commented on how nice it was that I could be with my dad. He talked about the times he had been with his father. On one of those occasions, he said, they had come to Salt Lake City to general conference. He was just a young boy at the time. He was introduced to John Taylor, who was then President of the Church.
During their conversation, President Taylor showed him the scars on his arms from wounds he had suffered in Carthage Jail with the Prophet Joseph Smith on the day of the martyrdom. All his life President McKay had recalled talking firsthand with someone who had been in the presence of the Prophet Joseph. He said that since I was in his presence and he had been in the presence of someone who had known the Prophet, I, too, had a connection to Joseph Smith.

This brief statement has been with me for many years. When I was 15 years old, I found it in the first issue of the Liahona to ever come into my hands. The name of the article was “Please Bless Kathy” (see Tambuli, September 1990, 44). I still remember that article well because of the role it played in my conversion to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
When I was in high school, three of my friends and I were expelled from school for a week. At that time I had a friend named Isabel, whom I had long considered one of my best friends. But now she had become my worst enemy and the person I held responsible for all the problems Mukuy, Janet, Juana, and I were having. It all started when Isabel spread some rumors behind our backs. She criticized us and made comments about me and my friends.
Because of her betrayal and our response to it, we were always arguing and fighting. The teachers in our school in Lerdo de Tejada, México, had to call us to order repeatedly. Things got so bad we were eventually punished with a five-day expulsion.
During those five days, I couldn’t stop thinking about how Isabel had treated us and how she had brought this upon us. As I thought about how much she had hurt me, I felt great anger and resentment against her.
One afternoon I decided to go to my friend Rosi’s house. Rosi had recently been baptized into a church I knew as the Mormon Church. For some time now, she had been inviting me over to talk about the things she believed in. She had even read to me out of a book she called the Book of Mormon.
This time Rosi invited me to attend church with her, and I felt a genuine interest in learning more. She gave me a copy of the Liahona (Spanish), and I promised her I would take time to read it.
But I didn’t read the magazine until some days later. My mind was too occupied with my resentment toward Isabel. When at last I began, I thumbed through the pages and found an article that caught my attention. The article was about a girl my own age who had gone through something similar to what I was going through with Isabel. She had experienced the same feelings of hatred and bitterness. The only difference between that girl and me was that I was sure I wouldn’t be able to do what she did. I believed I would never be able to stop feeling the way I felt toward Isabel. I believed I would never be able to forgive her. And there was no way I would ever be able to pray for my enemy as the author of that article had.
I kept thinking about the article in the Liahona. Finding a story about something so similar to my own experience seemed strange to me. It never entered my mind to put into practice the idea of praying for my enemy. It might have worked for that girl, but I was sure it wouldn’t work for me. My feelings wouldn’t change.
The next Sunday I went to church with Rosi. I had almost succeeded in not thinking about the article anymore. But as I listened to the sacrament meeting talks, I started to think about it more intensely. For the rest of the day I found it impossible to stop thinking about it. Pray for your enemies, echoed in my mind.
That Sunday night, without even thinking about it, I started to pray. I prayed just as the girl in the article had—just as Jesus taught in the Sermon on the Mount. I prayed for Isabel, and with each word I uttered, I felt my heart beat louder and I couldn’t stop the tears.
When I finished my prayer, I was surprised at what I had done. But I also felt sure that when I saw Isabel the next day, I would still hate her and wouldn’t be able to remember what I had prayed for that night. My feelings wouldn’t have changed.
When I went back to school on Monday, my friends were waiting for me at the front door so we could plan our revenge. We had to do something to hurt Isabel and make her feel as bad as she had made us feel. She had to be taught a lesson.
But when I saw Isabel that morning, I no longer saw an enemy. I no longer saw a person I hated. Instead I saw my old friend. And I saw myself praying the night before. With tears in my eyes I wondered, How can I think about hurting her when last night I was asking God to bless her? And then I realized I was the one who had been taught a lesson. I had learned for myself the wisdom of the counsel to pray for our enemies.
Isabel and I became friends again as we had been before. My Heavenly Father answered my prayer and helped me change the bitterness and hatred in my heart. He helped me transform those feelings into feelings of love.
This experience has always been very special to me; it is the way the gospel of Jesus Christ came into my life.

Julie could see her grandmother sitting in bed. Mom and Dad said that Grandma had to live with them. She was sick and needed their help to get better. But Julie didn’t like seeing Grandma sick.
She remembered that her grandmother used to be a happy person. Every time Julie would visit, Grandma would make a treat. They would take long walks, dance and sing, and play together. Now, Julie’s house smelled funny and Grandma didn’t walk or sing. She hardly ate. She was sad. It scared Julie. She didn’t know what to do. Mom and Dad helped Grandma a lot, but Julie just watched. Sometimes she even felt sad because nobody seemed to have time for her anymore.
Julie had been talking to Heavenly Father every day in her prayers. She told Him how scared and sad she felt. She asked Him to bless Grandma. She asked Him to bless her too. Julie wanted to help Grandma, but she didn’t know how.
One day while she and Mother were shopping, Julie saw something. It was high on the shelf, but she had a feeling that she should take a closer look. She asked her mother if she could see the toy dish set. When it was handed to her, Julie felt a warm peace.
The dishes were beautiful. They were shiny and pink. Julie was excited to share them with Grandma. Pink was Grandma’s favorite color!
It took Julie two weeks to earn the money to buy the dish set. On the day she brought it home, she started her plan.
First, she went to her room to make an invitation for Grandma. She drew flowers and birds and hearts all over the paper. Then she asked Mother to write the words “You’re Invited” on the outside. Inside Mother wrote, “To a party in your room at one o’clock today.”
Julie took the note to her grandmother. It felt good to see Grandma smile when she read it.
At one o’clock Julie carried a tray into Grandma’s room. She set it over her lap. Then she climbed onto the bed and sat beside Grandma. Julie poured Grandma some juice. She offered Grandma toast and jam, apple slices, cubes of cheese, and cookies. Together, they had a party.
Grandma talked and smiled. She ate the food Julie served her on little pink plates and sipped juice from a shiny pink cup. When it was over, Grandma thanked her. She patted Julie’s hand and said, “Let’s have a party again soon!” Julie hugged her and promised that they would.
The feeling of happiness and peace stayed with Julie all afternoon. She had made Grandma happy. And Julie felt happy too. Heavenly Father had listened to her prayers and helped her find just the right thing to do.

