Gospel Story Finder

Eighteen-year-old Lilian Fernanda Pereira Santos of the Tijuca Ward, Rio de Janeiro Brazil Andaraí Stake, is one of the young Brazilians trying to walk by faith.
Sometimes when she politely declines invitations to parties where she knows the activities will not meet gospel standards, her friends at school say sarcastically, “Yes, we know—you’re a little saint.” Recently there was a particular party she felt she might safely attend, but her mother’s counsel and a Sunday School lesson led her to reconsider taking a chance on it. The lesson quoted a scripture, Mosiah 2:41, that is cited in her patriarchal blessing: “Consider … the blessed and happy state of those that keep the commandments of God. … If they hold out faithful to the end they are received into heaven.”
Fernanda says having friends she can associate with in her early-morning seminary class makes it easier to live the gospel and find wholesome activities. She used to be the only Latter-day Saint in her school, but now there is one more—a young woman, recently baptized, whom Fernanda introduced to the gospel by inviting her to seminary.

A few years ago, Elder Kim B. Clark was the new President here at BYU-Idaho. He and his wife, Sue, hosted an open forum, Q&A session on campus for a student Family Home Evening group.
Sister Clark told me this story: “During our discussion, one young student stood up and said, “I’m on medication for depression. Isn’t it true that the Lord will take away my depression if I can just be good enough and prayerful enough and feel the spirit enough?”
Sister Clark could see the anguish in this young woman’s face. She replied from her heart: “I also suffer from depression,” she said. “And when I’m in it, I have a hard time feeling the Spirit. Sometimes I start thinking, ‘Maybe I’m not really depressed. Maybe I’m just a bad person. Maybe God doesn’t love me.’ And I begin to feel doomed.”
But instead of surrendering to those feelings, Sister Clark uses them as a cue to take action; to seek encouragement and help from outside sources: a friend, her husband, and her doctor. She also makes a conscious effort to reach outside herself and serve others.
And the Spirit does come back, Sister Clark assured that young woman. You are never alone. There is always hope.

In talking one day with her young daughter Elaine, Jean Shaw shared a personal insight. Jean told Elaine that she would not discover that “your faith is your own” until her parents died. Years later, when her mother passed away, Elaine recalled those words. Even in her grief, she realized she did indeed have her own faith in the Lord. Through believing the truth as it was taught her, receiving the ordinances of the gospel, and striving to keep her covenants, she had nourished her faith in the Savior. Her faith had grown gradually until now it could guide, comfort, and sustain her in the absence of her parents.

When I was given the assignment to speak in the priesthood session of general conference, I immediately thought of a wonderful Primary teacher. Her great desire was to prepare us to be worthy of receiving the priesthood. She grilled us on the requirements then in place for graduation from Primary—memorize the names of the members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and the Articles of Faith. She also made us a promise—if all of us could recite the thirteen Articles of Faith by memory, we could choose the place and go on an outing for our last class.
We decided on a special spot we liked to hike to on the rocky slopes just above the first dam at the entrance of Logan Canyon, in northern Utah. There was a small, flat space in these rocky cliffs that had a natural fireplace where you could cook hot dogs and roast marshmallows. When we chose the location, however, we did not consider our teacher, who was older and certainly not the athletic type. If we had thought about it more carefully, it might have occurred to us that she would have a difficult time making the hike. Her promise was her bond, however, and she gamely followed us.
First we climbed up the small hill. In our day there were no power lines to prevent access. With some help our teacher made it up the hill. Once over the top we dropped down into a rocky ridge to a place we called “Turtle Back.”
After we arrived, it took our teacher a little while to catch her breath. By the time we prepared to sit down and eat, she had recovered enough to teach us our final lesson. She told us how she had enjoyed teaching us in Primary for the last two years. She complimented us on how we had mastered the Articles of Faith. She could call out the number of any one of them, and we could quote it back to her. Then she said memorizing the Articles of Faith would mean nothing more than a lot of words unless we understood the doctrines and principles contained in them. She encouraged us to study the gospel doctrine taught in each of the Articles of Faith. She explained that the doctrine found in the Articles of Faith was divided into sections.
After my teacher’s wonderful lesson on that mountain in Logan Canyon, we noticed that we had stayed a little longer than we had planned. The evening was drawing to a close, and we realized we had a problem.
My teacher had struggled to arrive at our special spot, but returning presented a major challenge for us. This only compounded the poor selection of a place for our outing. The climb back was difficult for us, but even more so for a person of her age.
As we struggled to help her back up the hill, two policemen appeared. The Primary president had sent them out to find us, fearing we were lost. The drama of the event and the lessons taught made it an unforgettable experience in my life.

