Gospel Story Finder

These profiles can have a profound influence for good. Two months ago a young man named Zac—a freshman in college—saw an ad for mormon.org on television in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He connected with the Web site and was intrigued by the profiles of Church members. At our Web site he found the link that informed him where he could attend church. The next Sunday, dressed in a white shirt and tie, he attended church, was introduced to members of the ward, and enjoyed all three hours of meetings. He was invited to a member’s home for dinner, followed by his first missionary lesson. In less than two weeks, he was baptized and confirmed as a member of the Church.21 Welcome, Zac! (He is listening.)

Imagine that our bishop has appointed you and me to plan a picnic for all of the ward members. It is to be the finest social in the history of the ward, and we are to spare no expense.
We reserve a beautiful picnic ground in the country. We are to have it all to ourselves; no outsiders will interfere with us.
The arrangements go very well, and when the day comes, the weather is perfect. All is beautifully ready. The tables are in one long row. We even have tablecloths and china. You have never seen such a feast. The Relief Society and Young Women have outdone themselves. The tables are laden with every kind of delicious food: grapes, cantaloupes, watermelon, corn on the cob, fried chicken, hamburgers, cakes, pies—you get the picture?
We are seated, and the bishop calls upon the patriarch to bless the food. Every hungry youngster secretly hopes it will be a short prayer.
Then, just at that moment there is an interruption. A noisy old car jerks into the picnic grounds and sputters to a stop close to us. We are upset. Didn’t they see the “reserved” signs?
A worried-looking man lifts the hood; a spout of steam comes out. One of our brethren, a mechanic, says, “That car isn’t going anywhere until it is fixed.”
Several children spill from the car. They are ragged, dirty, and noisy. And then an anxious mother, leaving the car, takes a box to that extra table nearby. It is mealtime. Their children are hungry. She puts a few leftovers on the table. Then she nervously moves them about, trying to make it look like a meal for her brood. But there is not enough.
We wait impatiently for them to quiet down so we can have the blessing and enjoy our feast.
Then one of their little girls spies our table. She pulls her runny-nosed little brother over to us and pushes her head between you and me. We cringe aside, because they are very dirty. Then the little girl says, “Ummm, look at that. Ummm, ummm, I wonder what that tastes like.”
Everyone is waiting. Why did they arrive just at that moment? Such an inconvenient time. Why must we interrupt what we are doing to bother with outsiders? Why couldn’t they have stopped somewhere else? They are not clean! They are not like us. They just don’t fit in.
Since the bishop has put us in charge, he expects us to handle these intruders. What should we do? Of course, this is only a parable. If it really happened, my young friends, what would you do?
I will give you three choices.
First, you could insist the intruders keep their children quiet while we have the blessing. Thereafter we ignore them. After all, we reserved the place.
I doubt that you would do that. Could you choke down a feast before hungry children? Surely we are better than that! That is not the answer.
The next choice. There is that extra table. And we do have too much of some things. We could take a little of this and a little of that and lure the little children back to their own table. Then we could enjoy our feast without interruption. After all, we earned what we have. Did we not obtain it by [our own] industry, as the Book of Mormon says? (see Alma 4:6).
I hope you would not do that. There is a better answer. You already know what it is.
We should go to them and invite them to come and join us. You could slide that way, and I could slide this way, and the little girl could sit between us. They could all fit in somewhere to share our feast. Afterward, we will fix their car and provide something for their journey.
Could there be more pure enjoyment than seeing how much we could get those hungry children to eat? Could there be more satisfaction than to interrupt our festivities to help our mechanic fix their car?
Is that what you would do? Surely it is what you should do. But forgive me if I have a little doubt; let me explain.
We, as members of the Church, have the fulness of the gospel. Every conceivable manner of spiritual nourishment is ours. Every part of the spiritual menu is included. It provides an unending supply of spiritual strength. Like the widow’s cruse of oil, it is replenished as we use it and shall never fail (see 1 Kgs. 17:8–16).
And yet, there are people across the world and about us—our neighbors, our friends, some in our own families—who, spiritually speaking, are undernourished. Some of them are starving to death!
If we keep all this to ourselves, it is not unlike feasting before those who are hungry.
We are to go to them and invite them to join us. We are to be missionaries.
It does not matter if it interrupts your schooling or delays your career or your marriage—or basketball. Unless you have a serious health problem, every Latter-day Saint young man should answer the call to serve a mission. Even mistakes and transgressions must not stand in the way. You should make yourself worthy to receive a call.
The early Apostles at first did not know the gospel was for everyone, for the Gentiles. Then Peter had a vision. He saw a vessel full of all kinds of creatures and was commanded to kill and to eat. But he refused, saying they were common and unclean. Then the voice said, “What God hath cleansed, that call not thou common” (Acts 10:15). That vision, and the experience they had immediately following, convinced them of their duty; thus began the great missionary work of all Christianity.
Almost any returned missionary will have a question: “If they are starving spiritually, why do they not accept what we have? Why do they slam the door on us and turn us away?”
One of my sons was serving in Australia and was thrown off a porch by a man who rejected his message.
My son is big enough and strong enough that he had to be somewhat agreeable to what was happening or the man never could have done it.
Be patient if some will not eat when first invited. Remember, all who are spiritually hungry will not accept the gospel. Do you remember how reluctant you are to try any new food? Only after your mother urges you will you take a little, tiny portion on the tip of a spoon to taste it to see if you like it first.
Undernourished children must be carefully fed; so it is with the spiritually underfed. Some are so weakened by mischief and sin that to begin with they reject the rich food we offer. They must be fed carefully and gently.
Some are so near spiritual death that they must be spoon-fed on the broth of fellowship, or nourished carefully on activities and programs. As the scriptures say, they must have milk before meat (see 1 Cor. 3:2; D&C 19:22). But we must take care lest the only nourishment they receive thereafter is that broth.
But feed them we must. We are commanded to preach the gospel to every nation, kindred, tongue, and people. That message, my young friends, appears more than 80 times in the scriptures.
I did not serve a regular mission until my wife and I were called to preside in New England. When I was of missionary age, young men could not be called to the mission field. It was World War II, and I spent four years in the military. But I did do missionary work; we did share the gospel. It was my privilege to baptize one of the first two Japanese to join the Church after the mission had been closed 22 years earlier. Brother Elliot Richards baptized Tatsui Sato. I baptized his wife, Chio. And the work in Japan was reopened. We baptized them in a swimming pool amid the rubble of a university that had been destroyed by bombs.
Shortly thereafter I boarded a train in Osaka for Yokohama and a ship that would take me home. Brother and Sister Sato came to the station to say good-bye. Many tears were shed as we bade one another farewell.
It was a very chilly night. The railroad station, what there was left of it, was very cold. Starving children were sleeping in the corners. That was a common sight in Japan in those days. The fortunate ones had a newspaper or a few old rags to fend off the cold.
On that train, I slept restlessly. The berths were too short anyway. In the bleak, chilly hours of the dawn, the train stopped at a station along the way. I heard a tapping on the window and raised the blind. There on the platform stood a little boy tapping on the window with a tin can. I knew he was an orphan and a beggar; the tin can was the symbol of their suffering. Sometimes they carried a spoon as well, as if to say, “I am hungry; feed me.”
He might have been six or seven years old. His little body was thin with starvation. He had on a thin, ragged shirt-like kimono, nothing else. His head was shingled with scabs. His one jaw was swollen—perhaps from an abscessed tooth. Around his head he had tied a filthy rag with a knot on top of his head—a pathetic gesture of treatment.
When I saw him and he saw that I was awake, he waved his can. He was begging. In pity, I thought, “How can I help him?” Then I remembered. I had money, Japanese money. I quickly groped for my clothing and found some yen notes in my pocket. I tried to open the window. But it was stuck. I slipped on my trousers and hurried to the end of the car. He stood outside expectantly. As I pushed at the resistant door, the train pulled away from the station. Through the dirty windows I could see him, holding that rusty tin can, with the dirty rag around his swollen jaw.
There I stood, an officer from a conquering army, heading home to a family and a future. There I stood, half-dressed, clutching some money which he had seen but which I could not get to him. I wanted to help him, but couldn’t. The only comfort I draw is that I did want to help him.
That was years ago, but I can see him as clearly as if it were yesterday.
Perhaps I was scarred by that experience. If so, it is a battle scar, a worthy one, for which I bear no shame. It reminds me of my duty!
I can hear the voice of the Lord saying to each of us just as He said to Peter, “Feed my lambs. … Feed my sheep. … Feed my sheep” (John 21:15–17).
I have unbounded confidence and faith in you. You are the warriors of the Restoration. And in this spiritual battle, you are to relieve the spiritual hunger and feed the sheep. It is your duty!
We have the fullness of the everlasting gospel. We have the obligation to share it with those who do not have it. God grant that we will honor that commission from the Lord and prepare ourselves and answer the call.