Some folks just enjoy being together. They’d rather be with each other than with anybody else. They have things in common. They know when to listen and when to talk. They laugh and joke. Sometimes they’re silly. They also understand when there’s a need to be silent. In short, they respect, admire, and accommodate each other.
Now, imagine that same kind of relationship existing, not just between people, but between two wards. That’s the way you’d feel if you lived in Lawrenceburg or Columbia, two towns in Tennessee.
Go on a hayride in Columbia, and a lot of the teenagers from Lawrenceburg will be there, too. When there’s a picnic at the Davy Crockett State Park, just outside Lawrenceburg, you can be sure some kids from Columbia will be there, carrying a watermelon or two to make sure there are enough refreshments.
“We’re real close,” explained Misti McDow, 13, of the Lawrenceburg Ward. “Maybe it’s because we’re nearly all kin of some sort, and the ones that aren’t seem to get adopted in. We share our feelings; we talk about nearly everything. We’re just good friends.”
“Lawrenceburg and Columbia are so close together,” said Paul McDow, 16, also from Lawrenceburg. “When one ward has an activity, it seems natural to invite the other one. That way about 40 people come. We’ve had roller skating parties, firesides, and dances together. The kids from Columbia are a lot of fun.”
Paul is the youth council chairman of the Franklin Tennessee Stake, as well as an active participant in Future Farmers of America and 4-H, where his success in raising livestock has won him quite a few awards. He also serves as studentbody president of his high school. “School activities keep me busy, and it seems like there’s always plenty of work to do. But besides my family, the Church comes first. And I’m so close to people in the Church that they seem like family.”
Jason Sawyer, 14, of the Columbia Ward, agreed. “Most of my friends are sons of somebody in the ward. My dad’s the bishop, and I spend a lot of time with his counselor’s sons.”
“I spend a lot of time with my cousins, Tre, Joe, and Becky Pennington,” said Brian Greene, 15, the teachers quorum president of the Columbia Ward. “They live nearby and we do everything together—swimming, fishing, basketball, baseball. I’m running up and down the road to their house a lot. And we always go to church meetings together.”
The Greene’s home is a stone block building that for many years served as a meetinghouse for the Saints living in the hills around Columbia. “Now it’s our house,” Brian’s brother Jason, the 13-year-old deacons quorum president, explained. “But we still have ward activities here sometimes.”
It’s a peaceful location, shaded by trees, just on the flat where Catheys Creek bends. “Sometimes if there’s a lot of rain we have to sandbag,” Jason said. “But it’s still nice.”
It was especially nice the night Columbia Ward hosted a hayride there. The creek chilled the watermelons just right. Big fires scorched the hot dogs, but ketchup and mustard made the charcoal flavor blend in perfectly. In the fading light, some of the young men threw a basketball through a hoop.
“It’s neat when the whole ward comes to your own backyard,” Jason said. “I like them to come here. I have lots to show them. And you don’t worry about being late for a meeting in your own yard.”
After the hot dog roast, when the fire had burned down, Brother Collin McKennon spoke briefly about effective use of time.
“It’s a precious commodity,” he said. “But all hours are not alike in value. How valuable your time is depends in part on what you decide to do with it.”
Brother McKennon, the activities committee chairman, is the kind of guy who can put an arm on your shoulder, maybe tease you a little, and let you know the world’s okay. The teenagers like him, and they listen when he talks.
Just the same, there was a lot of background noise. But it wasn’t kids whispering to each other. It was frogs. Hundreds of them. Croaking, chirping almost. A thousand rusty springs in a chorus of constant squeaking. Perhaps they were warning each other about the catch-and-release frog hunt later that night.
Out on the dirt road, Brian and Jason’s father, Dale Greene, fired up the tractor he’d borrowed from a neighbor. Everyone jumped on the two trailers behind it, and it roared on up Love Branch Road. The night was clear. Stars were bright as they are only when you’re way outside, away from haze and street lamps.
The tractor noise nearly drowned out conversation, but everybody sang songs and told stories anyway. And threw hay. The youth from the Columbia Ward talked about their plans to get up the next morning at 3:00 A.M. to work in the bishops’ regional storehouse and cannery in Nashville.
“The work area is steamy, and you get wet, and you’re sleepy ’cause you get up so early,” said Melissa McKennon, 14, the Mia Maid president. “We work a long, long time. But we enjoy working together, kids with other kids, adults with the kids. It’s good to see everybody working together on something.”
“It makes me feel good to know I’m helping people less fortunate than I am,” said Stephanie Rawlins, 14.
“We usually aren’t doing anything early Saturday morning anyway,” said Deron Sawyer, 18. “Why waste a day when you can be helping somebody instead?”
“I figure every can you put in there feeds somebody. And who knows? Someday it could be you or me,” Brian Greene said.
Like several other Scouts in the area, Brian is doing an Eagle Scout service project at the cannery. Scouts have built concrete ramps, painted yellow lines, and helped organize schedules for canning and warehouse cleaning.