As I finished washing the dishes, I glanced out the window and saw my eight-year-old brother dangling a long pole in the swimming pool. His tangled brown hair hung in his eyes, and his clothes were splashed with water. He always managed to avoid helping with the chores, and today was no different. I watched as he carefully steadied the pole in the water, lifted it, and tapped it on the concrete deck.
“What’s he doing?” I wondered. I decided to go outside and see what time-wasting activity had kept him from helping me.
“What are you doing, Ben?” I asked as I walked over to where he stood.
“Saving bees,” he replied. I could now see that each time he steadied the pole, it was beneath a bee. He then lifted the bee out of the water and placed it on the warm concrete to let the bee dry its wings and fly away.
“But some of them won’t hold on,” he continued. “I try to save them, but they just keep trying to swim and won’t grab the pole.”
“Great,” I thought. “One less bee to sting me.” I began walking back toward the house, determined to waste no more of my time.
Then Ben spoke again. “It’s like Jesus,” he said.
I stopped and walked back to my little brother. “What do you mean?” I asked, confused by that comparison.
“I try to save the bees from drowning, but they have to choose to grab the pole. I can’t force them,” he explained. “And that’s like Jesus and us. He wants to save us, but we have to choose to follow Him and accept the Atonement. He can’t force us.” And with that simple analogy, Ben went back to saving the bees.
As I thought about what he said, I realized how much I was like one of the drowning bees. When I faced a struggle in my life, I was prone to battle it out alone, convinced I was strong enough to make it. Trusting the Savior enough to stop “treading water” was difficult. But as I watched Ben patiently pull each bee out of the water, I began to understand how willing the Savior is to help me.
I gave Ben a hug and returned to the house, letting him continue his work. And I promised myself the next time I saw a pole coming toward me, I would have the faith to grab on tight and let the Savior lift me up.

Amber Martin and Kortney Kline are closer to earning their Young Women Personal Progress Award after organizing all the youth in the Valley Forge Pennsylvania Stake to donate their reading books to an inner-city school in Philadelphia. A stake youth dance was held and the “admission fee” was to bring some books. Amber and Kortney managed to collect over 500 books. These two young women said it was an awesome experience to give youth in their stake an opportunity to donate books to students in need.

Nuria and I were found by missionaries who knocked on our apartment door at the right time in our lives for us to receive the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. We were taught by the Holy Ghost as they shared the message of the Restoration of the gospel. When we were baptized in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we both knew for ourselves that it was the right thing to do. Our testimonies continued to grow as we followed the example of Jesus Christ on the covenant path. The members of the Church were always there with us along the way.

Some time ago a father of six children who had the sole responsibility for raising the family, beginning when the youngest was in diapers, told of the struggles of doing so alone. One night he came home from work faced with the problems of being both father and mother and felt unusually burdened with his responsibilities. One of his appreciative daughters, age 12, approached him eagerly after having laid on his dresser a rock that she had painted at school. On the flat portion of the rock, she had written, “Happiness is having a dad who cares.” This painted rock and its sublime message instantly and permanently lightened the burden of this father.

Let me share a personal example. Husbands, take heed. Sisters, this is going to help you too. Before my full-time assignment in the Church, I traveled widely for my company. I was gone a fair amount of time to far reaches of the world. At the end of my day, no matter where I was, I always called home. When my wife, Melanie, picked up the phone and I reported in, our conversation always led us to expressing “I love you.” Every day, those words served as an anchor to my soul and my conduct; they were a protection to me from evil designs. “Melanie, I love you” spoke of the precious trust between us.
President Thomas S. Monson used to say, “There are feet to steady, hands to grasp, minds to encourage, hearts to inspire, and souls to save.” Saying “thank you,” “I am sorry,” “I love you” will do just that.
Brothers and sisters, words do matter.
I promise that if we “feast upon the words of Christ” that lead to salvation, our prophet’s words that guide and encourage us, and our own words that speak of who we are and what we hold dear, the powers of heaven will pour down upon us. “The words of Christ will tell you all things what ye should do.” We are Heavenly Father’s children and He is our God, and He expects us to speak with “the tongue of angels” by the power of the Holy Ghost.
I love the Lord Jesus Christ. He is, in the words of the Old Testament prophet Isaiah, “Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.” And as the Apostle John made clear, Jesus Christ Himself is “the Word.”
Of this I testify as an Apostle called to the Lord’s divine service—to declare His word—and called to stand as a special witness of Him. In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

David, of Utah, USA, had some health concerns that forced him to finally retire at age 72. While he recovered, his wife, Sheila, continued serving as ward Relief Society president. When she was released, they talked with their bishop about other service opportunities, and the bishop suggested that David could use his experience as a human resources administrator and Sheila could use her background as an employment counselor to serve at a Church employment center.

