Gospel Story Finder

When I was young, my friends and I often played ball in an alley behind our home. A woman named Mrs. Shinas rented a tiny house nearby, and she used to watch us play from her window. She rarely came out of her house, and when she did, she never smiled. We all thought that she was mean. She had a big dog, an English setter, and whenever one of our baseballs rolled in its direction—which happened often—Mrs. Shinas would send the dog to fetch it. We wouldn’t see the ball again. Soon we ran out of baseballs.

In those days, we didn’t have lawn sprinklers, and so each day I watered our lawn by hand with a hose. One day as I stood watering our little stretch of grass, I noticed that Mrs. Shinas’s lawn looked a little shabby. It took only a few more minutes to water it, too, and soon I was watering her lawn each day.

When autumn came that year, one of my tasks was to clear our yard of leaves. I sprayed the ground with a hose, pushing the leaves into a pile with the force of the water. I decided to gather up the leaves on Mrs. Shinas’s yard as well, and as I was doing this one day, she came to her door and beckoned for me to come inside. I turned off the hose and went into her house.

She invited me to sit in her living room, and she gave me a cookie and a glass of milk. As I sat there eating my cookie, she showed me her collection of little china dogs. I could tell that they were her most prized possession. Then she thanked me for taking care of her lawn. It was the first conversation I had ever had with her.

Mrs. Shinas then went into her kitchen and returned with a box. In it were all the baseballs that her dog had taken. She handed me the box, said thank you—and smiled! It was the first time I’d ever seen her smile.

“I was telling a friend of mine that I come from a big family,” Cay said. “I told her about standing in line at the airport when my dad came back from a business trip, how people’s chins dropped when they saw five kids waiting for the same dad. My friend laughed and said, ‘They must have thought y’all were Mormons.’
“I turned to my other friend and said, ‘Should I tell her? Should I tell her?’
“And the first friend said, ‘Tell me what?’
“Then I said, ‘I am Mormon.’ I think she was bright red with embarrassment for the rest of the day.”

As a young child I was taught to pray. I felt a love for the Savior and wanted to feel His Spirit with me. When I was perhaps only seven or eight years old, I remember helping my mother one day and thinking to myself, “If I had lived on the earth at the time of the Savior, would I have recognized Him and been one of His followers?” My testimony was very small then, so I didn’t know what the answer was, and the question continued to concern me as I was growing up.
When I entered Young Women, I loved going to Beehive camp. It was an amazing experience—enjoying the out-of-doors, singing the songs, and listening to testimonies around the campfire. I felt the Spirit of the Lord then and learned to recognize that Spirit. As the years passed, I came to know myself better. My question had been answered. Had I lived when the Savior was on the earth, I felt I would have recognized Him. I would have loved Him then, just as I love Him now.

When my mom and I were shopping, she said I could buy something with my own money. I had 10 dimes. I found a bottle of bubbles and was excited to buy it. When we got to the checkout my mom paid for everything, even the bubbles. I didn’t give the dimes to my mom, and she didn’t ask for them. Later that week my mom asked me to do some extra chores. I did them, and my mom gave me two quarters for doing a good job. When I went to put away my new quarters, I saw the 10 dimes. I took them out of my bank and gave them to my mom. I told her they were for my bubbles she bought at the store. I felt good inside for choosing the right by being honest, and doing what Jesus would want me to do.