The tractor pulled into the woods, the engine still whining. The road became a snake, winding corner after corner through the dense woods. Every once in a while, at a clearing or up on a hillside, house lights would appear and all the youth would shout hello. Folks on the porch would wave and shout their greetings in return. In the hills, everybody knows everybody.
Another stretch of dirt road took the hayriders beneath an overpass, along a stretch of the Natchez Trace (an early trade route of trappers and Indians), then back to Catheys Creek and the Greene’s house.
Some attempt was made to stage the frog hunt. A few of the hardier souls, armed with flashlights and gunnysacks, did roll up their pant legs and wander in the shallow stream, but mostly the frogs got away.
“We don’t go frog hunting very often,” Melissa explained. “We just wanted to show you what they look like.”
The next morning, the Columbia Ward did go on the welfare assignment and spent the whole morning canning green beans. “We had done 1,050 cans when I lost count,” said Tre Pennington.
It was a lot of work. It left you feeling like you never wanted to see anything green again. But it did give everyone a chance to work together. And while they worked, they answered questions about life as a Latter-day Saint, about life in the Church.
“When the missionaries were teaching me, I knew right away that it was true. I didn’t have any doubt. My dad got baptized; then I got baptized the next Saturday,” said Stephanie Rawlins. “I enjoy being in the church I know is true. Friends I have who aren’t members can’t talk the same way. They don’t understand. With my friends in the Church I can open up; I can talk about things that are really important.”
“I’ve thought many times about what it means to have the priesthood,” said David Dawson, 16. “It means I’m more than just somebody on the street. I know where I can be in the eternities. Holding the priesthood is like being with God every day. It’s a great feeling if you live right.”
“Most of my nonmember friends go to their own churches,” Jason Sawyer said. “If you talk about religion to them, they look at you funny. But when I tell them our religion says we have the right to hold an office in the priesthood, they think that’s quite an honor.”
Jason also talked a little bit about what it’s like to be the stepson of a bishop who makes doughnuts for a living. “He gets up early to start baking, then sleeps in the middle of the day. A lot of times he’s gone doing church work. But he loves us, and he tries to be there when we need him. Besides, we always have plenty of refreshments!”
“That does it!” Melissa said, setting the last can of beans in a cardboard box. “I’m tired, but I’m not so tired that I couldn’t eat breakfast. Where’s a McDonald’s?”
By noon, the Columbia Ward was headed back from Nashville. But instead of going straight home, they took a detour to Lawrenceburg. The youth there wanted to return the favor of being invited to the hayride, so they had invited Columbia to a late afternoon picnic. While everyone was gathering at the chapel, the Lawrenceburg youth shared some of their thoughts about being a Latter-day Saint in Tennessee.
Paula McGuire, 15, talked about the closeness she feels in her ward and between the two wards.
“I love to be with the youth of the Church,” she said. “Other kids at school see us and think we’re strange to be so close. But in the Church you do seem closer. We really are like brothers and sisters.”
Regina Luker, 16, the Laurel president, told about her efforts to tell an atheist friend about the gospel. “It’s hard to get her to believe in the Lord,” she said. “But I obey the commandments, and I try to be a good example. We need to show we can be trusted.”
And Paul McDow spoke again, this time about teaching a lesson about the Church in his history class at school, about reading the scriptures, about saving money for a mission, and about living in the hills of Tennessee.
“I love it,” he said. “I couldn’t live anywhere else. The only thing that would make it better would be if there were more Church members.”
The youth from Lawrenceburg took the youth from Columbia on a quick tour of their town, then over to Davy Crockett State Park, where they ate fruit, sandwiches, and cookies. There was a short program, featuring Paul dressed up like a frog, “Davy Croak-it”; and by the time the sun set, the two groups went their separate ways, promising to get together again soon.
If you’re ever in middle Tennessee, stop in Columbia. You can go in to Park’s Feed Store, on the main square. Ask the men shucking lima beans to describe their home town. They’ll tell you “it’s the mule capital of the world.” There’s even a Mule Days celebration once a year. The men will tell you that U.S. president James K. Polk was born here. They’ll tell you about the big Civil War battle fought near Columbia in “18 and 65,” how you can still find sabers and shells out in the hills.
Then go to Lawrenceburg and ask the people there about their city. They’ll tell you that Davy Crockett lived here while he was a Congressman, after his explorations and before he died at the Alamo. They’ll show you his statue in the town square. They’ll even walk down the street with you to the plaque that marks the spot where his house once stood.
But ask Latter-day Saint youth in either city what it’s like to live in Tennessee, and you’re likely to hear a description, not only of the town their ward’s in, but of their neighboring ward as well. Of the people, the service, and the fun. Of the joy and the spiritual growth that can come through the influence of good friends and fellow Saints.
Because when you live in either ward down here, you live in both.