They were soon called on a service mission. “We love it,” David says. “We both get to do things we know how to do, and we can serve at our own pace.”

The words of the second verse especially struck me. “The truths and values we embrace / Are mocked on ev’ry hand.” Immediately I thought of my high school experience. I saw peers, coaches, and teachers snickering, giggling, and even laughing and making fun of the way I live my life, specifically the choices I made to attend early morning seminary, to behave and dress in a modest way, and not to play soccer on Sundays.
Sometimes I felt like there was no light at the end of the tunnel, as if that stage of my life would continue indefinitely. But I realize Heavenly Father gave me those experiences because He loves me, and that is enough. He knows what is best for me, and though I look back on my high school years with very few fond memories, I know it was when I built my own testimony. I learned to pray about anything and everything and to trust in my Savior. I decided for myself that the Lord and His Church are worth anything I have to sacrifice in order to stand up and be counted as a disciple of Christ.

It was a muggy summer morning. Josh and his friend Calvin stood on the tennis court, waiting for their neighbor to come outside and give them their weekly tennis lesson. Five, then ten minutes went by. “Maybe our lesson is canceled,” Josh finally said.
The sun went behind a cloud. The air grew chilly.
“Yeah,” Calvin said. “Let’s go home. It looks like it’s going to rain.” He looked up at the billowing black cloud gathering above them. Suddenly a fierce wind kicked up. Without warning, hail and rain started pelting down.
“Quick!” Josh called above the shrieking wind. He pointed to a large pine tree. The boys ran across the lawn, the wind pulling so hard that Josh feared he’d be carried away. He and Calvin scrambled under the tree branches, listening to the storm roar around them. Josh knew that Brother and Sister Snow’s house was nearby, but he couldn’t see it through the heavy downpour.
“Let’s pray,” Calvin said. The boys knelt in the dirt and prayed that the rain would let up long enough for them to see the Snows’ house and run there for safety. As soon as they said “amen,” the rain slowed. “I see the house!” Josh cried.
Calvin dashed across the slippery, hail-covered grass to the Snows’ porch as the rain picked up again. Josh followed, but stopped next to the detached garage because it was closer than the house. He stood beside it for a moment, wondering what to do. Follow Calvin, a voice spoke to his mind. He ran toward the porch, where Calvin stood waiting. As he ran, he felt a rumble and heard a terrible CRASH!
Josh turned around and froze. Two huge pine trees had blown over onto the garage, demolishing it. Wooden beams, broken glass, and twisted metal littered the ground. A tree trunk lay where Josh had been standing.
“Come on,” Calvin called. Josh ran to the porch as Calvin rang the doorbell. No one answered. Calvin turned the doorknob and opened the door.
“Phew,” Josh said. “Now we can call our parents to come get us.” As he waited inside the Snows’ house and watched the rain pour down outside, he silently thanked Heavenly Father for protecting him from the storm.
Later that night, Josh’s mom asked, “Did you and Calvin lock the Snows’ door behind you when you left?”
Josh shook his head.
Mom’s eyes twinkled. “I just spoke with the Snows. When you and Calvin went into their house, you set off the security alarm. The house was locked.”
Josh’s mouth dropped open. “But we just opened the door and walked in!”
“When the security agent arrived, the front door was still locked. He has no idea how you boys got into the house.”
Josh thought quietly for a moment. “I know how we got in. Heavenly Father helped us.”
Josh was grateful to know that the Lord would open doors for him and help keep him safe.

