Gospel Story Finder

A few days ago I was trying to read my scriptures, but I kept getting interrupted. First it was somebody coming to tell me I hadn’t done a job right. Then it was my little sisters fighting. I was about ready to explode. All I wanted was some peace and quiet. Was it asking too much just to be able to concentrate?
Finally, I lowered my head and said a silent prayer. I asked Heavenly Father to bless me that I could understand what he wanted me to learn from the scriptures. I finished my prayer and put the book down. All of a sudden, it was like all of the interruptions shut off.
I had been reading 1 Nephi 8, where it talks about Lehi’s dream about the tree of life and the iron rod. I thought about the people who get distracted and end up wandering in darkness. It occurred to me that I should not let myself get distracted by worries or noise.
Then I thought about the tree of life, and I re-read 1 Ne. 8:11–12: “And it came to pass that I did go forth and partake of the fruit thereof; and I beheld that it was most sweet, above all that I ever before tasted. …
“And as I partook of the fruit thereof it filled my soul with exceedingly great joy.” [1 Ne. 8:11–12]
The Lord had granted me peace, the peace of understanding. I sat thinking, grateful for the quiet in the room, but even more grateful for the newfound inner calm.

A member of the Church once befriended me even though I drank and swore. As a result of her friendship I attended church, seminary, MIA, and other activities. I received the missionary discussions and became a member. I didn’t associate with my old friends as I didn’t want to go back to my old ways. Actually I was afraid I wouldn’t be strong enough to stay away from those things. After some serious reevaluating I decided I wouldn’t be a good, true member if I couldn’t uphold my standards under any conditions. I’m glad I changed my attitude. I’m attending a college where I’m a religious minority of one. My true friends respect my standards and would be disappointed if I fell away from them.
Deby BartonChanute, Kansas

There is a young man in the Laie Park YSA ward who just recently got baptized. His name is Kyle Geroski. He shared with me a story that led him along his conversion path. Kyle was living in St. Louis Missouri. He had always felt in his heart a desire to do good and to serve others. But the environment he was in was not conducive to his desire. He wanted to change the path he was on and felt a prompting that he needed to leave his family and friends in Missouri. He acted on the prompting and made the decision to move to Hawaii to be with his Brother Dustin, who had joined the Church a few years earlier and was attending BYU-Hawaii. Dustin also happens to be the Ward Mission Leader for the Laie Park YSA ward.

Soon after arriving in Hawaii, Kyle had his first lesson with the missionaries. During the discussion, he shared how he seemed to have always known what was right in his heart, but how it seemed to be in conflict with his surroundings and what his friends were pursuing. The missionaries taught him about the light of Christ, and how it is given to us that we may know right from wrong. Learning about the light of Christ was something new and intriguing to Kyle. After that first discussion, he prayed that he could have a greater understanding of what the light of Christ is.

That evening, Kyle was walking down the street with a friend when they came across a gentleman taking out his trash. As it turns out, this gentleman was Elder Tanner, a service missionary serving here at BYU–Hawaii. They greeted Elder Tanner and talked with him briefly. Then Elder Tanner turned to Kyle and said, “I have something in my heart that I would like to talk to you about. Have you ever heard of the light of Christ?” He then proceeded to teach Kyle about the light of Christ. It was the very knowledge that he had been seeking and praying about just a few hours before. It was a testament to Kyle that the Lord hears and answers prayers. This experience solidified his desire to continue the missionary discussions and was instrumental in his decision to be baptized.

The Lord knew Kyle was seeking guidance and answers. The Lord also knew that Elder Tanner had the answers and was prepared to act. The prompting was given and Elder Tanner acted and was an instrument in the hands of God in fulfilling his purpose. Kyle was baptized last month, on his 22nd birthday.