Zing! The rope barrier springs away and Neal spurs his quarter horse into the arena in pursuit of a scrambling steer, overtaking it as his father hazes the frightened animal closer to him. Moving at a hard gallop, Neal slides far sideways in the saddle and takes hold of the steer, right arm hooking one horn, left hand grasping the other. For a moment his body forms a perilous bridge between the horse and steer. Then his hand-tooled cowboy boots jerk free from the stirrups and tread clouds for an instant before hitting the hoof—softened dirt in a jolting cloud of dust, plowing a double furrow as he brakes against his own momentum and 600 pounds of charging steer. The muscles of his broad shoulders bunch under his western shirt as he turns his momentum, strength, and more than 180 pounds of solid bone and muscle into irresistible torque, levering the wide horns clockwise. The steer resists, teeters, and then crashes helplessly onto its side.
The judge’s flag drops. Time—6.2 seconds. Neal grins up at his father through the dust and applause, then scans the stands for his mother. Ignoring the burning weal that the horns have left on his ribs, he releases the animal, stands up, and stoops to dust off his western-cut jeans.
Neal Gines, 17, from Kamas, Utah, and his father have just won another first place in bulldogging.
Later, as Neal sprawls out, all 6?5? of him, on the front room floor, he eyes the shelves of trophies that loom on the wall. Over 100 trophies, plaques, and belt buckles glisten in the shaft of sunlight peeking through the curtains. There are trophies for every member of the family: his dad’s chariot racing trophies, Lana’s softball trophy, Marla’s rodeo queen plaque, and Tim’s football “Mr. Hustle” trophy.
Then there are his trophies: his all-state basketball and football trophies, his state farmer trophy, and his belt buckles from rodeo events, and his state steer wrestling saddle. But even though the trophies look impressive, Neal feels that the real value came from achieving them—the work, the sweat.
“The trophies really aren’t that great. Other things are more important—like them,” Neal says proudly as he nods toward the kitchen where his parents’ voices can be heard.
“They spend a lot of time with me and sacrifice a lot for me, which means much more to me than a trophy. In fact, I try to give my belt buckles away, but mom tells me to save some for my kids,” he adds with a grin.
He shies away from talking about his accomplishments, preferring to talk about what he’d still like to achieve. “I still haven’t got the best time I think I can get,” he says in reference to his bulldogging. “Maybe next week.”
In the kitchen, his mother, obviously proud of Neal, relates her feelings:
“He’s a goal setter, and he’ll work until he accomplishes them. Someone once told him, Neal, you’ll never be a basketball player. You’re too slow and clumsy. Well, Neal practiced years to prove that if he wanted to play basketball, he’d play basketball! Last year he made ‘All-state,’ and participated on an all-star team.
“But more important to me than his awards in sports is the type of boy he is. Whenever he’s going to be late, he calls. And after his dates, he comes in and tells us he’s home; then we usually go to the kitchen and talk and munch on cookies.
“I’m secretary at the high school, and when Neal sees me in the halls he puts his arm around me, and teases me about being his girl. I’m more proud of him because he’s active in the Church and wants to go on a mission and has a strong testimony than because he’s a good athlete.”
August 16 is rainy and gray, but just before the rodeo the rain stops; The grounds are filled with Rocky Mountain Rodeo Association members, and everything smells like wet hay and leather. Neal throws his long legs into the saddle and heads for the barrier.
“Come on, Fran, let’s give it our best shot,” he whispers.
The rope barrier springs back and they charge out. Mud flies as Neal leans, grabs, twists, and pins the steer. Time—3.35 seconds! Neal’s fastest time ever! With a big smile he glances toward the stands where his family sits.
The morning is quiet. On his way out of the house to feed the horses, Brother Gines glances at the shelves of trophies and stops. He stands there, silent, silhouetted against the early morning light, looking at Neal’s basketball trophy and remembering the long hours Neal practiced to prove that he wasn’t clumsy. As he stands there, he recollects the times he and Neal have spent together.
“Back when Neal was younger, we milked the neighbor’s cows. It was Neal’s job, but I went anyway, figuring that it was important to be with him. We talked about horses and football and bulldogging and the Church. We grew closer together, understanding each other, becoming best friends.
“When Neal started bulldogging, I became the hazer (the one who guides the steer in a straight line). It’s kind of symbolic, both of us coming out together, with me hazing to keep the steer from running wild so Neal can grab him and throw him to the ground. We work well together, we’ve done it for so long. I can tell if Neal is hurt, how bad it is, whether it is just another scrape to add to his scars, or whether the horns have dug deeper this time. I never say much, but I’m right there.
“One time I’ll never forget is the afternoon we hiked to the top of the mountain looking for deer. When we got to the top, we just sat there, talked, and forgot about the deer. Neal was at that age when he wanted to know things. That was one of the best father-son interviews we’ve ever had.
“As Neal grew older, we didn’t stop doing things together. My wife teases us about being inseparable, but a father likes to know that his son wants to spend time with his old dad,” Brother Gines adds with a smile.
On cool fall nights they work outside together, joking, trying to hurry and get the wood stacked so they can go in and eat. They spend long hours hauling hay; taking trips to the saw mill to gather shavings so the animals can have the “softest beds”; walking quietly through the just-fallen snow, tracking down pheasants; going downtown to get a malt. They are still inseparable, still best friends.
“Need some help feeding the horses, dad?” Neal asks as he walks into the room.
Brother Gines turns to see Neal all dressed, ready to help. “Sure,” he replies.
Together they walk out into the bright morning.
Editor’s note: On August 26, 1980 (while this story was being written) Neal Gines died from injuries inflicted by a lightening bolt while he was working as a telephone linesman. “I’ve always had a testimony of living forever as a family,” said his father. “Neal was prepared. Now we as a family must be prepared. I know that we will be together again.”