“I felt like I was in a disaster movie,” says Alex V., 18.
It was 8:30 in the morning, but the sky above Paradise, California, USA, was dark and getting darker. Burning embers fell through the choking, smoke-filled air. Streets were gridlocked.
“Traffic lights would turn red and green, but no one was paying attention,” Alex says. “People were screaming and honking, not moving at all. Some of them started driving on the wrong side of the road.” And a wall of fire was rapidly moving toward them.
Alex called his mother: “The trees are exploding!” he said.
“You mean they’re on fire?” she said.
“No, they’re exploding! They’re bursting into flames, the whole tree at once!”
His dad told him to ditch the car and meet the family in a restaurant parking lot about two-and-a-half miles away, where he was waiting with his truck. Alex has severe asthma, and he didn’t have his inhaler. But he pulled over, said a quick prayer, and abandoned the car.
“When I started running,” he remembers, “I immediately felt safe.” He ran until he met up with his family, and eventually they escaped from the fire.
That was on November 8, 2018. Looking back today, Alex sees blessings that weren’t obvious at the time:
He had clear cell phone reception in areas that usually don’t receive service.
He had service throughout the evacuation, when service is usually so swamped it fails.
He felt peace about what he should do.
He was able to “run and not be weary” until he reached his family (see Doctrine and Covenants 89:20).

I invited a friend to play at my house one day. When her dad came to pick her up, he said that they were from Hermosillo, Mexico. My mom told him, “My brother went on a mission there.” He asked, “Are you Mormon?” When she answered yes, he said, “We are Mormon too.” We invited them to church, but they didn’t come at first. We kept inviting them and visiting them until at last they came. My friend went to class with me. Finally the family became members of our ward, and my friend attends my Primary class. The best part was that I got to see her get baptized a year ago. I felt very happy for her. I like being a missionary and helping my neighbors.