Now I want to tell you about a debate I had in Amsterdam before I finished my first mission. My companion and I had been invited to the home of one of the Saints; she wanted to invite her neighbor over so that we could teach her the gospel. When we arrived, the neighbor was there but she had brought her minister with her. In conversing with him we had a little difference of opinion on priesthood. I don not want to discuss the details with you because it would take too much time; but right there he challenged me to a debate in his church. In those days we were not advised not to debate; and I was young and had a lot of pep, so I accepted his challenge. We were to meet in his church a week from Saturday night.

When we arrived his church was full: all of his people were there, and all of our people were there. How our people found out about it I never knew; I had not told them. This minister then stood up and said, “Now, Mr. Richards, inasmuch as you’re a guest in our church, we’ll accord you the privilege of opening the debate. We’ll each talk twenty minutes. Is that satisfactory?

I told him, “Very much so.” I did not tell him that I would have given him the shirt off my back for the privilege of opening that debate, and he had just handed it to me on a silver platter. I do not know whether or not the Lord had anything to do with that, but I always thought that he did. So I stood up and said something like this:

“The last time I talked to my friend, we had a difference of opinion on the principles of the priesthood. I’ve come tonight prepared to discuss that subject, but I don’t propose to start at that point. If you were going to build a house, you wouldn’t try to put the roof on before you got the foundation in, would you?” I got nods from the congregation. “Therefore,” I said, “I propose to open this debate tonight be discussing the foundation of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I choose for my text the sixth chapter of Hebrews, verses one and two, where Paul said, ‘Therefore leaving the principles of the doctrine of Christ, let us go on unto perfection’—I suppose everybody wants to go on to perfection after they have laid the foundation of his gospel—’not laying again the foundation of repentance from dead works, of faith toward God, “ ‘Of the doctrine of baptisms, and of laying on of hands, and of the resurrection of the dead, and of eternal judgment.’”

I hurried over faith and repentance; I thought that they would believe that. I spoke about baptism by immersion for the remission of sins until everybody was giving me a nod. And then I came to the laying on of hands, and they would not believe that. In all the missionary work I have done—and I spent nearly ten years in the mission field—I have never found a church that believed in the laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost except for our own Church. As I spoke on the laying on of hands, I reminded them of the occasion when the apostles at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had accepted the word of God through the preaching of Philip. Peter and John were sent to these saints; and when the apostles came they prayed for them and laid their hands upon them, and they received the Holy Ghost. When Simon the sorcerer saw the Holy Ghost was conveyed by the laying on of the apostles’ hands, he offered them money, saying, “Give me also this power, that on whomsoever I lay hands, he may receive the Holy Ghost.”

Why, I argued, would Simon have offered to purchase that power if he could have obtained the Holy Ghost in any other way? And what was Peter’s answer? “Thy money perish with thee, because thou hast thought that the gift of God may be purchased with money.” (See Acts 8:14–20.)

Next I reminded them that Paul in his travels came to Ephesus and found there men who had been baptized, and he asked them, “Have ye received the Holy Ghost since ye believed?”

And they answered, “We have not so much as heard whether there be any Holy Ghost.”

Paul knew then that they had been baptized by one without authority; and so he baptized them over again and laid his hands upon them, and they received the Holy Ghost. (See Acts 19:1–6.) I gave a few more references to the laying on of hands and then sat down.

This minister stood up and, without mentioning a word I had said, he started in on the Mountain Meadow Massacre and the “Golden Bible” and Joseph Smith’s admission that he had made many mistakes. Then he turned and said, “Now, if Mr. Richards will enlighten us on these matters, I’m sure this audience will be most appreciative.”

I was on my feet just like that. I could not wait.

My companion later asked, “How did you think so fast?”

And I asked, “What had you been praying for all week?”

“In the days of the Savior,” I said, “his enemies tried to trick him. I don’t suppose there’s anybody here today who would like to see us return to those old tricks. I understand that a debate is the presentation and the answering of argument. Has this man answered any of my arguments?” They all shook their heads. I said, “All right; you may have your twenty minutes over again.”

He did not do it, and I knew that he could not. Finally, his wife stood up from among the audience and said, “What Mr. Richards is asking is fair. You ought to answer him.” Even then he could not do it.

I said to my companion, “Hand me my coat and hat”—it was wintertime—“and stand up.” Addressing the minister, I said, “One more chance. I’m willing to remain here until ten o’clock tomorrow morning when I have to be in my own church meeting, provided that this debate can go forward on the basis on which you set it up; if not, I’m going to leave. You accorded me the privilege of opening the debate, as the guest in your church; now you want to steal from me the very privilege that you accorded me, and I don’t propose to let you do it.”

And even then he could not. We all walked out on him; I invited our people to leave with me and they did. I met him on the street time and time again after that, but he always ducked his head so that he would not have to speak to me. It is wonderful to have the truth and to have no fear of meeting anybody. As I told the missionaries, if you learn how to tell our story and you know what the Lord has given us through his holy prophets, you do not need to be afraid of anybody.

The balloons made their journeys, and much like the parable in the scriptures, some seeds fell on fertile ground. A message written by Laura West in the Salt Lake Cottonwood Height Stake was found by one who desperately needed her encouragement. Laura had written, in part, “Keep your hopes up and rise like the balloon. Always have faith in Christ and Christ will have faith in you.” Her balloon was found only a couple of miles from where it was released. The man who found it wrote to Laura that he was a member of the Church but had fallen away 18 years earlier while he was in his teens. He told of his struggle to be reunited with his wife and children and the decision he made to come back to the Church. He wrote, “I’ve been reading the Book of Mormon and praying since Sunday night (the day after I got your letter). I went to the bishop of my ward that night and told him I knew it was time for me to straighten out my life. … If only you could feel the peace and tranquility that has come to me since I began the reading and prayer. It’s truly like the difference between night and day. To top off my own feelings that I’m on the right track, I picked up your letter. You said you hoped your letter would brighten my day. It not only brightened my day, it was a godsend! I will remember your letter forever.” He signed it “Your friend you’ve never met” and his name.