When it was announced on Sunday that the young men in my ward were going to do baptisms for the dead, I just thought to myself, Too bad I can’t go. I never gave it another thought because I knew it would be too difficult for me to go. I have cerebral palsy.
After my mom picked me up from school on Tuesday (the day the young men were going to the temple), she said we needed to hurry because the bishop would be picking us up at 5:30 P.M. I didn’t even pay attention because I thought she was talking to my brother, Beau.
Then she said, “Bart, you need to hurry and eat and get showered and into your Sunday clothes.”
I said, “What? I’m going?”
She told me that the bishop didn’t want me to be left out and thought that it would be nice if I went and watched the other boys do baptisms for the dead. I couldn’t believe it. I was going to go to the temple!
As we hurried to get ready, I could hardly quit smiling; just the thought that I could go to the temple made me happy. Rick Hansen, my teachers quorum adviser, drove me to the temple in his nice, new van. My wheelchair fit inside just fine.
The temple was so beautiful. I had heard people say how strong the Spirit of the Holy Ghost is in the temple, and boy, were they right. I sat behind the window looking at the other boys being baptized, wishing I could be baptized too.
Just then Bishop Homer came over to me. “Come on,” he said. “We need to get you dressed.” I wasn’t sure what he meant or where we were going. He took me back to a special dressing room that was for temple workers, and he and Rick tried to figure out how to get the baptismal clothes on me. They did a pretty good job. I looked down at myself and thought it was neat to be dressed in white.
Then the temple worker gave me a card with my name on it. The bishop took me into the baptismal font area where I waited for my turn. As I sat and waited, a special feeling came over me. I kept looking up at the ceiling and thanking my Heavenly Father for this chance that he had given me. I also thought about the people I would be doing the baptisms for. I wondered what they would think about me, a handicapped boy, being baptized for them.
Then my turn came. It was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. I felt as if all eyes were on me. The bishop scooped me up in his arms and carried me down into the baptismal font. It took both the bishop and Rick to baptize me because of my floppy trunk and stiff limbs. The bishop stopped after completing the ordinance for each name and made sure I was still breathing all right. I did a total of five baptisms. The bishop and Rick then dressed me, and the bishop even combed my hair with his comb. Beau told me that when the bishop pushed me out of the dressing room he had sweat coming down his face. I’m not sure the bishop realized how much work it was going to be to dress me.
As we went over to do the confirmations, I felt warm all over. I thought to myself, How could people not know that the Church is true? I was so grateful my bishop cared enough to give me the chance to be baptized in the temple. It’s so beautiful inside the temple. The powerful feeling inside just makes me feel that I know the Church is true.

A home teaching visit is also more likely to be successful if an appointment is made in advance. To illustrate this point, let me share with you an experience I had some years ago. At that time the Missionary Executive Committee was comprised of Spencer W. Kimball, Gordon B. Hinckley, and Thomas S. Monson. One evening Brother and Sister Hinckley hosted a dinner in their home for the committee members and our wives. We had just finished a lovely meal when there was a knock at the door. President Hinckley opened the door and found one of his home teachers standing there. The home teacher said, “I know I didn’t make an appointment to come, and I don’t have with me my companion, but I felt I should come tonight. I didn’t know you would be entertaining company.”
President Hinckley graciously invited the home teacher to come in and sit down and to instruct three Apostles and our wives concerning our duty as members. With a bit of trepidation, the home teacher did his best. President Hinckley thanked him for coming, after which he made a hurried exit.