Kate looked at the kitchen table covered with dirty supper dishes, trying to decide where to start. “It’s hard to believe that summer’s almost over,” she sighed as she started to stack the plates.
“I know what you mean,” Becky said. “It’s our last week of summer vacation, and we still haven’t gone to the new water park. Do you think Mom will take us there if we ask?”
“Maybe,” Kate said as she carried the plates to the sink. “But I know that Mom’s really busy this week. And we did a lot of fun things this summer. We just didn’t go to the water park.”
Becky followed Kate back into the dining room. She leaned against the table while her sister gathered up the glasses and utensils. “Yes—if you call driving all day to get to a family reunion fun,” she muttered.
“It was fun,” said Kate. “You’re just being ornery.” She picked up four glasses and headed back to the kitchen. Becky followed.
“It was all right,” Becky agreed, “but I’ll bet we’re the only two kids in our whole school who haven’t gone to the water park.”
Losing patience, Kate turned to Becky. “Will you please stop complaining and help me with the dishes?”
Rolling her eyes, Becky opened the dishwasher and was starting to load the dirty dishes, when their mom came in.
“Thank you for doing the dishes,” Mom said. “I appreciate all the work the two of you do.”
“No problem, Mom.” Kate smiled.
“Yeah,” Becky agreed. “We were just saying that it’s too bad that the summer’s almost over and we never made it to the new water park.”
“That is a shame,” Mom said. She thought for a moment, then said, “I’ll make you a deal. I have some errands to run tomorrow morning. If you two will clean the garage while I’m gone, I’ll stop and buy tickets to the water park, and we can go when I get home.”
“That would be great!” Becky exclaimed.
“It’s a deal,” Kate said.
“Cleaning the garage is a big job. Do you think you can do it without me?”
“No problem,” Becky said.
The next morning Kate jumped out of bed and ran downstairs. Mom had already left. “Good morning,” Kate greeted her grandmother.
“Good morning, dear. Are you ready for your breakfast?”
Kate nodded and followed her grandmother into the kitchen. “Becky and I are going to clean the garage. Then Mom is going to take us to the new water park.”
“That’s what your mother told me,” said Grandma. “Would you please go wake Becky.”
“Sure.”
“What’s the big hurry?” Becky grumped when Kate tried to talk her into getting up.
“We need to eat breakfast and start cleaning the garage.”
“No, we don’t. You heard what Mom said. She’s picking up the tickets while she’s out. She’s not going to tell us that we can’t go after she’s already bought the tickets.”
Kate frowned. “But we made a deal.”
“If you’re so worried, you go clean the garage. Tell Grandma that I’ll have breakfast later. Right now I need to figure out which swimming suit I want to wear.”
Kate trudged back down the stairs.
“What’s wrong?” Grandma asked.
“Becky says she’s not going to help. She thinks Mom will let us go even if we don’t clean the garage.”
“What do you think?” Grandma asked.
“We said we would clean the garage,” said Kate, “so that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Well,” said Grandma, “you’ve made your decision, and you’ll have to let Becky make hers. Sometimes we want to make other people’s decisions for them, but we can’t.”
After breakfast, Kate marched out to the garage and looked around, trying to figure out where to start. She decided to start by moving everything she needed to so that she could sweep out the leaves that had collected around the edges. At first she was angry at Becky for not helping, but soon her thoughts turned to the job that she was doing.
When Mom arrived home, Kate was organizing cans of food storage on a shelf.
“Where’s your sister?” Mom asked.
“In the house,” Kate answered.
“Isn’t she helping?”
Kate shook her head.
Just then Becky appeared in the doorway. “Hi, Mom,” she said cheerfully. “Did you get the tickets?”
“Yes I did,” said Mom. “Did you help clean the garage?”
“I was just coming to help.”
Mom shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”
Becky looked over at Kate and smiled an I-told-you-so smile. Her smile disappeared fast when Mom added, “You can finish cleaning it while Kate and I are at the water park.”
Becky’s mouth dropped open. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t keep your end of the bargain, so you may not come with us.”
Becky couldn’t believe her ears. “But didn’t you already buy me a ticket?”
“I bought tickets for the girls who kept their promises and cleaned the garage. Did you keep your promise?”
Becky hung her head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I thought that you’d let me go anyway.”
“You made a choice. You’ll have to live with the consequences.”
Tears streamed down Becky’s face. “That’s not fair.”
Mom put her arms around Becky. “I know it isn’t what you want,” Mom said, “but it is fair.”
Becky watched out the living room window as the car pulled away from the house. “I blew it, Grandma,” she said.
Grandma nodded. “You made a bad choice. What you need to do now is learn from your mistake. If your mom had taken you to the water park, you would have thought that it’s all right to make promises that you don’t intend to keep. And it isn’t. Does that make sense?”
“I guess so.”
“Now, I have a deal for you, if you are interested.”
Becky looked up. “What is it?”
“If you’ll go finish up the garage, when you’re done, we’ll bake some cookies for the family.”
“Chocolate chip?”
Grandma smiled. “Chocolate chip.”
“It’s a deal,” Becky said, heading toward the garage. “And this time I mean it.”

Many years ago dear friends of mine, Craig Sudbury and his mother, Pearl, came to my office prior to Craig’s departure for the Australia Melbourne Mission. Fred Sudbury, Craig’s father, was noticeably absent. Twenty-five years earlier, Craig’s mother had married Fred, who did not share her love for the Church and, indeed, was not a member.

Craig confided to me his deep and abiding love for his parents and his hope that somehow, in some way, his father would be touched by the Spirit and open his heart to the gospel of Jesus Christ. I prayed for inspiration concerning how such a desire might be fulfilled. The inspiration came, and I said to Craig, “Serve the Lord with all your heart. Be obedient to your sacred calling. Each week write a letter to your parents, and on occasion, write to Dad personally, and let him know how much you love him, and tell him why you’re grateful to be his son.” He thanked me and, with his mother, departed the office.