“Come on,” Tracy insisted as she pulled on Kent’s arm. “It’s not that big of a deal. All we have to do is go in and read them a few stories; you’ll love it.”
Kent looked up at the tall white building towering above him. “Yeah, about as much as I’d love a broken arm. I hate hospitals.”
Tracy smiled and shook her head. “That’s why I like you Kent, because you’re so brave.”
“Real funny, Trace. Why don’t we catch a movie and get a hamburger like most people do on a date?”
“You’re the one who wanted to do something different,” she said, pinching his cheek.
“I said different, not crazy!”
“Okay,” Tracy grinned. “We’ll go in for one hour; then we can see the late movie.”
Before Kent could answer he had been dragged through the glass doors and onto the elevator. Soon they were on the second floor. The whole room was yellow: yellow walls, yellow carpet, little yellow tables and chairs. What had he gotten himself into? When he called Tracy last week he had said he wanted to do something different, but he never imagined he would be at a hospital reading to children, especially on Friday evening.
They walked over to the nurse’s station and rang the bell. A nurse appeared in the doorway and stepped up to the desk.
“Can I help you?”
Tracy spoke up. “Yes, we’re volunteers.”
“Oh good, the children like visitors so much.” She handed them each a stack of books.
Kent looked shocked. “Do we have to read them all?”
“Oh no, it’s completely up to you, but I’m sure that after you meet our patients you won’t mind. I’ll be right back,” the nurse said as she disappeared down the hall.
Kent looked at his watch. “Only 47 minutes and 35 seconds to go.”
Just then the nurse reappeared pushing a wheelchair whose occupant was a small, blonde-haired girl. She had a huge bright smile and sky blue eyes that sparkled like diamonds.
“Hi, I’m Mickey,” she said with so much enthusiasm it nearly knocked them to the floor.
“Hello, I’m Tracy and this is Kent.”
Kent smiled and shook her small hand.
Mickey winked at Tracy. “He’s cute.”
“Yes,” Tracy replied. “But we don’t want to talk about it or he’ll get a big head.” Kent could feel his face getting hot and turned away.
“He’s not as cute as me,” said a gruff voice from behind the nurse. She stepped aside to reveal a small boy with chubby, freckled cheeks and brown hair.
“No,” the nurse replied. “No one is as cute as our little Cliff.” He smiled and ducked his head.
“Come on over here, Cliff,” Tracy said. “I’m going to read to you.”
Cliff hobbled over on his metal crutches. “Way to go, nurse; it’s about time we got some good volunteers.”
Mickey spoke up. “Can’t Jacson come hear today?” she asked the nurse.
“No, Mickey. Jacson doesn’t feel very well today.” Mickey smiled and looked at Kent.
“I’ll betcha he’d go to Jacson’s room and read to him.”
The nurse looked at Kent. “If you don’t mind, he would enjoy it.”
Tracy squeezed his hand. “You can handle it, big guy.”
Kent smiled stiffly and stood up. “Okay, where is he?” Kent glanced at Tracy and pointed to his watch. She ignored him, opened a book, and began reading.
The nurse led Kent down the hall to a bright yellow door.
“Why is everything so yellow?” Kent asked her.
“Because yellow is a cheerful color and it makes people feel happy. Don’t you feel happy just being here?” Kent smiled his stiff smile again and stepped into the dark room. The smell of sanitizers and deodorizers reached his nose. He looked across the room at the small bed, and the even smaller boy lying in it.
“Hi, Jacson, I’m Kent. I’m here to read to you.”
“Just go tell them you did and get your money.”
“My money?”
“Yeah, the money they give you guys for reading to us sick kids.”
“We don’t get paid. I’m a volunteer. That means I’m here because I want to be.” Kent suddenly felt guilty.
“Well I don’t care. I still don’t want no story.”
“Okay.” Kent walked toward the door.
“Hey, Kent, do you play football?”
“Sure do. I’m the quarterback on my high school team.”
“Oh, that’s nothin’. When I get better I’m gonna be the best quarterback in the whole world.
“Is that so?” Kent said as he slowly made his way back to the bed.
“Yep, and you know what else?”
“What?”
“I can beat you in checkers.”
“Oh yeah? We’ll have to see about that.” Kent walked over to the small desk. He picked up the box of checkers and soon they were involved in a full-fledged checker battle.
After being beaten badly, Kent decided it was going to be a difficult task to win. “Okay, Jacson, one more game.”
The game was over more quickly than the one before it.
“I think you better give up, Kent.”
“Just one more game.” Kent suddenly realized he was enjoying himself.
After about seven more games there was a knock at the door and Tracy’s head poked in. “Come in, Tracy,” Kent called.
Jacson looked at Kent. “She’s pretty. What’s she doing with you?”
“I felt sorry for him,” Tracy grinned.
“Tracy, this is Jacson Williams. Jacson, this is Tracy Lewis.”
“Hi, Jacs.”
“Hi. Is Kent really a quarterback?”
“Yes, and a very good one.”
Kent smiled. “Jacson here is going to be a pro.”
Tracy took Jacson’s hand. “I’m sure you’ll be a great quarterback.”
“Well, Jacson,” Kent said. “We have to go now, but we’ll be back next week, and I want you out of this bed and in a wheelchair, okay?”
“Okay,” Jacson said as he slugged Kent’s arm. “Next week I might let you win a couple of games too.”
“Well I’m going right home to practice.” They stepped out into the bright hall, and Kent looked down at his watch. He had been in Jacson’s room for an hour and a half.
“Sorry, Tracy, but I think we missed the movie.”
Tracy smiled and took his hand. “I don’t think anyone in this whole hospital minds one bit.”
The next week passed quickly for Kent as he found himself looking forward to his Friday night hospital visit. On his way to the hospital he picked up a sports magazine for Jacson. He couldn’t believe he had become so attached to a little kid, and in such a short time.
“I don’t even mind the yellow,” he thought as the elevator doors opened. He stepped over to the desk and rang the bell. The nurse from the week before was there again.
“Hello, it’s Kent, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, how’s Jacson?” The nurse led him over to the tables.
“I’m afraid he’s not doing very well at all. Jacson has leukemia.” The words hit Kent like a ton of bricks.
“Well sure,” he said. “But he’s a strong kid. He can tackle it.”
“I’m afraid not. Jacson is dying.”
Kent couldn’t believe it, a scrawny, freckle-faced kid had him feeling as though his heart had been ripped through his chest.
The nurse smiled. “After your visit last week he really improved. He even got out of his bed and into a wheelchair. He wanted you to know that.”
Kent tried to hold back his tears. What was he doing becoming attached to a little kid he barely knew? A feeling of joy passed through his body. It felt good to care about someone besides himself for a change.
“Can I see him?”
“Of course,” she replied. “He’s been counting the days since last Friday.”
Kent followed the nurse down the endless hallway. A million thoughts passed through his mind. What was he going to say to him?
“Only a few minutes,” the nurse cautioned. Kent stepped into the dark room. He walked over and opened the drapes. A shower of moonlight fell through. He looked down at Jacson’s frail body in the oxygen tent.
“Jacson?” he whispered.
Jacson’s eyes fluttered open and a huge smile covered his face. “Kent,” he tried to sit up but couldn’t. “I got in a wheelchair, Kent. I rode all around …”
“Don’t talk, Jacson. You need to rest.”
“I’m tired of resting. I want to play football.”
“Well, you can’t for a while. I brought you a magazine. You better get better so they can interview you.”
“Kent, I’m gonna die.” Kent turned away so Jacson couldn’t see his tears. “But it’s okay ’cause Mom says they have quarterbacks in heaven.”
Thunder shook the small window and the nurse poked her head through the door. “Kent, you’ll have to go now.”
“Okay, just a minute. Well, Jacson, I gotta go but I’ll be back real soon.”
He squeezed the small hand that reached out for his. “Thanks, Kent.”
“Anytime, Jacson.” He stood by the bed a moment, then slipped silently out the door.
“Nurse, I want to know when … when …”
“I understand, I’ll call you.”
Kent quietly left the hospital and drove home. Then next Wednesday Kent got the phone call he had been expecting all week. Jacson had passed away. Even though Kent thought he had prepared himself, the news sent chills down his spine. “He left something here for you if you’d like to come pick it up,” the nurse told him.
“Yes, I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He silently hung up the phone and made his way to the car. The ride was the longest he could remember. The nurse gave him a small box. Inside was the checkerboard and the little red and black checkers stacked in two neat piles. A small piece of paper was taped to the board. He carefully unfolded it, and read:
“Dear Kent, My Mom’s writing this letter because I can’t hold a pencil too good. I just want to thank you for being my friend and helping me to get better a little. I’m giving you the checkers so you can practice. I really wish I could see you play football. Maybe we’ll be on the same team in heaven. We’d win every game too. Well, I’m kinda tired so I’m going to sleep now.” Tears filled Kent’s eyes as he read the signature scribbled in Jacson’s own handwriting. “I love you, Jacson.”
Kent was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. He wanted to scream. He wanted to be alone.
“Hey, mister, do you play football?”
Kent turned to see a young face staring into his. “Yeah, do you?”
“I used to a lot, but now I have to settle for checkers.”
“Well,” Kent replied. “I just happen to have some with me.” He laid out the board, and they were soon playing. “What’s your name?”
“Bill.”
“Well, Bill, how do you feel about quarterbacks?”