He was tarred and feathered, beaten, driven, hated, cast out, “persecuted for righteousness’ sake.” (Matt. 5:10.) He spent months in the vile prisons of his day and was the victim of scores of false and malicious prosecutions. Once he and a small group of associates were prisoners of a mob-militia. On November 1, 1838, a pretended court martial—which ranks in infamy and illegality with the trial of Jesus before Pilate—sentenced the group to death. The order given was as follows:
“Brigadier General Doniphan:
“Sir:—You will take Joseph Smith and the other prisoners into the public square at Far West, and shoot them at 9 o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“[Signed] Samuel D. Lucas,”
“Major General Commanding.”
General Doniphan defied his commanding officer. With a boldness born of indignant justice he replied:
“It is cold blooded murder. I will not obey your order. My brigade shall march for Liberty tomorrow morning at 8 o’clock; and if you execute these men, I will hold you responsible before an earthly tribunal, so help me God.”
“[Signed] A. W. Doniphan,”
“Brigadier General.”
(Essentials, p. 241.)

Dan wasn’t always as helpful as he is now. The “old” Dan didn’t like to work. He was sometimes disobedient and impolite, and he didn’t study very hard. Then one day his father, Jones, met two Latter-day Saint missionaries on the street. In time, the whole family joined the Church. Learning that he was a child of God gave Dan a new point of view. His baptism and confirmation helped it grow. “I felt forgiven and clean and good,” he remembers. “And since then, the Holy Ghost has helped me do what I should. And when I repent, He helps me know I’m forgiven.”
Seeing himself differently, Dan began seeing others that way as well. “I love my brothers and sisters like I love myself. I would do anything for them,” he says. Dan changed in other ways, too. Barely able to read, he studied hard and became a good reader and a good student.
Brother Balyejusa has noticed a change in all his children. “Since we joined the Church, I don’t have as many problems with my family,” he explains. “We are now like one person. Before, we were divided.”

Let me give you an example of how important it is to put first things first if you are to be successful in life. As a boy I was raised on a farm, where I remained until I went away to school. I had observed how a farmer on one side of the road was very successful, while one on the other side was almost a failure as a farmer. What made the difference? They received the same amount of sunshine and rain. They planted the same kind of seeds. But one had beautiful and bounteous crops, while the other had no harvest or a poor one.

I observed that the successful farmer worked at his job. He would do his plowing, discing, harrowing, seeding, and harvesting in the proper season and at the proper time, while his neighbor was procrastinating, or off hunting and fishing while the work was still to be done. We must learn to set our priorities straight. No one can be successful in his line of work unless he works at it in the proper season and plays in the proper season.

The story is told of a professional driver who applied for a job driving high level government officials to their various destinations often on dangerous winding mountain roads. The interviewer asked each applicant the following question: “How close can you drive a car to the edge of a dangerous mountain road and remain safe?” The first applicant responded, “I can get within ten centimeters and still be safe.” The second said, “I can get on the edge and still be safe.” The third driver stated, “I can get one wheel over the edge and still protect the passenger.” Finally, the last driver said, “I will stay as far from the edge as possible.” It is he who got the job.

Recounting this history brings to my mind the experience of John E. Page as the Prophet Joseph Smith called him to serve a mission in Canada. “But I can’t go on a mission to Canada, Brother Joseph,” protested John E. Page. “I don’t even have a coat to wear.”

“Here,” said Joseph Smith, removing his own coat, “take this, and the Lord will bless you.”

John E. Page left Kirtland, Ohio, May 31, 1836, on his first mission as an elder of the Church. He labored in Canada for two years. During that time, he traveled over five thousand miles, mostly on foot, and baptized some six hundred people.