I was not to see Craig’s mother for some 18 months, when she came to my office and, in sentences punctuated by tears, said to me, “It has been almost two years since Craig left for his mission. He has never failed in writing a letter to us each week. Recently, my husband, Fred, stood for the first time in a testimony meeting and surprised me and shocked everyone who was there by announcing that he had made the decision to become a member of the Church. He indicated that he and I would go to Australia to meet Craig at the conclusion of his mission so that Fred could be Craig’s final baptism as a full-time missionary.”

No missionary stood so tall as did Craig Sudbury when, in far-off Australia, he helped his father into water waist-deep and, raising his right arm to the square, repeated those sacred words: “Frederick Charles Sudbury, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”

Love had won its victory. Serve the Lord with love.

Children perceive their own identity much earlier than we may realize. They want to be recognized as individuals. Not long ago as my wife visited with our daughter, her three-year-old son ran to his grandmother. She picked him up and said, “Hi, how are you doing, Babes?” He looked at her and said with a serious voice, “I not a babes, I a dude!” In the vernacular of the day, he was asserting that he was someone special, he had a place, and he belonged.

One day I was getting my hair done at a salon and I started talking to the woman shampooing my hair. We were talking about my summer plans and came across the subject of the Church. I told her a little bit about what we, as Latter-day Saints, believe. Before, when I had been waiting to get my hair done, I had been reading the Book of Mormon in the waiting room. So when the topic of church came up in my conversation with this woman, the Book of Mormon came up too. She had no idea what it was about. I continued to tell her the basics of what the Book of Mormon holds. She was very open to what I had to say and willing to listen.
I had a strong feeling that I needed to give her a Book of Mormon. I had one of the blue copies the missionaries usually share! It was perfect to give to her. After my hair was done, I sat down and wrote my testimony on the inside cover of the Book of Mormon. As I was leaving the salon, I gave the book to her and invited her to read it.
A couple months later, a Church member I know who works in the salon saw a Book of Mormon in the break room. She picked it up, and on the inside cover she saw a testimony with my name at the end. It’s good to know the woman still has it, and I hope she felt inspired to read it. I continue to pray for her, and I hope she will feel of the Spirit. It brings so much joy to my life when I can be a missionary and a tool in the Lord’s hands. I hope all of us can achieve the happiness that comes along with sharing the gospel with another (see D&C 18:15–16).

Let’s start the final lap of our run together today as I share two more examples that bring this all together.

This experience about fighting the good fight and finishing the race is tender to me. A couple of years after we moved to Hawaii, I got a new best friend — Lausi’i Tafua, Jr. The Tafua family was in our ward, and I had worked with Junior in the Young Men’s program. One day, out of the blue, I got a call from his wife Diane. She explained that the TV show “Wheel of Fortune” would soon be filming in Honolulu for what was called “Best Friends Week.” Instead of one person spinning the wheel and guessing the phrases, teams of best friends would be competing. Diane said she wanted Junior to be on the show, and Junior said he’d only do it if they could think of someone who would be good at the game, so she asked if I would be Junior’s best friend and audition for the show.

We didn’t make it past the second tryout round, but over the years our families have joked about our “bestie” relationship. Shortly after that TV tryout, Junior found out he had cancer. Over the next several months, he fought a horrible fight, riding the knife’s edge of killing the cancer without killing his body. Through perseverance and faith, with loving support from family and friends, he completed that course, with the cancer going into remission.

Fast forward several years, and in 2012 Junior faced another fight. The cancer was back. With a daughter Nalia leaving soon on a mission, another daughter Maila headed for college, and his only son Mika just a couple of years away from receiving the Melchizedek Priesthood, Junior was faced with another decision. Should he choose to fight again? The prognosis, even with radiation and chemotherapy, wasn’t promising, but Diane and his family wanted him to persevere.

As the months passed, though, Diane saw what Junior was going through—his pain and suffering, his strong body wasting away from the battle. She struggled with her feelings—she hated seeing her eternal companion in such agony, but weren’t her desires righteous? Adding to the stress of taking care of her husband and her family, Diane wondered whether this was a fight worth fighting.

Ultimately, through some very special experiences, Diane came to know that Junior’s fight should come to an end. Once she received that confirmation, both she and Junior felt the peace that comes from submitting to the Lord’s will, even though it’s not the course we might have designed for ourselves. On February 10, 2014, Junior’s fight was over, and he finished his course. Free from the pain of his mortal experience, I believe he now watches over his family while they run their own races—part of an unseen support team we often take for granted.

As he approached the end, I had a good final visit with Junior. We laughed once more about almost being famous TV buddies and other precious moments. But I also remember his looking straight into my eyes and saying, “I’m at peace. I’m ready to go home. I want to see you in Heaven when it’s your turn, so you’d better be good.” Junior’s example and his admonition has had a profound impact on my life. I decided I needed to run my own race a little better because I want to be with him, my best friend, when my course is finished.