Sydell sniffed the air as she skipped down the cobblestone street of Kingstown, a port town on the little West Indian island of St. Vincent. Although it was a beautiful Saturday morning, she held her nose. “Whew! It smells like rotten eggs! La Soufriere, the volcano, must be stirring up sulfur gases,” she muttered.
Sydell hurried around the corner and looked down at the blue water of the fishing bay, where sailboats rocked back and forth on the tide. It must be past lunchtime, she thought, and she wondered if her father and two brothers had returned with a catch of tuna or shark on their own small fishing boat. As she quickly turned her steps toward home, she clutched the new hair ribbon she had bought to wear to church the next day.
Mother, Father, and her two brothers, Japeth and Seraft, all went to church together in rooms above a mortuary. Father was a counselor to the branch president. Mother was the Relief Society president. Their whole family was responsible for seeing that the rooms were clean and for opening the louvered windows to let the fresh sea breeze flow into the room before meetings started. Although he was only twelve, Seraft led the singing. Japeth prepared and blessed the sacrament with the missionaries.
Sydell left the town below and climbed up the trail to her small wooden home perched on the side of the mountain. Halfway up she paused to greet the big black cow tied to a banana tree. “Good evening, Blessing,” she said, patting the cow’s silky neck. Blessing only blinked her big brown eyes and went back to munching grasses. Mother called her Blessing because there was no dairy on the island, so the family was blessed to have fresh milk and butter and cream.
Sydell sniffed the air. The aroma of roasting breadfruit filled her nose. “I know what we’re having for lunch,” she called to her mother as she ran up the steep path to the porch.
Mother was sitting on the steps, enjoying the sun while she busily chopped onions and fresh thyme to season the food she was cooking. She smiled at Sydell, who leaned over and kissed her cheek.
“Oh, Mother, I am so hungry! Is the breadfruit ready?”
“Get a stick and see,” answered Mother.
Sydell put her new hair ribbon away, then found a sturdy stick and poked it into the blackened ball baking in the coals. Carefully she carried it to her mother and set it on the ground beside the step. “It’s ready!” she exclaimed, very cautiously picking out a bit of the hot meat of the fruit that tasted like bread, then stuffing it into her mouth.
Mother stood and wiped her hands on her apron. “Here comes Papa and the boys with a fine catch of fish for supper!”
Papa always stood tall and walked fast. Sydell thought that he was the handsomest and strongest man she had ever seen. But today his shoulders drooped, and he had a worried look in his eyes. Japeth and Seraft looked very serious too. “What is it, Papa? Is something wrong?”
“No, my little one, something is very right. But we have an important matter to consider that concerns all of us, and we must ask our Heavenly Father to help us.”
Father put his bag of fish down and washed his hands at the basin on the porch. Then the family all knelt together in the little home on the cliff, and Papa talked to Heavenly Father.
“Our Father in Heaven, we are thankful for the missionaries who taught us the true gospel of Jesus Christ. My son, Japeth, now is nineteen and desires to go on a mission, but we have very little money with which to help him. We ask Thee to help us find a way for him to serve. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
It was very quiet after the prayer as each family member thought about where such a great amount of money could come from. Fishing brought only enough to keep the family fed and clothed, and there was no other way to earn it.
Sydell and Mother put their arms around Japeth and told him that they were very happy that he wanted to be a missionary. “You will be a great example to the rest of the people here on St. Vincent,” his mother said.
“I will miss you very much,” whispered Sydell as she hugged her brother.
“And I will have to milk the cow every night,” Seraft remembered. “I hear her calling now.”
“The cow! That’s the answer!” shouted Papa. “We will sell the cow. Fresh milk is such a luxury on this island that she will bring a large price.”
“Oh, must we, Papa?” cried Sydell. She thought of Blessing’s big, soft brown eyes.
“Sometimes we must give up something we love to get something better. I know that Heavenly Father will give us many blessings if we are willing to sacrifice for Him,” said Mother.
“Come,” said Father, as he gathered his family in prayer once again. “Sydell, will you say the prayer this time and ask if we should sell the cow?”
Sydell could hardly keep from crying as she told Heavenly Father that they were willing to sell Blessing, if that was what was necessary, to send Japeth on a mission. As she looked around the circle after finishing the prayer and saw the smiles of her family through her tears, a warm and wonderful feeling came into her heart, and she knew that selling Blessing would be the beginning of an even greater blessing in their lives.