Elisa (4) and LaRece (5) spend a lot of time with their father, who flies supplies into the native villages. They take turns going with him and helping him load and unload the plane. Planes are the only way to get to many parts of Alaska, and the people who live in the remote areas are happy to see the supply planes come in. LaRece and Elisa get to meet lots of people in many places, and they share their sunny smiles and their love of the gospel wherever they go. They are starting their missionary work early!

Every time Allison had to do it, her knees knocked together and her voice squeaked. She couldn’t even think straight with all those eyes staring at her. Now her teacher was going to have her get up in front of the whole class again.
“On Monday,” Miss Barnett had announced, “I want each of you to tell us about your pet. If you don’t have a pet, choose any animal you like and tell us something special about it.”
Jeff Bates had a dog named Whiskers that could shake hands and fetch a ball. Jenny Olson would tell about the pony her parents had given her for Christmas. Raymond French lived on a farm with all kinds of animals. Everybody had a pet—everybody except Allison.
When school was out, Allison ran all the way home, the cold wind stinging her cheeks. Rushing into the house, she found her mother stacking logs by the fireplace. “Can I get a pet this weekend?” Allison blurted out.
“Not this weekend, honey,” Mother replied. “Maybe in the spring we can get a puppy.”
“What about some aquarium fish or a hamster?” Allison asked.
“We’ll talk about it when your father gets home.”
Allison went into the kitchen to get a drink of milk. As she passed the sliding glass doors, she saw that the feeder in the backyard was empty. The sparrows always looked for food there when the weather turned cold. Allison took the sack of seed out of the broom closet and went outside.
Beneath the crab apple tree was a stone bench that Allison always stood on to reach the feeder. Both the bench and the feeder had been there when her family had moved into the house. “The birds know to come here for food in the wintertime,” Allison’s mother had explained. “We can’t let them down.”
Back inside, Allison watched the birds flock to the feeder. All they ever do is eat, thought Allison. They’re not very pretty. They’re just ordinary birds.
For the rest of the evening, Allison worried about what she would say in class on Monday. She worried about it between spoonfuls of soup. She worried about it in the bathtub. By bedtime, she was too tired to worry about it anymore.
The first streaks of dawn had not yet appeared when something woke Allison. What’s that noise? she wondered. There it is again. Something’s flapping … like wings.
A sparrow was flying around in her room! Allison sprang out of bed, and the bird flew into the living room. Allison almost laughed out loud.
When the sparrow suddenly flew to the fireplace, Allison guessed how it had found its way inside—down the chimney! Someone must have left the draft open. Quickly Allison closed it so that no more feathered visitors could get in.
She looked at the bird closely. It was just like the ones she had been feeding almost every day but had never really seen at all. The little fellow was perched on the lamp-shade now, cocking his head from side to side, and staring at her with his bright eyes. What is he thinking? Allison wondered.
As dawn came, Allison opened the sliding glass door. The bird flew out and soared away. Where is it going? she asked herself. When does it build its nest? I wonder what color a sparrow’s egg is?
Allison walked through the house, being careful to clean up all the droppings. Then she climbed back into bed.
She slept so soundly that her mother had to shake her awake. Maybe I only dreamed that the bird came last night, Allison thought. Then she saw a tiny pale brown feather with gray around the edges lying on the floor, and she could hardly wait to show the feather to her classmates and tell them what had happened. They all had dogs, cats, or ponies. But nobody had such a nighttime visitor—nobody except Allison.

When I started reading the Fulfilling My Duty to God booklet, I felt that many duties were waiting for me. Although I only recently decided to read, apply, and share what is written in this booklet, it has already influenced my spirituality. Using Duty to God helps me grow and become a little better. Before using this booklet, I had never taught or testified of the gospel to my family. After reading and applying what was written in the booklet, I started finding opportunities to teach and testify to my family.

I have seen many acts of kindness working with these people and not just from the volunteers. I like to help at the cake stand at the soup kitchen, and it’s always tricky with to open the bags we put the cakes in while wearing rubber gloves. One of the homeless men saw me struggling and came to help. Now, every week, he always opens the paper bags for us. When I asked him why he helps, he said, “I just wanted to do something.” That struck a chord with me. He just wanted to help in any way he could and being able to help someone made him feel needed and useful. On my mission, I will try to have that drive. I will try to be like Jesus Christ in any way I can.