I have many good memories with my dad. My second birthday was his first day of dental school. Old photographs show us hard at work: Dad with his textbook and model teeth, and me with my clay dental set. I also remember reading the scriptures with Dad. I knew words like and, the, and I, so he would read everything else and pause when he came to words I knew. I was definitely a daddy’s girl.
After Dad graduated, he worked as a dentist in his hometown. As his dental practice grew, so did our family. But over time, I noticed that something seemed wrong. Dad was always gone. And when he was home, he was sleeping. Mom cried a lot, and I could tell she was upset. When I was nine, I demanded to know what was happening.
It was then that I learned my father was severely addicted to narcotic drugs.
At first I didn’t understand the situation. As I learned more, I grew angry with my dad. How could he be so selfish? Why wouldn’t he just stop? Didn’t he love us more than he loved the pills?
I felt so scared and lost. You know how when you lean too far back in a chair, there’s a fraction of a second where you know you’re about to fall, but there’s nothing you can do about it? That’s how it felt. I felt helpless and angry and uncertain all the time.
Dad went to rehab, which didn’t work. He started falsifying prescriptions to feed his addiction. A pharmacist reported him to the authorities, which prompted a criminal investigation. Dad was arrested and charged with several felonies.
He began his prison sentence on my little sister’s ninth birthday. I remember it clearly. Our family went to Grandma’s house for a birthday breakfast—she made homemade orange rolls, which I don’t think she’s made since that day. After breakfast, we tearfully hugged Dad goodbye and watched our parents leave for southern Colorado, to drop Dad off at prison.
I can’t imagine what that drive, and the lonely trip back home, was like for my mom. But she didn’t let herself wallow in negativity. Instead, she decided that our family was going to succeed. I rarely saw her falter in her faith or her resolve to provide for us.
As for me, I didn’t care what happened to Dad—I wanted him gone. I wanted my life back. In my eyes at the time, all the turmoil, heartache, and tears we experienced were his fault.
For a while after Dad left, we kept our heartbreak to ourselves. Then our family’s story hit the front page of the local newspaper. When details were publicized, vicious rumors about my family started floating around. People started treating me differently, as if they pitied me. Girls in my sister’s class at school bullied her. I felt embarrassed for me and my family.
But there was kindness too. Family members took my siblings to school, took care of my little brother while Mom worked, and helped pay bills. My Young Women leader drove me to activities every week. Mom’s coworker bowed out of a job opportunity because she knew Mom needed it more. Members of our stake wrote to Dad every week. Several dentists helped with Dad’s patients. Teachers at school offered to be an emotional “safe place” if I needed one. So many people emulated the scripture that says to “lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees” (Doctrine and Covenants 81:5).
Dad was in prison for about 18 months, at a halfway house for three months, and then on house arrest for three more months. We visited him and talked with him on the phone from time to time, but his homecoming was still a time of anxiety for me. He had been gone for so long! We all had to get used to each other again. I felt uneasy about letting Dad back into my life, as I still felt so angry toward him.
I don’t remember a specific day or moment when I felt whole again—it took time. I didn’t know where to turn, so I learned to pray like I’d never prayed before. I learned to listen to the promptings of the Spirit. I learned to take the spiritual “leap of faith” we sometimes hear about.
Over time, I realized that the plan of redemption is based on Heavenly Father’s understanding that we will all struggle. We all need to be redeemed and to be made whole again. That’s what Jesus Christ can do for us. And that’s what I finally allowed Him to do for me. As I trusted Him, He helped soften my heart. He put me back together again. He helped me heal and forgive.
Today my family’s trials haven’t ceased, but we’ve learned how to do hard things together. I’ve learned that every family, and every person, has struggles and imperfections. I’ve seen how we can use those experiences to strengthen one another rather than hide from one another.
Because of the Savior, my dad has become one of my heroes and trusted confidants. He’s used his experiences to strengthen others around him. He works at his dental practice and serves in a branch presidency, guiding others through their struggles. In many ways, he’s still the same dad I used to read the Book of Mormon with as a daddy’s girl. He’s with our family again, and that’s what matters to me.
Recently, we celebrated 10 years of Dad’s sobriety—that’s how powerful the Atonement of Jesus Christ is. We’re no longer consumed by pain. Rather, my dad and I have grown closer to the Lord. We’ve experienced a mighty change of heart (see Alma 5) because of the Savior. And I know that regardless of what you might be going through, He can always do the same for you.