My father once wrote this tribute to his father:
“Father was a conservative. He never went into debt. When we didn’t have it, we went without. He never mortgaged the farm. He was very reluctant to impose anything on his homestead. I’ve often heard him say that the only people who had their financial heads above water were the ones who hadn’t mortgaged their farms. He was a public-spirited man. I remember four important positions he held. First was justice of the peace; second, school trustee; third, a member of a bishopric; and fourth, his work on the Great Feeder Canal. He was a pioneer in the development of irrigation in the fertile Snake River Valley.”

Dad’s account describes the tenderness with which grandfather taught his family. My father was one who desired an education and was earnestly seeking to get the best he could with the means available to him. When his father would see him struggling, he would give him fatherly lectures like, “My boy, be humble in your studies, and remember your prayers. Yes, and in your prayers, remember your studies.”

Then dad tells of the time he became a little arrogant as he acquired a little knowledge. One day he challenged his father to a debate to be held after their church service. The subject was: “Resolved: That science has done more for the welfare of the human family than has religion.”

The whole congregation stayed after to listen to the debate. Each speaker was allowed fifteen minutes with a rebuttal of three minutes. My father spoke first. He spoke of the progress science had made and how it had lifted up the standard of living of all. Then he stated how many failures religion had had in the past. Dad was a member of the debating society at school and was gifted in speech. He knew how to sway an audience. When he sat down, he thought he had convinced the people to throw away their Bibles and take up science.

Then grandfather got up. He had never had the privilege of having much schooling, but was an avid reader. He told how religions, many of them, had influenced the human family for good. He explained their merits, their excellence, and their worth. Then he sat down.

My father got up for rebuttal. He spent most of his time saying, “I have proven. I have proven.” But each “I have proven” seemed to be a little less forceful as he thought of the sincerity of his father’s message. Realizing this, he sat down.

Then grandfather arose. He didn’t say much. He just added this: “I give all credit to science for what science has done. It has changed our way of life and, in a way, our thinking. It has built, encircled, and constructed. None of us want to go back to yesterday when today holds so much, and tomorrow even more. But with all of the credit to its progress, and all of the glory to its accomplishments, your scientists have not yet come up with anything that compares with the tenderness of a human heart.”

Grandfather had won the debate. Even dad was convinced. He rushed over and threw his arms around him and congratulated him. Grandfather then said to dad, “My boy, remember this: There is more satisfaction in the humble teachings of the Master than all the glamour of a false ideal.” (“They Came,” Albert Z. Perry, 1955.)

As you can see, from stories such as this I have developed a love for my grandfather.

I enjoy all the Church magazines very much. Until I left home and went on a mission, I never fully realized how filled they were with the words of the Lord as spoken through his prophets and other inspired men and women. I am working diligently to share the gospel with a girl back home in Virginia, and I have been turning more and more to the Church magazines in my efforts to fully answer her many questions.
My missionary apartment has a good-sized stack of Church magazines, of course, so one day I went through the whole stack, picking out those that I thought my friend would benefit from. When I finished, the stack I had picked out was larger than the stack that was left. I knew I couldn’t send that many magazines, so I tried again. About halfway through I stopped because every magazine had at least one good article or message. Finally I gritted my teeth and picked out the very best, but I still sent her a good-sized stack, along with a subscription to the New Era and the Ensign. I know that every one of those 23 issues will help her testimony grow, just as anyone reading them, member or nonmember, will be touched by them in some way.
Elder WoodmanIowa Des Moines Mission

As a young man, I served in the U.S. Air Force as a jet-fighter pilot. We spent hours in a training device that simulated real flight. There, an instructor taught us about emergencies that could occur when flying at the speed of sound and about what we must do to avoid disaster.
One young man in my flight-training unit refused to listen to those with more knowledge and experience. When it was time for him to go to the trainer and learn emergency procedures, he went to the swimming pool, pistol range, or golf course, instead.
A few months later, fire erupted in the quiet sky over Texas, and my friend’s plane went down in flames. The young pilot who was with him bailed out and survived. My friend did not. He had not learned the lessons that could have saved his life.