Grady Grimshaw was always grumbling. He grumbled when Mom served her latest creation for dinner: barbecued tuna pizzawiches. He grumbled when Dad told him to make his bed. He grumbled when his little sister tied bows on his fierce stuffed gorilla. And he grumbled when he walked Pepper, the dog, and she had to stop and sniff at every bush and mailbox.
Grady was always grumbling.
One sunny day while Grady was dutifully walking Pepper, he passed the house of Mrs. Sherman, who was outside weeding her rose garden. “Hello there, Grady,” she called to him, pushing back her floppy sun hat. “Lovely day, isn’t it? Would you like to take a rose home to your mother?”
“Roses make me sneeze,” Grady said, walking on.
As he neared the Cooper home, he saw Mr. Cooper fixing his lawn mower. “Hi, Grady,” Mr. Cooper said. “Nice dog you have there.”
“She has fleas,” Grady said, not stopping for a second.
Then he came to the Parnell house. On the porch, asleep in a chair, was a tiny woman he had never met. Her white hair was pulled into a tight little knot at the top of her head, and she wore a big plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Every breath she took ended in a high-pitched whistle.
Grady wished he could whistle like that.
The woman suddenly opened one eye. “What are you staring at?” she demanded crossly.
Grady jumped. “I—I’ve never seen you before.”
“Well, I’ve never seen you before, but I’m not standing around gawking, am I?”
“No, ma’am.”
The woman closed her eyes again. Grady hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
The woman’s eyes flew open, “Goodness, child, are you still there? What is it you want?”
“Aren’t you going to tell me what a nice day it is—or that you like my dog?”
The woman peered up at the sky. “Clouds. It’ll probably rain. And I don’t like dogs. They stink.”
“Pepper doesn’t stink,” Grady said defensively, “at least, not unless you get real close.” He plunked himself down on the porch step. This was not at all the way most adults he knew acted.
The woman sighed. “Who are you, anyway?”
“Grady Grimshaw.” He pointed. “I live down there, in that brown house.”
The woman raised herself up a little. “That corner house? How dreadful! I lived on a corner once. All the neighborhood kids trekked through the yard on their way to school and killed the grass and dropped things. Had to put up a big old ugly fence.”
“I like living on the corner. I get to live on two streets instead of just one.”
“Well, I’d rather live on my own one street, thank you very much,” the woman said. She reached for a glass of water on a nearby TV tray.
“What’s your name?” Grady asked as he handed her the glass.
“Dinah. Dinah Parnell. Only I’m never in the kitchen, and I don’t know any banjo players, so don’t sing that old song at me.”
“I won’t.” Grady felt Pepper tugging impatiently on her leash. “I guess I’d better go,” he said, standing up.
“Yes, I guess you’d better.” Mrs. Parnell closed her eyes. “But you can come back sometime, if you want.”
Grady was thoughtful as he and Pepper headed for home. Mrs. Parnell sure was different from most other ladies he knew.
Mom was putting the finishing touches on a sardine and broccoli casserole, and Grady got out the plates to set the table without even thinking about grumbling. “Mom, have you met that Mrs. Parnell lady?”
“Dinah Parnell?”
Grady nodded.
“Yes, I have. Did you meet her just now?”
He nodded again. “She doesn’t seem very happy.”
“Well, she’s not, really,” Mom said, putting the casserole into the microwave. “She’s Mr. Parnell’s mother, and she’ll be staying there awhile because she isn’t well. I think it’s hard for her to be away from her home. She’s lonely.”
“She sure grumbles a lot.”
“I think she could use a friend.”
Grady thought about that for a moment. His face brightened. “Would you help me make some brownies tomorrow after school so I could take some over to her?”
“Of course—that would be nice, Grady.” Mom smiled. “Here, would you stir this orange juice for me, please?”
Grady took the pitcher and was so busy thinking about Mrs. Parnell that he didn’t grumble this time, either.
The next day, Grady took a plateful of warm brownies to Mrs. Parnell. She only managed a “Humph!” when he came up the porch steps, but she listened when he told her about the bee that had gotten loose in class that day, and she only grumbled about the rain and the price of tomatoes in the grocery store.
A few days later, Grady went to see her again. He told her about his bicycle accident, and she showed him the scar on her hand from when she had fallen off her horse many years ago. He complained about the boy at school who fell on the cupcake Grady’d taken in his lunch, and she told him about the girl in the third grade who used to call her “Curlilocks” in front of everybody, so she’d put a rubber snake in the girl’s book bag and the girl yelled and then they both started laughing and became good friends. This time Mrs. Parnell only grumbled about how her eyes didn’t work very well anymore. Grady got her favorite book from inside and read to her.
Grady liked visiting Mrs. Parnell. He started looking for other grumblers who needed to be cheered up, too, and pretty soon, he decided that instead of a grumbler, he would be a grinner. He grinned when Mom served oatmeal turkeyburgers for dinner. He grinned when Dad told him to put away his toy cars. He grinned when Pepper shook water all over him after her bath. And he grinned when his little sister pushed the two-million-piece puzzle he had been working on for three weeks off the table.
(Well, that last one wasn’t quite a grin—but it wasn’t a very loud grumble!)