My senior year in high school came, and my life and the lives of my friends and family were again changing. I had less than a year left in our blue house. Chuck talked about joining the military after graduation, while Ricky hoped to play professional baseball.
Paula had married the year before, to a guy who reminded me of the tall missionary from Massachusetts a decade earlier. In November, she and her husband came from school to our home for Thanksgiving. Paula handed my mother a jar of peanut butter with pink and blue ribbons tied around it. Mother looked sharply at her, and Paula nodded. Then Mom burst into tears. It seemed that my mother had craved peanut butter when she was expecting me. Paula’s present was her way of announcing that a new arrival would be born to the family in the spring.

When I was 14, my family moved to a new neighborhood. Now, this may not seem like a terrible tragedy to you, but in my mind, at that time, it was devastating. It meant being surrounded by people I didn’t know. It meant that all the other young men in my ward would be attending a different school than I was. And in my 14-year-old mind, I thought, “How could my parents do this to me?” I felt as if my life had been ruined.
However, through our Young Men activities, I was able to build relationships with the other members of my quorum, and they became my friends. In addition, members of the bishopric and Aaronic Priesthood advisers began to take a special interest in my life. They attended my athletic events. They wrote me encouraging notes that I have kept to this day. They continued to keep in touch with me after I went to college and when I left for a mission. One of them was even at the airport when I came home. I will be forever grateful for these good brothers and their combination of love and high expectations. They pointed me heavenward, and life became bright, happy, and joyful.

Josh followed Dad into the basement storage room, where he rummaged through some boxes and pulled out a shiny trophy with a football player on top.
Josh’s eyes grew big. “An MVP award! And it has your name on it!”
Dad nodded. “I received this when I was a junior—the first junior ever to earn it at our school. I thought I was the toughest, meanest, most powerful seventeen-year-old on earth. I played on both sides of the ball, but I preferred defense because I really got to unload on people. I loved to hear the crowd cheer when I made a hit.”
Josh stroked the trophy lovingly. “Why isn’t this where everybody can see it?”
Dad shrugged and put the trophy back into the box. “It just doesn’t seem that important anymore. Maybe that’s because my senior year I got an award that taught me a lot more.” He opened his wallet and took out a plastic bracelet.
Josh looked it over. “It’s like the bracelet Mom wore in the hospital when she had Stacey. But this one has your name on it.”
Dad nodded. “I earned it in the homecoming game. I’d intercepted a pass on the other team’s twenty, and only one man was between me and the end zone. He was so small, I didn’t bother putting any moves on him. I just lowered my head and charged. When I came to, I was lying on the field, and, Josh, I couldn’t move! This big, tough, proud football player was lying there eating grass—crying like a baby and scared out of his mind.”
Josh didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t imagine his strong, calm father frightened and helpless. “What happened?” he asked at last.
“They strapped me to some kind of a contraption, carried me behind the stands, and put me into an ambulance. I could hear the crowd cheering, and I thought, They’re watching the game again. They’ve forgotten all about me.
“My father was out of town, so my mother rode in the ambulance with me. Brother Jones got in too. Besides Dad, he was the only Melchizedek Priesthood holder in our little town. He was also the math teacher at school, and I didn’t like him much. He was small and soft-spoken, and he called the students ‘ladies and gentlemen.’ We all laughed at him behind his back.
“My mother asked if he would give me a blessing, and he said, ‘I’d be honored.’ He anointed me with oil. Then he put his small hands on my head and told me that Heavenly Father knew me and loved me. He said that people in wheelchairs can still serve valiantly, but that I had some work to do on foot. He promised me that I would walk again.”
“And you did!”
“It turned out that my spinal cord was only bruised. My recovery took a long time, though, and it wasn’t much fun. No one was kinder or more helpful than Brother Jones. Sometimes he held me up while I learned to walk again, and I was amazed at the strength in his small hands. I began to understand that power doesn’t come just from muscles, that some heavy weights can be lifted only by kindness, gentleness, and love. Do you understand, son?”
Josh looked at his feet. “A little.”
Dad put the bracelet back into his wallet, and Josh followed him upstairs to the living room. Taking a picture of the Savior from the wall, Dad said, “On my last day of school, I hobbled into Brother Jones’s room and told him that I hoped to be as strong someday as he was. He smiled and handed me a graduation gift. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘but here’s a better example to follow.’ I unwrapped this picture. Since then I’ve studied the life of the Savior and done my best to follow his example.”