Dad says it’s OK to use the barn for our riding club meetings. How about another one of those apples, McGraw? Well, guys, what do you say?” asked Jason Farwell, flipping the hair out of his eyes with a jerk of his head.
“Boy, Jason, that’s great!” said Eddie Fowler. “Say, McGraw, where’d you get these good apples?”
“Mom gave me a whole sackful. Do you suppose we could have trail rides and rodeos and cookouts and stuff, Jase?”
“Sure. You in?” Jason asked Dexter McGraw, who liked anything that involved food or horses. “How about you, Eddie, you in?
“You bet,” mumbled Eddie with a mouthful of apple.
“Hey, Jase,” he said, swallowing, “let’s ask Barney Lightner to join too. He rides.”
Eddie always wanted to include Barney in their plans. Jason said it was because Barney was the only one in school who had redder hair and more freckles than Eddie.
“Now. Who wants him? He’s weird.”
“Not really, Jase. He’s pretty neat when you get to know him. OK? Here he comes now. Hey, Lightner!”
“Hi, Eddie, guys. Hey, can I have your apple cores when you’ve finished eating your apples?”
“See what I mean? A real winner,” grumbled Jason sarcastically under his breath. “Nuts, there’s the bell. Boy, they never make recesses long enough. Come on, we’ll finish talking after school. Oh, Lightner, here’s your apple core.”
After school Jason and Dexter met to finish making plans.
“Oh, no,” muttered Jason. “Here comes Eddie and Lightner. Hey, Lightner, eaten any apple cores lately?”
“Aw, knock it off, Jase,” said Eddie. “You know he takes them home to Thunder.”
“Lightner, what do you think of the idea of us starting a riding club?” asked Dexter. “We want to have trail rides and rodeos and stuff like that.”
“Yeah,” grumbled Jason. “You might as well join, too, Lightner.”
“Thanks, guys, but I wouldn’t have time for it. Oh, here comes the bus. I have to get home and ride old Thunder. See ya.”
“Well, how do you like that?” said Jason. “For a poor kid, he’s pretty snooty if you ask me.”
Saturday turned out to be one of those beautiful spring days when the sun feels extra warm and the breezes feel extra cool. The riding club had planned a trail ride and camp-out in a canyon called Webster’s Gulch. Since it was on their way, the boys decided to stop at the Lightners’ house to give Barney a chance to change his mind. Mrs. Lightner said they’d find him in the barnyard riding old Thunder.
As the boys rounded the corner of the house, they saw Barney astride—a mule! He took turns pleading and hollering at the animal, but it wouldn’t budge an inch. When Barney saw the boys, his face became even redder than his hair, and he stammered, “He’s not usually this stubborn. Honest.”
Not being able to afford the horse Barney had always dreamed of owning, his mother allowed him to ride their old work mule, which Barney had named Thunder.
After what seemed to Barney like an eternity of laughter and cowboy jokes, the boys finally left. One thing was sure—he was going to have a miserable day at school on Monday. They’d see to that!
Later the boys camped half-way up the canyon, and set up a tether line to tie their horses to. A wide ledge about four feet up the canyon wall made a perfect place to pitch their tent.
Late that night it started to thunder violently, and the lightning flashed almost without interruption. Eventually the thunder subsided to a distant rumble, but the rain remained a steady torrent. After a few ghost stories the boys dropped off to sleep.
Just before dawn, the boys were suddenly awakened by Jason’s shout of alarm. The horses had broken loose from their tether line, and the canyon was now a raging river, with water inching up toward their tent.
The boys made a desperate scramble up the sheer wall of the canyon only to fall down again to their ledge, which was rapidly disappearing under the water. And Jason, in his try for safety, twisted his ankle.
The boys saw their tent being swept away, and they knew that they would be next.
“Listen!” yelled Jason above the sound of the rushing water. “I hear something!”
Above the rumble of the distant thunder, the roar of the water, and the steady drumming of the rain, they heard someone hollering!
There, on the rim of the canyon above them, was Barney, and he was lowering a rope to them. His friends quickly tied the rope under Jason’s arms while Barney tied the other end to Thunder. Then Barney and Thunder pulled Jason and then the other two boys to safety.
“Boy! I never thought I’d be so glad to see your old mule!” exclaimed Eddie. “How’d you know we were in trouble, Barney?”
“I woke up when your horses went galloping through Mom’s garden. I figured you might have been flooded out after that heavy rain. So I rounded up old Thunder, grabbed a rope, and got here as fast as I could.”
Everyone at school on Monday was buzzing about how Barney Lightner and old Thunder had saved the boys from a flash flood.
“Well, Barney,” said Miss Wilkins, their teacher, “I hear that you’re some kind of a hero. And that Thunder of yours must really be some kind of horse!”
Barney sank down in his seat, fearing what would surely come next, when a shuffling sound in the doorway diverted everyone’s attention. There, on crutches, stood Jason.
“That’s right, Miss Wilkins,” Jason said with a wink toward Barney. “Old Thunder is some kind of horse!”

I am not easy to wake up in the morning. My mum used to declare that she needed a crane to wake me up for early-morning seminary. So it came as no surprise that in my first year at university, I was one of the few who didn’t wake up to the fire alarm practice. Luckily, I had friends who came to my room and collected me.
Later that day we were discussing the morning’s events and laughing about what had happened, when another girl asked what I would do if the fire alarm went off for real. I was taken aback by the question but soon realized the gravity of the situation. One of my friends replied that she would come and warn me, and other friends assured me that they would check if I had left the building before they did. They would do this because they loved me.
That night I thought of the Lord’s commandment recorded in Doctrine and Covenants 88:81: “Behold, I sent you out to testify and warn the people, and it becometh every man who hath been warned to warn his neighbor.”
I realized that just as being warned of potential fires is important for my temporal welfare, so my sharing the gospel message is important for my friends’ spiritual lives. Just as they loved me enough to warn me of dangers, I realized that I loved them enough to share my knowledge of the gospel with them. That night I recommitted myself to obeying the commandment of the Lord by testifying of Jesus Christ and warning my neighbor.

I myself was blessed with an exemplary father. I recall that when I was a boy of about 12, my father became a candidate for the city council in our rather small community. He did not mount an extensive election campaign—all I remember was that Dad had my brothers and me distribute copies of a flyer door to door, urging people to vote for Paul Christofferson. There were a number of adults that I handed a flyer to who remarked that Paul was a good and honest man and that they would have no problem voting for him. My young boy heart swelled with pride in my father. It gave me confidence and a desire to follow in his footsteps. He was not perfect—no one is—but he was upright and good and an aspirational example for a son.