Johanan carried his goatskin down to the well. After waiting for his turn, he very carefully filled the skin. Every drop was important in their dry country, especially now that the Roman soldiers blocked the gates of the city. He carried the heavy skin back to his home. As he passed the big olive tree that fed them, he poured a little of the water on the young seedling that was sheltered in its shade. Then he filled a small jug with water and walked to the city wall where his father was standing guard. He was proud that his father was chosen to be one of the watchmen. Johanan climbed the ladder and handed his father the jug.
It was hot on the wall, and Father smiled at him, then drank deeply. “Thank you. I was very thirsty.”
Johanan smiled back. He turned to look out over the wall. Before him camped the mighty armies of the Romans. He gazed with a horrible fascination at the men milling below. They were like ants swarming around the bottom of a gigantic anthill. And Jerusalem was the anthill! “Father,” he whispered, “what is going to happen to us?”
His father put his arm around him and pulled him away from the wall. “We will be fine. We have the Lord’s promise that if we watch and follow His warning, we will be saved.”
“But look, Father,” the boy argued, pointing to the men, “there are thousands of them. They have chariots and battering rams. What can we do?”
“Be prepared,” Father answered. “That’s what the Savior told us to do—be prepared.”
Johanan walked slowly back home. He always felt afraid after looking over the wall. It took all his faith to stop that fear. He stopped at the olive tree and sat beneath its shade. He looked at the seedling and wondered if he would see it bear fruit.
Sounds of shouting reached his ears. He saw a group of boys playing in the street. He longed to join them, but he knew that they didn’t want to play with him. He was a Christian, and they were not. Whenever he came close to where they played, they threw stones at him and taunted, “Where’s your Jesus now? Why doesn’t He save you from the Romans?”
Getting up, Johanan wandered into the house and looked for Grandmother. Her presence always soothed him. He sat beside her and watched her skillful fingers weave goat-hair yarn into cloth.
“Hello, Johanan.” She glanced down at his troubled face. “Did you take water to your father?”
He nodded.
“I see. What is it like to see all of Cestius Gallus’s men?”
“Terrible. Many soldiers are out there.”
“It will be all right,” she soothed. She continued her rhythmic weaving for a few moments, then stopped. “How long has it been since I told you about the time I saw the Savior?”
“Many months.”
“Then listen again.” After a pause, she quietly began her story. “When I was a small child, word reached us that a great man was coming to preach in our city. Soon a crowd of people gathered right below the temple.
“My parents thought that I was too young to be in such crowds, so they left me home with my brother, Jesse.”
Johanan nodded in understanding. His parents left him home with his little sisters on market day.
“Jesse wanted to go,” Grandmother continued, “so he swore me to secrecy and we walked toward the crowds. We wriggled our way through the people until we could see Him. We stood still, just staring at Him.”
“What was He like?” Johanan asked earnestly.
“He was like other men—He had two eyes and one nose—yet He was very different. I knew when I saw Him that He loved me and everyone there. I felt something special, a kind of reverence.”
Johanan sighed, “I wish I could have seen Him.”
Grandmother nodded. “One by one He took the children from the multitude and blessed them. Jesse and I walked forward. Soon His arms were around me, and He talked to me. I don’t remember what He said. I remember that I knew that He was the Savior.”
They sat quietly thinking for several minutes before Grandmother looked down at her weaving and picked up the shuttle again. “Don’t worry, my son. He told us what to do.”
Johanan, too, knew the prophecies. When the signs were right, they would leave their home and flee Jerusalem. He looked at the bags and goatskins stacked in the corner. His family was ready to leave whenever the time came.
That afternoon he was herding the goats into the corral when his father walked swiftly up the path, calling to him. “Come, Johanan! Hurry!”
Johanan ran toward his father.
Father gathered the family together. “It is time. I don’t understand why, but Gallus has removed his men from the walls. If we go quietly, I think that he will let us leave. You all know what to do,” Father said. “Now hurry.”
Johanan ran to all their Christian neighbors to make sure that they knew that it was time to leave.
People laden with bags and baskets began streaming out of their houses.
“Where are you going?” one man called out. “You’re not leaving? You cannot. The soldiers will kill you. It’s safer to stay here behind the walls.”
His father stopped and called to him, “Come with us. It’s the only safe thing to do!”
The neighbor waved his hand in disgust. “You Christians—you’re all crazy!”
“Please come!” Father pleaded again, but the man just turned his back.
Johanan remembered how hard his father had worked the past few months to warn everyone that the time to flee was close at hand. Few had listened to him.
“We can do no more,” Father now said sadly. He gathered the family together and joined the rest of the Saints as they poured out through the gates of the city.
They walked as rapidly as they could. Grandmother was having trouble keeping up, so they slowed their pace. It was growing dark by the time they climbed a small rise above Jerusalem. Stopping to rest, they turned to look at their city one last time. Johanan had thought he’d feel sadness to leave his home. Instead, he felt a great joy because his family was safe and all together.
As they watched, the armies of Gallus closed ranks and Jerusalem was encircled once again.
Silently the family turned and began to walk. Johanan stayed close to his grandmother in case she needed him. His heart felt very full. He felt his testimony of Jesus Christ growing. His family had been saved because they had listened to and believed His message.
Grandmother had seen and touched Him. Johanan knew, without seeing, that Jesus was the Christ. He knew because the Holy Ghost whispered it to him.