Clay Brimhall eased the Bronco into traffic and began weaving his way toward the interstate. He couldn’t resist a kind of sad, ironic smile, thinking that two weeks before he had been driving a BMW from Washington, D.C., to an elegant house in the Maryland suburbs. Now he was driving a Ford from Salt Lake City to a condo in Provo. Divorce changes things.
Was it a mistake, he wondered, coming back here to try to rebuild his life? Once Utah had been home, but that was years ago. Was this fair to Carrie, his only child? She had come willingly, foregoing her plans to attend college at Georgetown in D.C., but still he worried that it might not be the right thing for her. Carrie’s decision to come with Clay seemed neither to surprise nor disappoint her mother. “You were always the one who cared the most,” she had said, matter-of-factly. “It’s natural that she would want to go with you.”
Carrie was in the kitchen preparing dinner when Clay came in from work.
“Hi, Babe. How did you get along at the mall?” her father called from the hallway.
“Fine.”
Clay tossed his briefcase onto a chair, entered the kitchen, and gave his daughter a hug.
“Did you leave any clothes on the racks?”
“Not in my size,” she replied happily.
“Ah, good. I wouldn’t want to be accused of not spoiling my daughter.”
“I met a boy,” Carrie said.
“You did? Tell me about him.”
“Well, he works in the mall and goes to college. He’s studying communications and he’s funny.”
“Does this person have a name?”
“Jeff. He took me to lunch. And we’re going out Saturday night. With my father’s permission, of course.”
“He sounds like a fast worker.”
Carrie smiled. Then her face clouded a bit. “There’s one problem,” she said. “He’s a Mormon.”
Her father laughed. “So are you, Babe!”
“No, I’m not, Daddy. Not like he is. I’ve hardly been to church since I was little. I think he goes all the time. He was even a missionary in South America.” Carrie noticed a sadness in her father’s eyes; then she remembered. “You were a missionary, too, weren’t you Daddy? I’d forgotten.”
Clay nodded his head. “Yes, I was a missionary once,” he said slowly. “Long ago.” He turned to leave the room. “I’m going upstairs to change now.” At the doorway he stopped and caught his daughter’s eye. “Don’t burn the Jello,” he said.
As he walked deliberately up the stairs, Clay’s mind was suddenly flooded with memories of his time in the mission field. Memories of a young man full of faith and zeal. What had happened to that person? he wondered. Had he come back to Provo to look for him?
“I’ll get it,” Carrie called to her father, who was working in the garage. She opened the front door to Jeff, who was holding a bouquet of dandelions tied with a red ribbon.
“For me?” she said in mock delight.
He bowed. “A dandelion by any other name …”
“Would be a weed just the same,” Carrie concluded.
Jeff laughed. “That’s good. That’s very good.”
She smiled. “Come in while I get a vase for the flowers.”
“Be careful,” Jeff warned. “These are the long-stemmed variety. Very delicate.”
“Of course,” Carrie nodded, sticking the yellow weeds in a glass of water.
“In fact, they’re not indigenous to this area.”
“They’re not?”
“No. I had to go to a pasture on the edge of town where the moisture content and other stuff in the soil make the conditions ideal for long-stemmed dandelions.”
Carrie gave Jeff a skeptical look. “Did your parents have any normal children?”
Just then, Clay entered from the attached garage. “Hello.”
“Daddy, this is Jeff. Jeff James,” Carrie said. “Isn’t that weird? He has two first names.”
Clay smiled and extended his hand. “Please excuse my daughter’s rude behavior. Her mother and I failed in our attempts to teach her good manners.”
“She was probably a slow learner,” Jeff said.
Carrie gave him an indignant look and a little punch on the shoulder. “You two talk while I finish getting beautiful,” she said, heading up the stairs.
At the top of the landing, Carrie stopped and called down to Jeff, “Show my father the lovely flowers you brought me!”
Jeff looked a little embarrassed as he turned and followed Clay into the living room, but Clay was smiling as they sat down. It had been a long time since he’d seen his daughter so animated, so happy.
“Carrie tells me you’re a returned missionary,” he began.
“Yes, sir. I was in Argentina,” Jeff reported.
“I served a mission in the north central states,” Clay said.
“Oh? Where’s that?”
“That included Minnesota, the eastern Dakotas and Manitoba, Canada.”
“Big area,” Jeff observed.
“The Church was much smaller and the missions a lot bigger in those days.”
“It’s exciting to see the way the Church is growing,” Jeff said.
“Yes,” Clay said slowly. “Yes, I guess it is.”
“Did you read about the new stake in Nigeria?” Jeff inquired.
“No, I didn’t.”
“The work’s going great there. My folks are in Nigeria now on a mission.”
“Your father’s retired, then?” Clay asked.
“Uh huh. Well, he’s not really my father. I call them my folks because they sort of raised me.”
“I see,” Clay said. But of course he didn’t see at all. What did “sort of raised me” mean? Looking at Jeff, he suddenly found himself lost in thought. There was something familiar about him. He looked so … wholesome—so good. Wasn’t there a scripture about that? Clay searched his memory for a moment, but it wouldn’t come to him.
Jeff was a regular at the Brimhall residence for the next few weeks, and Carrie was soon attending church with him. There followed other changes in Carrie’s life. She began reading the Book of Mormon, and Clay noted her praying in her room before bed. Also, there was a subtle, almost imperceptible difference in the way she looked. It was nothing Clay could put his finger on, but it was real nonetheless. Clay felt both pleased and threatened by these spiritual stirrings in his daughter. Carrie was all that he had now. Was he going to lose her too? That possibility frightened him, and the feeling manifested itself in resentment toward Jeff. Clay tried to mask that resentment because he knew it was misplaced. One day, though, it spilled over when Carrie innocently repeated to her father something that Jeff had said.
“Well, isn’t your young man all wise and knowing,” Clay remarked sarcastically.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, looking both stunned and hurt.
“It means that when you’ve been around as long as I have, everything isn’t either black or white.”
“Who said that it was?” Carrie challenged.
“Jeff is 22 years old,” Clay went on, “and except for his mission, I suspect he’s spent his whole life here in this valley surrounded by Primary teachers, quorum advisers, and bishops. What does he know about the world?”
Carrie sat quietly for a moment, biting her lip. When she began to speak, she did so slowly, to keep her emotions in check.
“Jeff was born in Texas,” she said evenly. “His mother was an alcoholic, and he never knew his father. He lived dozens of places and had a lot of ugly experiences before he was taken in by a Mormon couple when he was 13. I think he’s seen a little of the world. I also think you’re jealous, Daddy. I think you’re jealous that Jeff found something special to guide his life. Something that you once had.”
Clay had no reply as Carrie rose and left the room.
The following Sunday afternoon Carrie returned home from church to find her father in the living room paging through an unfamiliar green book. Clay glanced up. “Jeff’s not staying for dinner?”
“No. We’re going to a fireside tonight though. What are you reading?” Carrie wanted to know.
“My journal.”
“What journal?”
“My missionary journal. I found it the other day when I was unpacking some things.”
Carrie peered over her father’s shoulder. He was looking intently at a photograph he’d found in the journal. A family of five, flanked by two missionaries, jumped out at him, and the memory of that day and the events that led to it brought the sting of tears to his eyes. Suddenly he remembered the scripture that had escaped him the night he met Jeff. It was from Alma in the Book of Mormon: “Have ye spiritually been born of God? Have ye received his image in your countenances?” (Alma 5:14). It was there, on the faces of those people in the picture—the image of God in their countenances.
Clay handed Carrie the photograph. “Recognize anyone?”
Carrie looked closely at the old photo. “How old were you when this was taken, Daddy?”
“Twenty,” he said. Then he asked, “Does that picture of me remind you of anyone?”
“Jeff,” she said without hesitation. Carrie walked from behind the chair and sat down on the couch, opposite her father. “Daddy?” He looked at her. “Do you still believe in the Church?”
Clay turned away and stared out the window. “Yes, Babe,” he said softly, “I do.”

“You know,” Mom said, “there was a girl on my basketball team in high school—Sarah—who had the worst attitude. She was always yelling at everybody and making us feel terrible when we made mistakes.”
“She must be related to Andrew.”
Mom laughed. “Well, I got pretty fed up with Sarah’s bullying. So one day I decided to show her what real team spirit was all about. Every time somebody made a mistake, I jumped in before Sarah had a chance and said, ‘Good job, Karen,’ or ‘Nice try, Susan.’ And if somebody did something really great, I jumped up and down and yelled and screamed and really whooped it up.”
“So did Sarah stop being so mean?” Brian asked hopefully.
“No.”
Brian looked out the window again. “I didn’t think so.”
“But everyone else was too busy watching my spirited pep shows to notice her anymore,” Mom said with a smile. Brian smiled, too, in spite of himself.