Living in Port Alberni, an industrial town on Vancouver Island, Canada, with few Church members, I grew up fascinated by Utah. I especially loved the missionaries. My family even collected the rectangular address cards the missionaries handed out. Each had a photo of the Salt Lake Temple or some other temple, as well as the missionary’s home address and ward. Listed on the back were the Articles of Faith.
To my young imagination, these cards were like travel posters showing beautiful scenes from faraway lands. Visiting places like Temple Square, however, seemed impossible. For a young boy from a poor family, Utah may as well have been on the moon.
But when my oldest brother, Mundi, married and settled in Salt Lake City, my world began to shrink. Then when my other brother, Laurence, attended BYU after his mission, it shrank a little more. After Mundi and his wife had settled in Salt Lake City, I asked my parents if I could visit them there.
“If you save up for the bus ticket, I guess you’re old enough,” my dad said. They even called Mundi and his wife, who both said it would be fine if I visited them for a few weeks the following summer.
Only one major hurdle remained: the bus ticket. The round-trip fare was $75.00, a fortune to a 15-year-old without a job. Still, I did odd jobs when I could and saved most everything I made. By March I had put away $45.00.
About that time my dad retired, and we moved to the other side of Victoria. My family started attending the local branch that met each Sunday at the nearby Women’s Auxiliary Hall—an old weathered building that smelled of damp wood. Our branch was so small the adult leaders had to do many things. My dad was a counselor in the Sunday School presidency. He was also a Sunday School teacher and the priesthood instructor. My mother handled the music and helped with the Primary. A couple of boys and myself administered the sacrament, and everyone gave talks.
At that time, Church buildings were paid for partly by the local members. Unbeknownst to me, the district presidency was on a drive to fund Vancouver Island’s second chapel. They hoped this building would one day become the island’s first stake center. They were visiting each branch, beginning at our little Sunday School.
“We’re building the foundation for the Lord’s Church to grow in this area,” one of the brethren said. “To accomplish this, every one of us will need to sacrifice.”
I listened intently. It was always interesting, if not a little intimidating, when the leaders visited. I usually hung on their every word.
“We’ve worked out suggested assessments for every mother and father and for every child,” he said. He listed off assessments of several hundred dollars from each set of parents and an assessment of $45.00 from each child. “We know this will be hard for you, but we promise you will be blessed for it,” he concluded.
It seemed too much of a coincidence. I had exactly $45.00 back at the house, representing most of my ticket to Utah. Between Sunday School and priesthood meeting, I ran home and grabbed the money. In the exhilaration of the moment, my long awaited trip to Utah was completely forgotten. I walked up to the brother from the district presidency and handed him the $45.00.
What happened next took me completely by surprise. The man looked at me, almost dumbfounded. Before we began the next meeting, he took the stand and asked everyone to sit down.
“It’s not easy to ask members to sacrifice,” he began, “and I’ve felt very discouraged these past few weeks about having to do it. I guess my own faith was weak. But a young man in your midst has just given me every cent he has because the Lord asked for it,” he said. “And I know that he will be blessed because of it.”
I heard later that he stood before all the branches on the island and used my example again and again to inspire the membership. Ironically, I hadn’t given my decision a moment’s thought. The Lord needed exactly what I had, so I gave it.
I didn’t give my Utah trip any more thought either. Although I had wanted to go for as long as I could remember, I didn’t feel disappointed. I figured my blessing was how good I felt inside. And, for the moment, that was more than enough.
Then, just before summer vacation began, an unexpected phone call came. It was Sister Hackwell, the mother of Billy, one of my Church friends.
“I’m driving to Utah in a few weeks to visit Faye and Anita [her two married daughters] and wondered if Jim wanted to come along?” she asked. “Mundi could pick him up at Anita’s, and he and Billy could keep each other company on the way.” I could go to Utah, after all. I knew immediately that the Lord had blessed me even more than the brother from the district presidency had promised he would.