Ahhh, the warm, comforting smell of bread baking has spread to the homes of several Laurels of the Patuxent Ward, Suitland Maryland Stake. The girls are involved in a service project that helps fulfill a value project for their Young Womanhood Recognition. In order to learn the skill of baking bread and to serve the ward members, they have been taking turns providing homemade loaves of bread for the sacrament.
Each girl takes a turn that lasts for six weeks. This time provides ample experience in improving her bread-making skills. The ward members noticed the change from commercially produced bread, as their bishop announced the service project to the congregation. Bishop Scott Shumway said the practice loaves were a delicious addition to their family dinners.
The homemade bread, blessed and served each week, has made the girls more aware of roles they can play in providing this service to the members.
“It was a time to appreciate the sacrament more. Also, I’ve had lessons about supporting the priesthood, and making the bread for the weekly service seemed like a really good way to do that. It made me happy to make it,” said Bethany Shumway, the bishop’s daughter.
Also, Megan Prettyman felt their bread enhanced her appreciation of the ordinance. “It seemed to make it more personal since I had spent three hours the day before making the bread. I thought about the sacrament all during that time, not just during the meeting.”
Meagan Boswell was impressed with the ward members’ reactions. “People thanked us for taking the time and said how it made them think more about the sacrament that week. It was nice to have something to share with the whole ward.”

Liam is learning to balance the things he needs and wants to do. He may be busy, but there’s one thing he makes time for every day—the gospel of Jesus Christ.

“I recently decided that I would read at least one chapter of the Book of Mormon—just one chapter—every single day,” Liam says. “It takes me maybe five minutes. But it gives me an extra boost, so I’m willing to take that challenge.”

Reading the scriptures every day has helped Liam more than he thought it would. “Sometimes when I have a bad day, reading something comforting can put me back on top again. But if it’s been a good day, it can also remind me to be grateful that things are going well. I’m glad I’ve been able to stick to my goal.”

Liam is busy with lots of hobbies and responsibilities. But making time every day to read the Book of Mormon has blessed his life.

I wanted to serve a mission. A year after my baptism, I went to the Dominican Republic to be endowed in the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple because there is not a temple in Jamaica. If a temple was close by me in Jamaica, I would go every day if I could.
I attended the missionary training center in the Dominican Republic and learned what to do to be a better missionary. I came back to Jamaica and served for two years. If I could serve again, I would because it was wonderful. There are ups and downs on a mission and there is a lot to learn, but I enjoyed it.
When I went on a mission, I could hardly read the Book of Mormon or the Bible. During companionship study I would ask my companion to help me read a scripture I didn’t understand. He would help me learn what it meant. Over time, I learned more and more. By the end of my mission, I had read through the Book of Mormon, the New Testament, some of the Old Testament and Preach My Gospel. Now I can read anything anyone gives me. I can help myself and continue to learn more about the gospel. I know that’s a blessing for me for serving a mission.

Consider the difference made by a shift in approach. Phil had regularly commanded my dad off the porch when the proposal was "Phil, you need the Church." But when the pitch was "Phillip, the Church needs you" , instantly he said yes.
What if Latter-day Saints began to ask those who aren't committed members of the Church, "could you please help me solve this problem?"  What might happen if you were a Primary teacher, and you called up a friend who is not a member of the Church to ask "I teach a class of 9-year-olds at our church. They're bouncing off the walls when I try to teach them. In two weeks I've got to teach them one of the most important lesson of their lives about the Good Samaritan. You are the best example of a good Samaritan I have ever known. Is there any way you can help me prepare and teach a great lesson on the Good Samaritan to these kids?" You know that your friend will be delighted to help you - and when she does, she will be able to feel the spirit, just like you can feel the spirit. Often, she will then realize that despite her prosperity there has been something missing in her life - and want to learn more.
Here's another example. Several times I had asked a friend, Paul, to come to our home to meet with the missionaries, each time explaining why I felt Paul would find our church to be interesting. Paul declined each invitation. Then a new missionary who needed to learn to teach the missionary lessons came into our ward. Rather than arranging for this elder to practice teaching the lessons to members, I asked Paul if he would let this missionary practice teaching the lessons to him." Sure," Paul responded." I'd be happy to." I urged Paul to be obstreperous, and told the missionaries that Paul had signed up simply to help them become better teachers and had no interest in the church. I went to the first practice session to be sure things went as planned. At the end of the lesson the missionary finished the rehearsal by handing Paul and his wife a copy of the Book of Mormon and asking, "Will you read this book?"  To our great surprise they accepted it and said they would. They did, and were baptized. When my invitation centered on how the church would interest them, Paul wasn't interested. But Paul said "Sure"  when I asked him for help.
God has not restricted to active members of the LDS Church the right to feel the Spirit. Those who are not members of our church, or those that are less active, can feel the same Spirit as we feel, if we just give them the chance to lose their lives for the sake of the gospel. The Yorktown NY Stake concluded, as the result of this observation, that the ward mission plans of each ward in the stake would focus members on inviting people who were not members to join with them in serving in the church. This stake covers some of the wealthiest communities in the world - and the number of people baptized into the church put the stake as the top stake in the mission in baptisms, whereas previously it always had been the lowest.