In early 2022, Brother Michael MacDonald, of the Bangor 2nd Ward in the Belfast Northern Ireland Stake, was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes. He committed to change his lifestyle to try and reverse the diagnosis. As part of his journey to a healthier lifestyle, he received help and support from family and friends.
Following discussions with some family members, Brother MacDonald decided to take on the challenge to climb five peaks in five days—to hike the five tallest mountains in the UK and Ireland in five consecutive days. His brother, Jonathan MacDonald, brother-in-law, Gerrard Doherty, and friend and member of Michael’s ward, Steven Murphy, thought it a good idea to join him.
Brother MacDonald’s son, Joel, is diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder and is educationally statemented. Michael had the inspirational idea to not only do this challenge for his own benefit, but to also raise funds for Autism Northern Ireland. He states, “I wanted to give something back, in order to thank all who have assisted my son in enabling him to access education and reach his potential.”
On 26 April 2023, they commenced the challenge, starting with the tallest mountain in Northern Ireland, Slieve Donard. Day 2 was then a 300-mile drive to Killarney, where they hiked Carrauntoohil, the tallest mountain in the Republic of Ireland. From there, a 220-mile drive to Dublin Port to catch the ferry to Holyhead Wales. Following a few hours’ sleep, it was now Friday 28 April, and they were ready for Day 3. This took them up Snowdon, the tallest mountain in Wales, followed by another 200-mile car journey up to the beautiful Lake District. On day 4, 29 April, they made it to the top of Scafell Pike, the tallest mountain in England. Their journey continued north with a 256-mile drive to the base of Ben Nevis, the tallest mountain in Scotland and all the British Isles. On day 5, 30 April 2023 this very tired, but very accomplished band of brothers made it to the summit of Ben Nevis.
Over the five days they were all overwhelmed by the outpouring of support and generosity of family, friends and members of the Belfast Northern Ireland Stake and beyond. This terrific accomplishment raised over £5100 for Autism Northern Ireland, which Michael knows will be put to good use, helping children and young people like his son, Joel.

The story is told of Ali Hafed, a wealthy ancient Persian who owned much land.
An old priest told him that if he had a diamond the size of his thumb, he could purchase a dozen farms. “If you will find a river that runs through white sands, between high mountains, in those white sands you will always find diamonds.”
Said Ali Hafed, “I will go.”
So he sold his farm and away he went in search of diamonds. After years of searching, he had spent all his money, and he passed away in rags and wretchedness.
Meanwhile, the man who purchased Ali Hafed’s farm one day led his camel out into the garden to drink, and as the animal put his nose into the shallow waters, the farmer noticed a curious flash of light in the white sands of the stream. Reaching in, he pulled out a black stone containing a strange eye of light. In the black stone was a diamond. According to the story, this marked the discovery of the most valuable diamond mines in the history of the ancient world.
Had Ali Hafed remained at home and dug in his own cellar or anywhere in his own fields, rather than traveling in strange lands where he eventually faced starvation and ruin, he would have had “acres of diamonds.”1

One day I bought a song I’d heard on the radio. After it downloaded, I realized it was an explicit version. I was so disappointed because I’d wanted to listen to the radio’s clean version. I deleted the song from my library, sad that I’d wasted my money on a bad song.
I decided to email the people at the music store, saying that I was unable to listen to the song I bought because it was against my standards. Surprisingly, the next day I got an email with an apology and a free song credit.
I didn’t end up buying that song at all, because I realized I didn’t even feel good about the clean version. It helped me realize that I need to focus on the music I listen to and that I can correct my mistakes, even something as simple as buying the wrong song. I also realized how much the prophet’s guidance really does help.