Richard had a lucky hat. He wore it to breakfast, and he wore it to bed. In fact, he hardly ever took it off. His grandfather had given it to him, and on the very first day that he wore it, Richard had caught a fish.
“It must be a lucky hat,” Grandfather had said, and Richard knew that it was true.
But it was hard to keep a hat on all the time—even a lucky hat. He couldn’t keep it on in the shower or when he went swimming. It was almost impossible to keep his hat on when he turned a somersault or did a cartwheel. And when it was windy, or when Richard ran really fast, his hat would be blown onto the ground.
When it blew off Richard’s head, his little brother Andrew would snatch it up and run with it because he wanted a lucky hat too. But no matter how much Andrew cried or screamed or kicked the floor, he always had to return it. The hat was Richard’s—Mother had said so!
Richard was glad he didn’t have to share his hat. I don’t know what I’d do without it, he thought. He had learned to do many things while wearing his lucky hat. He had learned to throw a football and to ride his two-wheeler without the training wheels. He had learned to build a house three stories high out of play logs. And now he could even write his name on the drawings he made for his mother.
But of all the nice things that had happened to Richard while he was wearing his lucky hat, the very best thing had been meeting his new friend Bernie. Bernie had moved in right next door, and he was just the kind of friend that Richard had always wished for. All summer long they had played together. Now that fall was coming, they would start school together too.
Once, Richard had been afraid to go to school. He was scared that he wouldn’t know where to go or what to do. He was scared that he wouldn’t make any friends. But since he had his lucky hat, and since he had his new friend Bernie, he wasn’t afraid at all. He couldn’t wait for the school doors to open.
And when they did, it was wonderful. He liked the room full of bright colors. He liked his teacher, Miss Evans. And he liked his classmates. Richard liked everything about school—that is, he liked it until the moment Miss Evans noticed his hat. “Please take off your hat, Richard,” she said. “You mustn’t wear it in the classroom.”
“But it’s my lucky hat,” Richard pleaded.
Miss Evans insisted, though, so Richard removed his hat. He stuffed it up the front of his shirt, but it made his stomach itch. He tucked it into his belt. But a boy grabbed it and wouldn’t give it back. Miss Evans finally took the hat and put it into her desk drawer. “You may have it back after school, Richard,” she promised.
The next day Richard didn’t want to go to school at all. First he said his head ached. Then he said his throat was sore. And then he said his stomach hurt. It did, too, because Richard was scared. But he had to go to school anyway—Mother said so.
So Richard took his lucky hat and put it up high in his closet, where Andrew couldn’t get it. Then he trudged to school with Bernie.
“It will be terrible without my hat,” he said to Bernie. But the day surprised him. Miss Evans gave him a big smile when he helped her pick up some papers she had dropped. Then he was the third one chosen in a game of ringtoss. Later his painting with the big yellow sun was hung on the wall for the whole class to see. That made Richard very proud, and he could hardly wait to tell his mother. Afterward he went out to play with Bernie and forgot all about his hat. He did remember it at bedtime, but he was too tired to get it down.
So the lucky hat stayed safe, high up on his closet shelf. Richard didn’t think of it again until two weeks later. He was looking for his favorite blue racing car when he found his hat. He dusted it off and tried it on. It fit as well as it ever did, but somehow it didn’t feel right.
“It’s hard to wear a hat all the time,” Richard murmured, “even a lucky hat.”
He took it off and started to put it back on the shelf. Then he thought, I don’t need this anymore, but I know who does.
And Richard climbed down from the stool and went to find Andrew.

This ward is composed of members of many ages, from a variety of countries, all with varying economic circumstances and Church experience. A number of those with the most Church experience are busy graduate-student couples with demanding schedules and young families.

What I saw was a young mother serving as a visiting teaching mentor to newer converts in the ward. While her husband cared for their baby, she enthusiastically modeled loving watchcare to two African sisters. This watchcare involved teaching these sisters not only how to function in a new country but also how to adapt to their new religion.

Through her example she taught these African sisters how the Lord would have us serve each other. The words of the Apostle Paul tenderly describe what I saw in this visiting teaching mentor’s actions toward these new converts: “We were gentle among you, … being affectionately desirous of you, … willing to have imparted unto you, not the gospel of God only, but also our own souls, because ye were dear unto us.” With each visit, the young mentor brought good cheer, a gentle helping hand, and the visiting teaching message.

In time, together the sisters prepared the visiting teaching message to share in other sisters’ homes. Assessing needs, giving on-the-spot service as they went, they became true Relief Society sisters committed to lifting, comforting, and encouraging one another. I doubt I will ever hear the phrase “hearts knit together in unity and in love” that I won’t think of those three happy, loving women demonstrating through their determined service to others what it means “to grow up unto the Lord.”

I think one of the things that drew me to Pamela was her loyalty. My parents were not members of the Church, but they taught me that it is important to keep our promises and be dependable. When I was a boy, I played a lot of football (soccer). My father watched me play and gave me pointers. He bicycled long distances, often, to do that. But I always knew that if he said he would come and watch me, he’d be there. His quiet dependability meant a lot.