“When your great-great-grandmother Emily Burk left Nauvoo to come west, she had an old hen she wanted to bring with her. It had been doing something rather unusual—sitting on a nest of duck eggs—and Emily just couldn’t leave her behind. So she set up a box in the wagon for the nest. Soon the ducklings hatched, and every night when the wagon train stopped, Emily filled a washtub with water and let the little ducks swim. Everyone in camp came to watch them.
“You see, Rachel, part of being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is helping others. There’s even a scripture in the Book of Mormon that tells us how important it is to ‘bear one another’s burdens’ [Mosiah 18:8]. Heavenly Father wants us to take care of those who can’t take care of themselves.”
“You mean, just like Emily took care of the chicken and like the chicken took care of the ducks?”
“And just like the Lord took care of the pioneers and how He still takes care of all of us. He wants us to be happy, so He watches over us.”
“Why doesn’t He take care of Sister Heaton instead of having Mom do it?”
“That’s how He is taking care of Sister Heaton—through your mother. Most of the time Heavenly Father answers our prayers through someone else.”
“So Mom is Heavenly Father’s answer to Sister Heaton’s prayers?”
“Probably. Your mother is helping Sister Heaton rest and get her mind off her troubles, sort of like those ducklings helped the tired pioneers find a little bit of enjoyment at the end of their long days.”
“But why do I have to baby-sit?”
“So your mom can help Sister Heaton. The ducks wouldn’t have been able to bring some enjoyment to the pioneers if the chicken hadn’t cared for them. Your mom wouldn’t be able to help Sister Heaton if she did not know you would take good care of your brother while she’s gone.”
“So, in a way, I’m helping Sister Heaton too?”
“In a very big way.”
“Then I guess I don’t feel so bad about waiting until tomorrow to go skating.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
As Aunt Pearl left, Rachel heard David waking up. On her way upstairs to get him, she thought more about what Aunt Pearl had said. Rachel was still a bit disappointed to miss out on the trip to the park, but it helped to know that taking care of David helped Heavenly Father take care of Sister Heaton.
“As we keep the commandments and [serve], the Lord can ‘pour out his Spirit more abundantly upon [us]’ (Mosiah 18:10; see D&C 20:77). The reward for obedience and service is not only the gift of the Holy Ghost but also special gifts of the Spirit. Paul defines the fruits of the Spirit as love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, and meekness (see Gal. 5:22–23). The Holy Spirit blesses us with Christlike attributes as we serve each other.”Elder Merrill J. BatemanOf the Seventy(Ensign, Jan. 1999, 10.)

I have asked that serious question of myself: “Where would I be without the gospel?”
It was that gospel testimony that persuaded me to say no to my Navy friends when our first “liberty” came to leave boot camp training in Farragut, Idaho, in early 1944. On the train from Farragut to Spokane, Washington, the invitations were presented in a most appealing way to go with them to get a “manly” tattoo and then be off to find the real pleasures that men seek.
I was the only Mormon in that group, and, yes, I felt a little lonely as I broke off to go by myself to the USO facility and then to a movie. The following day I found church services and church friends who strengthened and reinforced a lonely Mormon boy from Provo, Utah.
To have come home from the service in World War II with virtue intact has held for me eternal rewards.