When I was about five years old, I was playing football with my friends behind the church in my small village in Côte d’Ivoire. I vividly remember the preacher’s call to his congregation to cleanse their clothes in preparation for the Savior’s arrival. Being young, I took this call literally. I ran home as fast as my little legs could carry me and begged my mother to clean my few clothes so that I could be spotless and ready for the Savior’s coming the next day. Although my mother was skeptical about the Savior’s imminent return, she still washed my best outfit.
The next morning, I put on the still slightly damp clothing and eagerly waited for the announcement of the Savior’s arrival. As the day wore on and nothing happened, I decided to go to the meetinghouse. I was deeply disappointed to find that the church was empty and the Savior had not arrived. You can imagine my feelings as I slowly walked home.
Years later, as I was receiving the missionary lessons in preparation to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I read the following: “And no unclean thing can enter into his kingdom; therefore nothing entereth into his rest save it be those who have washed their garments in my blood, because of their faith, and the repentance of all their sins, and their faithfulness unto the end.”
The clarification I received at that time helped me to understand the important truth that had eluded my young mind many years prior. The preacher’s message was centered on the importance of spiritual purity. He urged the congregation to seek repentance, make changes in their lives, and turn to the Savior for redemption.

A few years ago, our oldest son Adam and I went to Natchez, Mississippi to hunt white-tailed deer with some good friends from the New Orleans area. Having hunted in Mississippi in the past, we were very much aware of what it took to be able to get close enough to the big bucks that we were hunting. Prior to traveling to Mississippi, we were careful not to wear any cologne or antiperspirant as it might project an unwanted scent during the hunt. (Not a good thing for those sitting next to us on the plane.)

Once we arrived at our hunting lodge, we went out to the forest to inspect the area where we would hunt the next morning. Confident that we knew where we would be sitting in the early morning hours the next day, we retired for the night. Adam and I awoke at 4 am and began our preparation for the hunt. The first thing we did was to take a shower using a special soap that would kill all of the human smell from our bodies. Then, piece by piece we started to layer on the camouflage clothing. With each layer of clothing, we would spray deer scent on the clothing to mask the human scent. Finally, when we were finished, we marked our faces with camouflage paint and hung tree scent capsules from our shirts.