When a choice plant became root bound and began to deteriorate, a young friend of ours decided to transplant it to a larger container. Carefully he lifted the greenery from its small pot and put it into its larger home, trying to disturb the roots and soil as little as possible. The novice gardener watched and waited. To his dismay, the plant still struggled. Our friend expressed his frustration to an experienced gardener who offered his services. When the plant was placed in the gardener’s hands, he turned the pot upside down, pulled out the plant, shook the soil from the roots, and clipped and pulled all the stragglers from the root system. Replacing the plant into the pot, he vigorously pushed the soil tightly around the plant. Soon the plant took on new life and grew.
How often in life do we set our own roots into the soil of life and become root bound? We may treat ourselves too gently and defy anyone to disturb the soil or trim back our root system. Under these conditions we too must struggle to make progress. Oh, change is hard! Change can be rough.
The Lord does not want His church to become root bound and stagnant. Constant revelation through the prophets is needed for the growth of His kingdom.
There is nothing so unchanging, so inevitable as change itself. The things we see, touch, and feel are always changing. Relationships between friends, husband and wife, father and son, brother and sister are all dynamic, changing relationships. There is a constant that allows us to use change for our own good, and that constant is the revealed eternal truths of our Heavenly Father.
We need not feel that we must forever be what we presently are. There is a tendency to think of change as the enemy. Many of us are suspect of change and will often fight and resist it before we have even discovered what the actual effects will be. When change is thought through carefully, it can produce the most rewarding and profound experiences in life. The changes we make must fit the Lord’s purposes and patterns.
As opportunity for change reaches into our lives, as it always will, we must ask, “Where do I need development? What do I want out of life? Where do I want to go? How can I get there?” Weighing alternatives very carefully is a much needed prerequisite as one plans changes. In God’s plan we are usually free to choose the changes we make in our lives and we are always free to choose how we will respond to the changes that come. We need not surrender our freedoms. But just as a compass is valuable to guide us out of the dense forest, so the gospel points the way as we walk the paths of life.
C. S. Lewis indicated there is often pain in change when he wrote of God’s expectations for His children: “Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on: you knew those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently he starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of—throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were going to be made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace” (C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, New York: MacMillan Co., 1960, p. 160).
Yes, there is pain in change, but there is also great satisfaction in recognizing that progress is being achieved. Life is a series of hills and valleys and often the best growth comes in the valleys. Change is a meaningful part of repentance. Some are unable to repent because they are unwilling to change.
Recently I was participating in a groundbreaking ceremony for a chapel at the Utah State Prison. After the ceremonies, Warden Morris invited Governor Scott Matheson and me to take a tour of the facilities. We had noticed the extra care that had been taken to make the grounds around the maximum-security building pleasing and beautiful. When we asked the warden who had done the work, he indicated that two inmates had been given time outside of their cells to improve the landscape. We asked if we could meet the two men. The warden took us into the maximum facility to see them. As Marvel and Brown shuffled toward us from their restricted confinements on death row, we felt that the look on their faces reflected, “What have we done wrong now?”
“We want to compliment you men on the work you have done on the grounds,” we said. “The flower beds and vegetable gardens look beautiful and well kept. Congratulations on your good work.”
The change that came over their expressions was marvelous. The unexpected words of praise had given them reason for self-esteem. Someone had noticed that their efforts had changed a rocky, weed-filled yard into a beautiful garden. Sadly, they had failed earlier to make productive gardens out of the rocky, weed-covered fields of their own lives. But we hold hope for men like these who could see a need for change in one area and had accomplished such good. Perhaps their part in changing the gardens will lead to improvement in their own lives.
William James once said, “The greatest discovery of my generation is that [we] can change [our] circumstances by changing [our] attitudes of mind” (cited in Vital Quotations, comp. Emerson Roy West, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1968, p. 19). Jesus Christ helped people from all walks of life reach heights they had never dreamed of by teaching them to walk in new, secure paths.
Many begin their lives in such dire and adverse circumstances that change seems impossible. Let me share with you some examples of impossible beginnings.
The first example is a child who had an extremely unhappy home life. His family moved from one state to another until he was eight years of age. He was often beaten by his father who was either too strict or not strict enough, according to his mood at the time. The boy spent many of his early years sleeping in buses, train stations, and cheap hotels. At the age of fourteen he was arrested as a runaway. Both family and friends classified him as untrustworthy, often violent, and a loner.
The second example is a boy who was frail at birth. Throughout his childhood he had a tendency toward infection. His frail body seemed unable to hold his oversized head. His father worried that people considered his son “addled,” and on one occasion he beat the boy publicly. After his mother had lost three previous children, she wrapped herself in black and withdrew.
In the third instance, a young man came from circumstances of near poverty. His family was forced to move more than once because of financial difficulties. He had little, if any, formal schooling. “His mother reported that he was less inclined to read and study than any of the other children” (Francis M. Gibbons, Joseph Smith: Martyr, Prophet of God, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1977, p. 26). Because neighbors considered many of his ways and ideas strange, he was ostracized by his peers. All of his life he was hounded by the law and found himself constantly in difficulty.
Certain steps can help one make constructive, worthwhile changes in life. “When you climb up a ladder, you must begin at the bottom, and ascend step by step, until you arrive at the top; and so it is with the principles of the gospel” (History of the Church, 6:306–7). In order to make significant changes in our lives, we must accept our Father in Heaven and His truths. The prophet Alma in the Book of Mormon said, “Have ye spiritually been born of God? Have ye received his image in your countenances? Have ye experienced this mighty change in your hearts?” (Alma 5:14).
Let me suggest four important steps in making change a valuable tool in our lives:
First, we must understand the need for change. An unexamined life is not worth living. A new bishop shared with me an experience that frustrated him. He had a young lady in his ward who was not living the way she should. When he counseled her, she would bristle and say that he should be willing to accept her the way she was. She would not accept the fact that “the way she was” was just not good enough for her bishop, for her Heavenly Father, and most important, for herself. Being aware of the fault and the need to change is a most important step. The recognition of the need to change has to be a greater force than the luxury of staying the same.
Second, the facts must be authentic. We need to know how, what, where, and why to change. The gospel of Jesus Christ can help us set short-term, intermediate, and long-term goals by teaching us who we are, where we came from, why we are here, and where we are going. With this knowledge, a person will have greater strength to improve.
Third, a system for change must be established. It was Emerson who said, A man who sits “on the cushion of advantages, goes to sleep. When he is pushed, tormented, defeated, he has been put on his wits, … [learns] moderation and real skill” (“Compensation,” The Complete Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson, New York: Wm. H. Wise & Co., 1929, p. 161).
Our change must be planned and orderly. After our system for change is established, it must be followed through to completion, even though it may disturb our very root system.
Fourth, we must be totally committed to our plan for change. A Chinese proverb says, “Great souls have wills; feeble souls have only wishes.” Unless we have the will to improve, all the other steps to change will be wasted. This last step separates the winners from the losers.
Earlier I mentioned three examples of people living in the most dire circumstances. The first young man’s life was a series of continuing arrests for everything from vagrancy to armed robbery and murder. Never recognizing the need to change, he was one day convicted of murder.
The second was a description of the early years of Thomas A. Edison. From a beginning that seemed almost too much to overcome, he was able to change and build. Though he was once judged retarded, he proved himself to be one of the greatest inventors of all time. His personal commitment changed the whole world for the better.
The third tells the story of a young man and his early days in the northeastern part of this country. He was born in 1805 during a hard and cold Vermont winter. His name—Joseph Smith. His beginnings were difficult. Life was a series of struggles—not only physically, but also emotionally and spiritually. But here was a young man who recognized the need for improvement through change and submitted to an authority greater than himself. From tremendously difficult beginnings he sought change and ushered in the last dispensation. His faith, prayers, and works brought to the earth the greatest, most profound changes in the latter days.
It has been said by Bruce Barton that, “When we’re through changing, we’re through.” There is no age when we are too old or too young or just too middle-aged to change. Perhaps old age really comes when a person finally gives up the right, challenge, and joy of changing. We should remain teachable. How easy it is to become set. We must be willing to establish goals whether we are sixty, seventy, fifty, or fifteen. Maintain a zest for life. Never should there be a time when we are unwilling to improve ourselves through meaningful change.
For many Church members it is often difficult to accept change in leadership. On ward and stake levels leadership changes are necessary and, often times, too frequent for our convenience and comfort. Some of us are inclined to resent and resist personnel changes. “Why can’t they leave him in?” or “Why do we have to have her?” or “Why do they have to divide our ward?” Our vision may be limited. Seldom are changes made that do not bring needed progress to a person or a situation. How often in retrospect have we thought, “I didn’t understand why that change was made in the program or why that person was given such a calling, but now I can see that it was just what was needed for the time.”
During transitional times—and there are always transitional times in our Church—patience, love, and long-suffering are needed. A permanent part of our philosophy should be, “Never allow yourself to be offended by someone who is learning his job.”
Change in our own church assignments may be even more disturbing. Often when we express a wish to never have that assignment, the bishop or stake president offers us the blessings of that self-same calling. At those times it is good to remember the words of Paul when he, troubled by many ailments, said, “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me” (Philip. 4:13).
As a Church with lay leadership, the blessings of change come often. Very few of us feel adequate to meet those changes with our own talents. How grateful we can be for the strength of Jesus Christ which helps us with the changes brought by new callings and increased responsibilities.
The change from this life to a life with Him who is our Eternal Father is the ultimate goal to which meaningful change can bring us. I pray we will all seek and accept wholesome, orderly changes for the betterment of our personal lives. This I humbly ask in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I was the only member of the Church in my high school, and some of the other students began to ridicule my standards and test my resolve to keep them. I played on my high school all-star soccer team. My teammates usually used bad words, but they accepted the fact that I spoke according to the teachings of the Church. And when a disagreement started during a game, they knew that my position would be that of peacemaker. They tested me with liquor, with immorality, and with other temptations. But when they discovered that I was really serious about my commitments, they respected me.