Until last month, Heath Edwards had one killer of a schedule. Each weekday morning during the school year Heath’s alarm would go off at 4:30 A.M. That’s 4:30 in the morning. The sun isn’t even close to being up at 4:30, school isn’t for another three hours, and the temptation to push the snooze bar is a real one. That is unless you happen to be a world-class swimmer with designs on making the 1996 United States Olympic team. If you want to swim in the Olympics, you don’t stay under the covers.
So Heath, a 17-year-old from Columbia, South Carolina, would leap—okay, he’d roll—out of bed and get ready for another trip to the pool. Harbison Recreation Center, located about a mile from the Edwards’s home, has been kind of Heath’s home away from home for the last five years. If he wasn’t at his parents’ house, the first place you’d want to check is at Harbison, where there is a better-than-average chance you’d find Heath either in the swimming pool or in the weight room.
Thirty minutes after getting up to another dark morning, Heath, his close friend Elizabeth Peake, and the rest of the Harbison Aquatic Team members would jump in the pool, and that’s how each weekday would begin.
After the 90-minute workout, Heath and Elizabeth would go to the Dutch Fork Ward building for their 6:45 seminary class. There’s no need to call it early-morning seminary. If 6:45 is early morning, what does that make 4:30? Brother James Daves’s class would end around 7:30, and Heath and Elizabeth would go their separate ways. Heath would hop in the family’s Plymouth Horizon, run home, knock down some breakfast, and then head to Irmo High. Meanwhile, Elizabeth would go across town to Lexington High. The just-completed 1993–94 school year was the fourth year Heath had this schedule. It was Elizabeth’s first.
“I used to go to the pool and then go home before going to school,” Elizabeth remembers. Of course that was before she became a member of the Church. And it’s Heath’s, uh, fault Elizabeth added an extra hour to her already-busy schedule.
“You know how a lot of guys cuss?” Elizabeth asks. “Well, Heath wasn’t like that. And he was really nice to everyone. He was just different from any guy I’d ever met. But I didn’t know he was a Mormon at first.”
She soon found out. And before long, Heath was inviting Elizabeth to ward parties and dances. Then one Sunday Heath took Elizabeth to the Dutch Fork Ward sacrament meeting because his mother was singing. “I liked church a lot. I liked how members would bear their testimonies, and how the congregation would give the sermons. I eventually started going with him every Sunday,” Elizabeth says.
The more she heard and saw, the more interested she became. Eventually, Elizabeth requested that Heath arrange for her to be taught by the missionaries. After listening to the missionary discussions for several weeks, Elizabeth asked Heath, who had just been ordained a priest, if he would baptize her.
“When Elizabeth got baptized, it was probably the most spiritually uplifting experience I’ve ever had,” Heath says. “It was too great to describe when I baptized her. And I know Elizabeth knows this Church is true. It’s a great feeling to know I introduced her to the Church because of the way I acted.”
That’s how Elizabeth came to add an extra hour to her morning routine, a routine that ended for Heath last month when he graduated from both Irmo High and from seminary.
Next month, Elizabeth will begin her senior year of high school, but it will be different. She’ll have her usual 4:30-in-the-morning routine. She just won’t have Heath there with her. In August, Heath will leave Columbia for his freshman year at the University of Georgia. He’s accepted a swimming scholarship at the Athens, Georgia, school, and is a prized addition to the Bulldog swimming program. How valuable is this guy? Last year, Heath had the fastest 200-yard butterfly time in the United States for his age group (17–18), and he also recorded the third fastest 100-yard butterfly time.
He was the 200 butterfly national champion in 1993, and finished second in 1992. He’s competed in the United States Olympic Festival, and he was recruited by several different universities. A lot of college swimming coaches wanted Heath to swim at their schools, and he had a huge decision to make when it came to choosing a college to attend. In the next two years, he’ll be making a few more decisions.
In November of 1993, Heath signed his letter of intent to attend Georgia, and he’s already committed to swimming for the Bulldogs through the 1995–96 season—his sophomore year. If things work out according to plan, he’ll be competing in the 1996 Summer Olympics in nearby Atlanta, Georgia. After that, he wants to go on a mission, whether he makes the Olympics or not.
“I’m definitely planning on going on a mission. Right after my sophomore year, depending on how close or how far I am from making the Olympic team, I’ll talk to my parents about what I’m going to do about a mission,” Heath explains.
Although a full-time mission is still a few years away, Heath’s current timetable hasn’t stopped him from sharing the gospel anyway. Elizabeth is an example of that, and so is Elizabeth’s mother, Sandy. Fourteen months after Elizabeth’s September 1992 baptism, Heath baptized Sandy.
“I knew Sister Peake felt the Spirit. She would always come to church with Elizabeth or when my mom invited her. Then she came to me one day and told me she wanted to get baptized. Nobody else knew,” Heath says. “She wanted to surprise Elizabeth and everybody else.”

I know another woman who was widowed at age twenty-four, after only three years of marriage. She worked hard to support her young family and eventually became a very successful businesswoman. At the height of her career, as a result of a client’s dishonest dealings, she lost her business and any capital to begin again. Today she struggles financially and is learning to live a much simpler lifestyle. However, she considers herself wealthy because she has grandchildren and opportunities to expand her understanding and appreciation of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.
What do these two friends of mine have in common? Life has rarely, if ever, been easy for them. It has not been at all what they had expected, nor does it appear that it will become easier in the future. Yet they continue to trust in the Lord.

Grandma came to our house last Friday to make jelly. She gave Mom two big brown paper sacks full of plums. All morning Mom and Grandma filled jars with hot pink stuff that was jelly when it cooled. It is the best-tasting jelly in the whole world! I know because once Grandma gave me some when I was at her house.
Mom and Grandma were so busy that I helped by making my own sandwich for lunch. After all the jars were lined up on the kitchen counter to cool, Grandma went home.
The next day I counted fifteen jars of jelly when I helped Mom put them away. I thought she’d put them in our food storage, but she didn’t.
After lunch Mom asked me to take a jar of the jelly to Mrs. Conner. Mrs. Conner is a grouchy lady who lives next door to us. She always yells at me if I cut through her yard or if she thinks I am making too much noise. But she smiled and thanked me when I gave her the jelly.
Later Sister Moreno came to go visiting teaching with Mom. They took six more jars of plum jelly with them.
Sunday we took another jar of jelly to church for Brother Jones. He’s really nice. One time he came into Primary and showed us some wooden toys he’d made in his basement workshop. I like Brother Jones, and I was glad he got some of the jelly.
We gave a jar to each pair of missionaries too. I hope someone gives me some when I’m a missionary!
Dad took another jar with him on Monday. He gave it to the man he rides to work with. And when Aunt Julie stopped by on her way home from the store, Mom gave her a jar of jelly.
I looked up at the shelf and counted the jars again. It didn’t take very long. There were only three jars left. Mom was giving all the jelly away! I went into the living room where she was reading and asked, “Why are we giving all our jelly away?”
She looked at me for a moment. “That’s why we made it—to give away,” she said. “Grandma and I made it to give to people we love, to let them know that we care about them. I think Grandma may have some more plums, Danny. If she does, would you like to help me make some more jelly?”
“Jelly to keep?” I asked her.
“You bet,” she said. “And maybe there will be enough for you to give to some of your friends too.”
The next morning when I looked at the shelf, there were only two jars of jelly left. The third jar was in front of my plate. Taped to the front of the jar was a note that said: Danny’s jelly to keep (because we love him)