It would be daylight at 7 am, so at 5 am Adam and I walked to different locations to find our pre-designated location where we would sit and wait for the deer. 15 minutes later, I found the ladder to the tree that had my perch high up in the branches. I climbed the 20 feet up into the tree and once seated, I covered my legs with a curtain of camouflage and pulled a green camouflaged veil over my face. I then settled in for what was going to be a long wait. After about 30 minutes, I could hear the movement of what appeared to be the deer walking all around me. I sat ever so still, not wanting them to discover where I was.

Soon it was daybreak and not only could I hear the deer, but now I could see them, but in my camouflaged condition high in the trees, they could not see me. I knew that I was waiting for the large male deer with a large set of horns, so I passed on all of the smaller bucks and the female animals.

After about two hours in the seat, I heard behind me the sound of horns scraping against a tree. Slowly, I turned my head ever so slightly and could make out a large animal with a large set of horns. This was the moment I had been preparing for and so with the slowest motion possible, I lifted the rifle up to my eyes and turned toward the deer.
I moved the rifle until finally there he was, directly in the crosshairs.

I have reflected on that experience many times over the years. For my son and me, our objective was real and very important. So important, that we were not going to miss a single detail in our preparation for the prize.

Once, when I was about seven years old, I had a pal whom I liked very much. We often walked home from school together. We talked about such things as what happened at school that day or what we were going to be when we grew up. We talked of being brave and of being able to do many things.

Sometimes we would dare each other to jump across a ditch or to climb a tree just to prove that we were brave or that we could do things we had seen older boys and girls do.

As we came to my home one day we stood out by the road and talked about who was the fastest runner in the school. The discussion got a little louder as both of us began boasting. When I strongly insisted that I could run faster than my friend, he turned to me and said, “If you’re so fast, I dare you to run across the road before that car gets here!”

I looked up the road and saw a car a short distance away. Without another word I dashed into the road to prove that I was fast and brave. A moment later the car’s brakes squealed! Its bumper hit me, and I landed in an unconscious heap.

When I opened my eyes, my aching body, a hurt pride, and my mother’s anxious face made me realize that I had been neither fast nor brave. I had only been foolish. I had brought sadness to myself and to others.

Fortunately, my injuries healed quickly. Of greater importance was the lesson I learned that has been valuable to me throughout my life. I learned that the only dare a person should ever accept is the DARE TO DO RIGHT.