I was only 20 when my bishop extended a call to me to serve in my ward Relief Society presidency. I panicked.
As soon as I was asked to serve, the adversary reminded me of my insecurities and shortcomings. He tried to convince me that I was not good enough to fulfill this assignment.
I was sure this calling was a mistake. I was pretty new in the ward, I was still figuring out my own life, I had a lot of social anxiety, and I felt completely unready to serve in such a role.
Perhaps you can relate.
That day I met with my bishop, I accepted the calling to serve in Relief Society. I was amazed at how—despite my being young, inexperienced, and terrified at times—the Savior strengthened me beyond my inadequacy. He helped me deepen my love for my sisters in the gospel and offer them support in the ways they needed.

Make up your mind what to do in difficult situations before they arrive. For Andrea Bennett, 17, of the Douglas Georgia Stake, turning down alcohol and R-rated movies at her junior/senior beach weekend wasn’t hard at all. “A lot of people were drinking, but when they asked me if I wanted some I just said no. I didn’t even have to think about it. I had made up my mind long before that happened I wouldn’t do those things. So when the offer came there wasn’t even a doubt in my mind what my answer would be. It would just happen. And it did.”

Before he became a member of the Church, Peter had spent most of his adult life chasing financial success. By all outward appearances, he seemed to have found it. After all, he had owned and run several businesses.
When a local Church leader in West Midlands, England, asked Peter to join a personal finances group offered through the Church’s self-reliance initiative, he doubted that the course could teach him anything. Once Peter started attending the group, however, he quickly realized how much he still had to learn.
“The course is not just about finances; that is only half of the story,” he says. “The most important thing for me was learning to have faith in Heavenly Father—how He provides us all temporal blessings and opens the door to true self-reliance if we follow His spiritual guidance.”
As a member of a personal finances group, Peter learned practical skills such as tracking family spending, creating and living on a budget, reducing debt, and saving for the future. Using these skills, along with exercising faith in Jesus Christ and working hard, Peter and his wife repaid a large debt.
“I am feeling significantly lighter and freer without the fear associated with debt and financial disorganization,” he says. “I am feeling the abundant blessings of Heavenly Father in a way I have never felt before. I have learned how to petition Him and listen to His answers when I need help with my temporal affairs.”

This story took place in France.
Jared dribbled the ball across the court. Players ran around him, their shoes squeaking on the floor.
“I’m open!” Gabriel called.
Jared passed the ball to Gabriel and kept running. Then Gabriel passed the ball back. Jared threw the ball at the hoop.
SWOOSH!
It went in!
“Nice work, Jared,” his coach said after the game. “You know, tryouts for the regional team are in two weeks.”
Jared grinned. Only a few players were invited to try out for that team.
“The tryouts will be on Sunday,” the coach said. “Do you think you can make it?”
Jared’s excitement was gone as quickly as it came.
“On Sunday?” Jared asked.
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
Jared thought about it. This was his chance to play on a really good team! But Sundays were when he went to church and focused on the Savior.
“Sundays are a special day for me,” Jared said. “But I’ll talk to my parents about it.”
That night, Jared sat on his bed with his parents. He tossed his basketball in the air while he thought. “I really want to try out for the team,” he told Mom and Dad. “But I don’t want to do it on a Sunday. I know God is more important than basketball.”
“What can we do to help?” Mom asked.
Jared turned the ball in his hands. “Can we say a prayer together?”
He put his basketball away and knelt down with Mom and Dad. “Dear Heavenly Father,” he said, “I really, really want to try out for this basketball team. But the tryouts are on a Sunday! I know Sunday is the day I give to Thee. What can I do?”
After the prayer, Jared felt a comforting feeling.
“How do you feel?” Mom asked.
“I’m not going if the tryouts are on a Sunday,” he said. “But I have a feeling it will all be OK.”
Two days later, Jared’s mom got an email. It said the tryouts would be on Saturday now instead!
Jared could try out and keep the sabbath day holy! He knew Heavenly Father had heard his prayer.
For the next two weeks, Jared practiced basketball as much as he could. When the big day came, Jared did his best. He ran quickly between plays, made most of his shots, and cheered for his teammates.
“The following players will continue with tryouts for the team,” the coach said after the first round. “Please listen for your name.”
Jared’s heart thumped loudly. The coach called one name. Then another. And another. Jared felt his hope of making the team start to fade.
Soon the coach finished the list. He hadn’t called Jared’s name. Jared would not be moving on to the next round of tryouts.
Jared sat on the bench outside the gym and stared at his shoes. He had worked so hard. But it felt like all his work was for nothing.
When Mom picked him up, Jared shook his head. “I didn’t make the team.”
Mom wrapped him in a tight hug. “I’m sorry it didn’t turn out how we wanted,” she said.
Jared took a deep breath. Then, a comforting thought came to him.
“Things won’t always work out how I want,” he said. “But Jesus Christ knows exactly how I feel. He’s on my side.”
Mom smiled. “You’re right! He does know how you feel.”
Jared smiled back. He was still sad, but he felt better knowing the Savior understood how he felt. Jared knew Jesus would always love and support him.
Illustrations by Britain Morris

In our search for families, this story is typical. For several months we had been searching and praying to find a Latter-day Saint family we had heard lived somewhere in our town. One morning my husband had a sudden inspiration to ask a man who worked for the town water supply department if he knew anyone by that name. “Sure, I know him,” the man said, and told us where the “missing” member worked. Ben found the man and learned that he had joined the Church several years before but had been inactive for the past four years. His wife and three children were attending another church. When we invited him to come to church, he was reluctant because he smoked and liked to drink. But Ben did not give up. He contacted him several times at his work and assured him that we would love him even if he did smoke and drink. We visited his family and got the eight-year-old and the thirteen-year-old to join us at church. Soon this man stopped smoking and drinking, and his family attended all our meetings faithfully. His two children were baptized. Several months later he was ordained an elder and became the teacher of the investigator class.