I had a friend at the University of Iowa who was a psychologist. He once brought to me some optical illusions. The interesting thing about them is that they don’t depend upon translation; they don’t depend upon language. They look the same to all, no matter what language they speak. “Lael,” he said, “What do these look like?”

I said, “They look like a bunch of scratches on a piece of paper.”

He said, “I know, but if you were forced to a decision, what figures would you say these look like?”

I said, “Well, I don’t know. They look like squares—just a group of squares to me.”

Then my friend got a grant from the government, went to South Africa, went deep into the bush as far from civilization as he could get, and he held these same optical illusions before the people there and asked, “What do you see when you look at this?”

In whatever language they use, they said, “We see essentially vertical forms.”

Then he came back and said, “I don’t know how to understand this. People in America tend to see rectangles when they look at the optical illusion; people in Africa tend to see vertical structures when they look at it. Why is this so?” He concluded that it is due to the fact that people in America live in what he calls “carpentered societies.” Americans live in a world of rectangles. You’re looking at one now. You’re seated in one. The floor is one, the shape of the proscenium arch is square. This is an easy way to build. It’s the cheapest form of construction. You and I are used to seeing rectangles, whereas those who live in jungles, I suppose, are used to seeing vertical forms. This illustration lends emphasis to the concept that we see, not really what we see, but what we know. In other words, what we think we see is determined by what we know, or what happens in front of the eye is not as important as what happens in the back of the eye.

Rex watched the dust cloud around his bare feet as he walked up the path from the river in the summer sunshine. As he came within view of the farmhouse, he saw his mother tending the vegetable garden out back. She was a hard worker; her pantry was filled with canned beans, beets, tomatoes, and sweet fruit for the winter. She sewed and baked and took care of her family, but when she had a moment to spare, she spent it on her little flower garden in the front yard.
It wasn’t much to look at. With the list of chores she tackled each day, it was difficult to find time to weed and water her flower patch. Each year when the seed catalog came with the mail, she spent a week’s worth of evenings sitting by the fire, carefully turning through the pages to find just the right seeds for the coming year.
Suddenly, something flapping in the front yard caught Rex’s attention. His mother jumped up from the vegetable patch and ran toward her flowers. “Scat! Get out of here, you old turkeys!” There, in her flower garden, a flock of turkeys made a mess of her summer efforts. All the stems had been snapped, the flowers ruined.
Rex ran to help his mother, shooing the flock back to Mr. Lukin’s farm. Like many of the local farmers, Mr. Lukin had recently traded in his hens for a pack of turkeys. But the turkeys’ wings were stronger than hens’ wings, and they had escaped.
“Get on home!” Rex’s mother yelled, her face red. The turkeys waddled single file, demolishing every plant in their path. “Rex, chase those turkeys back where they belong.” She looked sadly at the trampled flowers.
Rex quickly herded the turkeys back down the road, yelling and flapping his arms to spur them on. As the turkeys entered Mr. Lukin’s yard, Rex decided to make one last attempt to make them stay. Looking down, he grabbed a rock lying on the ground. He yelled and threw the rock with all his might, intending to give them a good scare.
Thunk. Rex watched with horror as the largest of Mr. Lukin’s turkeys toppled over. Oh no. Thoughts of old Mr. Lukin raced through Rex’s mind. The man had never been kind to Rex or his brothers. Walking over to the turkey, Rex gave the bird a nudge with his foot, hoping for some sign of life. Nothing—the bird was dead.
What was he going to do? Mr. Lukin would be furious. Looking around, he realized no one had seen him throw the rock. No one would ever know what had happened. Maybe Mr. Lukin would think the bird had died of old age or eaten something bad. Maybe Mr. Lukin wouldn’t even notice the bird was gone. Without another thought, Rex grabbed the turkey and hid it in the bushes. He wouldn’t say a word. No one would ever know. He turned and ran home as fast as he could, fueled by uncertainty and guilt.
His mother praised him for his quick work with the turkeys, unaware of the turmoil in Rex’s belly. How could he tell her what he had done? What would she think of him? As the sickness welled inside him, tears filled his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” his mother asked.
He ran to her arms, sobbing as he unloaded the whole story, complete with his fears of Mr. Lukin’s anger. Finally, as his sobs quieted, she pulled back to look at him. “Rex, take the bird to Mr. Lukin. If you tell him what happened—”
“Oh no! I couldn’t do that!” Rex panicked as he imagined Mr. Lukin’s angry response.
“Rex, believe me,” his mother said. “You will never have peace if you don’t face him and confess. Mr. Lukin deserves to hear the truth.”
“Mr. Lukin will be so mad! He’s mean and he’ll yell at me.” Rex’s eyes filled with fresh tears as he looked at his mother’s tender face. Then he thought of Heavenly Father. Rex realized Heavenly Father expected him to tell the truth.
Finally, looking down, Rex asked quietly, “Will you go with me?”
The walk to Mr. Lukin’s house was torture. Leaving his mother in the yard, Rex stepped to the front porch with the dead turkey. He cautiously knocked, praying Mr. Lukin wouldn’t answer. The door opened.
“Hi, Mr. Lukin.” Rex handed him the bird. “He dug in Mama’s flower beds and I had to chase him out. I threw a rock and he fell. I … I guess I killed him. I’m sorry! Oh, please don’t be mad, Mr. Lukin!” Rex looked at the ground, too frightened to watch the reaction.
There was a moment’s pause, and then Mr. Lukin spoke. “That’s all right, that’s all right. We’ll eat him for dinner today.” A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
Rex couldn’t believe what he had heard. As he walked home with his mother, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He realized that doing the right thing was truly easier in the end. Facing his consequences had been far less painful than living with the guilt.