Clarissa’s eyes shone as she twirled in front of her reflection in the mirror and watched the green folds of her new dress rise above her ankles and spin around her knees. She felt like a princess.
“Is it finished?” she asked her mom.
“Almost,” Mom replied. “I just need to hem it. Now go stand by the door so I can see how much shorter it should be.”
Clarissa turned slowly as her mother directed. She loved the new dress she would be wearing when she and her younger sister Deseret served as flower girls at Aunt Olivia’s wedding.
Clarissa smiled when she thought of Aunt Olivia. She was Mom’s youngest sister, and she always made time to play games and dress-up with Deseret and Clarissa when all the other adults were talking at family gatherings. Clarissa loved Aunt Olivia!
Clarissa remembered the first time she met Edgar, the man Aunt Olivia was going to marry. Mom had invited Aunt Olivia and Edgar to dinner. He was tall and quiet. At first, Clarissa was scared of him because he didn’t talk much. But then he had smiled at Clarissa and talked to her quietly. They soon discovered that they shared the same birthday! That made Clarissa feel special. She really liked Edgar.
Clarissa was happy several months later when Mom told her that Edgar and Aunt Olivia were going to be married. She and Deseret were even happier when Aunt Olivia asked them to be flower girls. Mom explained that they would get new matching dresses and that they would carry flowers at the reception. They were going to have so much fun!
Clarissa stopped daydreaming as Deseret ran into the room. “Mom, are you ready to hem my dress?” she asked.
“I’m not quite finished with Clarissa’s dress, dear,” Mom said.
Deseret looked at Clarissa. “You look so pretty!” she said. The girls grasped hands and twirled around the room together. “We’re going to be beautiful at the wedding!” Clarissa exclaimed.
“Actually, girls,” Mom said, “you’re going to be beautiful at the reception. You’re not going to the wedding, you know.”
The dancing stopped abruptly. “What?” Clarissa asked. “Why can’t we go to the wedding?”
“We have to!” Deseret cried. “We’re the flower girls! Aunt Olivia asked us.”
“I know you’re the flower girls,” Mom said. “But do you girls remember where Aunt Olivia is getting married?”
“In the temple,” Deseret said.
“That’s right.” Mom smiled. “Aunt Olivia and Edgar are getting married in the same temple that Dad and I were married in. But only adults who have a temple recommend can go to weddings in the temple.”
“Why?” Clarissa asked.
“Well,” Mom said, “getting married in the temple is very sacred and holy. Only people who have made important covenants, or promises, to Heavenly Father in the temple can go. Adults are old enough to understand how important and special those covenants are.”
“Why does Aunt Olivia want to get married in a place where we can’t go?” Deseret frowned.
“I know why,” Clarissa said. “If you get married in the temple, you can be married forever, right?”
“Right, Clarissa.” Mom nodded. “Did you know that a temple wedding is called a sealing?” Mom laughed as Deseret looked up at the ceiling. “Not that kind of ceiling, Deseret. A temple sealing is a bit like sealing an envelope. When you lick an envelope and shut it tightly, it’s sealed, though not forever. When Olivia and Edgar are sealed in the temple, their marriage can last forever—even after they die. Temples are the only places on earth where that kind of marriage can take place.”
“Where will we be during the sealing?” Deseret asked.
“On the temple grounds with Uncle Ammon,” Mom replied. “He’s not old enough to go to Olivia’s sealing, either.”
“Hurray!” the girls cried. Uncle Ammon was a lot of fun, too.
“And then the next day, we’ll go to the reception at the church,” Mom continued. “You girls will wear your new dresses and carry flowers, and lots of people we know will be there. It will be fun. Now why don’t you take this dress off so I can finish it?”
As Clarissa walked to her room to change, she thought about what Mom had said. She knew Edgar and Aunt Olivia really loved each other. She was happy they could be married forever.
Weeks later, the girls walked around the temple grounds with Uncle Ammon. They admired the beautiful temple and the flowers and trees around it. They went into the visitors’ center and saw some pretty pictures and a movie about Jesus. Then they went outside to meet Mom and Dad after the sealing. Together they waited for Aunt Olivia and Edgar to come outside.
Clarissa spotted them as they came through the door. Aunt Olivia looked so beautiful! Edgar—now Uncle Edgar—looked handsome. They smiled as they held hands and hugged everyone.
As Clarissa wrapped her arms around Aunt Olivia, she whispered, “I’m glad I couldn’t go to your wedding.”
Aunt Olivia drew back and looked into Clarissa’s eyes. “What did you say?” she asked.
Clarissa looked down shyly. “I’m glad I couldn’t go to your wedding because I’m glad you got married forever,” she said.
“Me too!” Aunt Olivia smiled as she hugged Clarissa one more time.

Another account from Korea comes from a close and dear missionary companion of mine, David A. Strebe. He writes in his personal history,

We were walking up the dirt road to reach the group of homes at the top of the hill. It was dry and very warm. Everything was hard and so very dry. The monsoon rains had not yet begun for the summer. The only moisture was in a shallow ditch at the side of the road.
The mud in the ditch was black as tar and had an odor all of its own. I didn't notice the ditch and stepped into the black smelly slime which oozed into my shoe. We had several stops to make, several miles to go, and I was really in a dilemma.
Below us, coming up the hill, was a Korean lady. She had a yoke across her shoulders. On each end of the yoke hung a five gallon bucket filled with water. In 1959, most homes in Seoul, Korea had no water. Drinking water had to be carried, sometimes for long distances.
What a heavy burden she carried.
When she came up to me, she noticed the grimy predicament that I was in. Without a word, she put down her load. To my amazement, she knelt in the dirt in front of me, lifted my foot and removed my shoe and sock. Patiently, she cleaned the sock and shoe with the precious water she had carried so far. When she was satisfied that the shoe and sock were as clean as she could make them, she again lifted my foot and washed it. Then she dried it with the hem of her long dress. She restored sock and shoe to my foot. I was overwhelmed, overcome with gratitude.
"Thank you so much," I said, "What can I do for you?"
"Nothing," she replied meekly.
"Please, may I carry your burden to your home?"
"No. My neighbors will mock me."
"Oh, please let me do something."
"No. My children will laugh at me."
"May I come to your home and offer a prayer?"
"No. My husband will beat me. I am just a dog."
"Oh no! Not so sister," I cried.
Seemingly there was nothing to do for this wonderful lady. As she knelt before me to finish tying my shoe, I laid my hands on her head, and said a prayer, and gave her a blessing. I blessed her that God's influence would come to her in this life, and that honor would come to her in the life hereafter. I promised her that some day she would be honored as a queen, "in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen."[3]