This story began in 1987 with the Bennion First Ward’s youth conference trip to the Manti Utah Temple and the time capsule that the youth buried afterward.
Hold on—1987? Isn’t this article 16 years late for publication? Well, yes, if you’re writing a story about burying a time capsule. But this one’s about digging it up.
After three days of service and activities near the temple grounds, the teens and leaders from Taylorsville, Utah, drove home to wrap up the conference. Then in a corner of leader Brenda Jeppson’s yard, they stood quietly in the warm July twilight and watched as a long, black time capsule was buried about three feet deep in the crumbly soil.
Sixteen-year-old Stacie Hankins wrote in her journal that night, “After we buried the time capsule, we promised we would return with our spouses and children in 15 years.” Then she vowed, “I will return.” Along with most of the youth and leaders at the conference, Stacie kept her promise.
The crowd that gathered in the same corner of that yard 15 years later not only looks very different, it is three or four times bigger than the original gathering. Children run around on the soft grass in the Jeppsons’ backyard while their parents—the grown-up Bennion Ward teens—chat about what they included in the capsule.
The capsule is sealed so tightly they have to saw the ends off. Inside is quite a collection of 1980s memorabilia. Banana hair clips, tape recordings of popular music, newspaper articles, postage stamps, clothing ads, microwave popcorn, letters to themselves with their testimonies, and a New Era are all packed into the smooth black tube.
Sorting through the mementos gives a sense of how much time has passed. But a lot more than wardrobes, world news, and waistlines has changed.
Imagine your life in 15 years. What will change? Where do you want to be?
Fifteen-year-old Jennifer Openshaw then, now 30-year-old Jennifer Bowden, thought about where she wanted to be in 15 years when the time capsule was buried.
“I was hoping I’d be married and be a mom,” she says.
Check. Her husband sends her a smile from a nearby table as her children, Samuel and Emma, giggle on the Jeppsons’ swing set.
“I also knew I wanted an education,” she continues.
Double check. Jennifer has a master’s degree in dietetics from Utah State University.
What has stayed the same is her strong testimony of the gospel. She pauses thoughtfully to consider where the last 15 years have taken her. “If my younger self could see me, I think she’d be pleased,” she says.
But Jennifer isn’t the only one smiling. Nathan Cantonwine, now 29, whose 100-watt grin hasn’t dimmed at all in 15 years, is happy with where he ended up too. More than serving a mission, going to college, and starting his own family, Nathan wanted to have a stronger testimony by the time the capsule was opened.
“Growing up, I had a tendency to rely on other people’s testimonies,” he says. “I knew the gospel was true because I could feel it when I was with my leaders and friends. But now, I have experienced things, in particular with prayer, tithing, and fasting, that have borne a strong witness to me that I cannot deny.”
Fifteen years scattered the teens of the 1987 Bennion ward across 12 states, from Florida to Washington. They served missions in places as close as California and as far away as Italy. The more time goes by, the more they realize what’s truly important. They say they don’t worry about superficial things like popularity and fashion anymore.
Heidi Tuttle, now Heidi Kim, says her perspective has changed tremendously in 15 years.
“When I was 17, I didn’t see the whole picture,” she says as her toddler son, Kennan, dashes by in red overalls. She scoops him up and kisses the top of his head as he squirms away.
“After my mission to Korea and getting married, I realized the gospel and my family are what’s most important,” Heidi says, as she looks proudly at her husband who is singing Kennan a special song in Korean.
Stacie Hankins says the most important thing in her life is the scriptures. She remembers burying a letter in the time capsule that contains her feelings about the Book of Mormon. She says if she were to include something in a time capsule today, it would be a list of scriptures that have changed her life. She wants to use the scriptures to strengthen her future family.
It’s fun to see the crazy things they buried all those years ago. But the real treasure of the 1987 Bennion youth conference wasn’t buried in the corner of the Jeppsons’ yard. It’s testimonies, families, friendships, and dreams—all things you can’t bury in a time capsule. The ones in the group who seem the happiest now are those who envisioned what they wanted to be when they were young and then worked toward those goals, rather than simply going wherever life took them.
When the warm summer evening slips into night, the group of reunited friends is still talking under the light of a few bright lamps. They each read the testimonies they wrote and put in the time capsule—their testimonies are the only things that outlasted the constantly changing popular culture. “Today I recommit myself to the gospel of Jesus Christ,” Brenda Jeppson reads from her tattered piece of paper. Tonight, through her tears, she repeats her commitment to Christ as she looks forward to a future with the people she loves.

Gerhardt, a little German shepherd boy, was such an example. He was very, very poor, and one day as he was watching his flock, a hunter came out of the woods and asked the way to the nearest village. When the boy told him, he said if he would show him the way he would be rewarded handsomely. When Gerhardt replied that he could not leave his sheep for fear they might be lost, the hunter said, “Well, what of that? They are not your sheep, and the loss of one or two would not matter to your master. I will give you more money than you have earned in a year.”
When the boy still declined, the hunter said, “Then will you trust me with your sheep while you go to the village and bring me food and drink and a guide?”
The boy shook his head, saying, “The sheep do not know your voice.”
Angrily the hunter retorted, “Can’t you trust me?”
Gerhardt reminded him that he had tried to get him to break faith with his master and asked, “How do I know that you would keep your word to me?”
Cornered, the hunter laughed and said, “I see you are a good faithful boy. I will not forget you. Show me the road and I will try to make it out by myself.”
The hunter turned out to be the grand duke, and he was so pleased with Gerhardt’s honesty that he later sent for him and had him educated. Though Gerhardt became a rich and powerful man, he remained honest and true. (Adapted from “A Faithful Shepherd Boy,” in Moral Stories for Little Folks, Salt Lake City: Juvenile Instructor Office. 1891, pp. 11–13.)