My mother and father separated when I was two and a half years old. I would go visit my father every month, and when I was younger, this was really fun. But when I got older, we had a couple of disagreements and things got worse and worse.
I remember crying to my mother that I did not want to visit my father anymore. She said, “Pray, and everything will be better.” And I did.
God helped me and my father. Now we have a better relationship. We talk, and he calls me when he goes to his home country, Macedonia, so I can talk with my family there.

A few months after we got married, Norma and I went to live in Asunción, Paraguay. As young people full of energy and dreams, we moved forward starting from precarious conditions. We started living in a small room, until we got the resources to rent a small house for us and our first child. That little house had a large space in the back and a garden in front. We felt like we owned the world.
We began to embellish the place by planting trees and making a family garden. We planted mango trees in the front of the house, we painted the sidewalk curb white, as well as the walls that surrounded it. We painted the trunks of the trees to avoid pests and we put stones around them also painted white. There was no money to hire a painter to paint the house, so we both painted the house and took care of it even though it was not ours. The house was always clean and well organized. It was a refuge. A place of peace where our children spent the first years of their lives.
After we started painting the house and embellishing it, the neighbors began to do the same; soon, the whole block had sidewalk curb painted white and the houses painted. The block had been transformed.

Paul ran down the school steps and got into Mom’s car.
“How was school?” Mom asked.
“Great!” Paul exclaimed. “We have a new girl in our class named Cristina. She is from another country, and she is just learning to speak English.”
“I hope you will help her feel welcome,” Mom said.
“I’d like to, but how can I do that if she can’t understand me?” Paul asked.
“That’s easy,” Mom said. “Just smile.”
“Smile? What do you mean?”
“A smile can mean hello, how are you, or have a nice day. It is an international sign,” Mom said.
“I never thought of it that way before,” Paul said.
A few days later, Paul was excited to tell Mom about his day.
“Mom, remember when you told me that if I couldn’t talk to Cristina, I should just smile?” Paul asked. “Well, it worked!”
“That’s great!” Mom said. “What happened?”
“During recess I noticed that Cristina was standing by herself. She had a jump rope in her hand, but she wasn’t jumping. I wanted to be nice, but I didn’t know what to say. Then I remembered what you said and I smiled at her. She smiled back. Then she started jumping rope, and for the rest of recess she looked happy.”
“That’s wonderful!” Mom said. “I’m proud of you for being nice to Cristina.”
About a month later, Paul went to a school party at the roller-skating rink. As he skated around, he noticed that Cristina was standing alone at the side of the rink. Then there was an announcement over the loudspeaker: “Find a buddy to skate with for the next song.”
Paul skated over to Cristina. She looked surprised. He gave her a big smile and motioned for her to join him. Just like that day on the playground, she smiled brightly. As they skated with their classmates, Paul realized Mom was right. A smile means friendship in any language.

My cousins came from New Mexico to visit us. We had a great time. When they went home, my grandma went with them. The next day Grandma got very sick. She had to go to the hospital because her kidneys were shutting down. My mom came to me and told me what was happening. She invited me to fast with the family. She explained why prayer with fasting is more powerful than prayer alone. It was easy because whenever I thought about food or water, I remembered what I was fasting for and forgot about food and water. Grandma started getting better as we were ending our fast. She finished her vacation and then came back home. I am grateful that we can fast.Austin J., age 8, Utah