Gospel Story Finder

One night when I was 16, I remember coming back from a Church activity with three friends. We were all in the priests quorum and enjoyed being together. We parked the car in front of my house, and we were talking about the fun we had at church when one of my friends made a suggestion.
Nearby was a club that was popular with teenagers. On Fridays and Saturdays they had dances. He said, “We should go to one of those dances.” He suggested we could even use the opportunity to preach the gospel to the youth there. The other three, myself included, tried to tell him it didn’t sound like such a great idea. The standards wouldn’t be the same as at Church activities. There would be people smoking and drinking. People would be dressed immodestly. Most of the music would be inappropriate, loud in its volume, and heavy in its beat, often filled with suggestive words.
This was a good friend, a very active young man. But he kept insisting that we should go. “As long as we don’t participate in the bad stuff,” he said, “it will be just fine.” The three of us tried to dissuade him but couldn’t. He finally said, “Then I am going to go alone. I am going to show you that there’s nothing wrong with it. And you are going to miss out on some great fun.” He was determined to stick his hand in the cumbuca.
On Friday he went to the dance. The next day, Saturday, he came to Church-sponsored activities bragging about how fun it had been. He invited us to go the next week. We never did go, but he ended up going on a regular basis until finally he began going to the Saturday night dances as well. Then he would be late to church on Sunday because he was tired from being out so late. Finally he began skipping church.
Over time he stopped coming to church regularly. He ended up not going on a mission. A few years ago I contacted him over the phone. He was living in a different town far away from me. When we started talking about the Church, he was totally cold, not the same person I used to know.
Looking back, I think of the four of us in that car. The other three all stayed active in the Church, married in the temple, and have served in priesthood leadership positions. But that one excellent friend fell away, married outside the Church, and today is totally inactive. His children do not know the blessings of the gospel. Even though he can still repent, and I hope he will, he is losing valuable time and opportunities.
That night in the car, the four of us were at a crossroads. I didn’t know the decision was that important at the time. We simply knew that it was not appropriate to go where he wanted to go. I remember he said, “We will go there, and through our good example we will convert some of those youth.” But he was being deceived, and he ended up being the one who was converted to a different path. As I look back, I can see that something that seems small can have a huge impact over the years. I am happy that I was able to choose what was right.

One day while I was at church, one of the sisters expressed to me that she was feeling lonely. Like her, I was also a widow and lived by myself. Suddenly, I had an idea: why didn’t we get together on Mondays and hold family home evening? We could also invite other sisters who lived alone.
I did a little research and found eight women in our ward who might participate. Six were widows, one was single, and one’s husband wasn’t a member of the Church.
With my bishop’s approval, I arranged for all of us to hold family home “afternoons” together. (We hold it early in the day because most of us don’t see well and don’t like being out after dark.) We take turns meeting in each other’s homes and giving a brief lesson. Perhaps the most important thing that has come from this is a true feeling of friendship that binds us together in love as sisters.
All of us eagerly await our family home “afternoons.” We feel happy to be studying the gospel together, and we enjoy wonderful friendships that strengthen our faith and our love for the Lord Jesus Christ.

While stressing the importance of listening well, I am mindful of those who cannot hear. Many labeled as deaf have received the Spirit “by the hearing of faith” (Gal. 3:2). The example of Rachel Ivins Grant is inspiring to me. She never complained about her own deafness. Though most women in their seventies would be completely worn out while rearing six growing children of another mother, she undertook that task. Rachel’s deafness seemed to save her from the wear and tear of noise. Sometimes, when two were arguing, Rachel would burst out laughing. She said they had no idea how funny it was to see their angry faces and hear none of their words.

Before her son, Heber J. Grant, became the seventh President of the Church, she declared, “Of course the greatest trial I have is that I cannot hear, but I have so many blessings I cannot complain, but if we only will live so that we may receive the instructions of God, there is nothing we are called to pass through but will be for our good.”

Gauntlet, a dog Scott and Luke raised, is presently going through guide dog training. Scott and Luke hope they don’t hear anything from the training center for a while; since a phone call now would only mean there was a problem with his training. Tiger, another dog that Scott raised, was rejected because of physical problems with his front legs. Scott was at the training center in California when he found out that Tiger would not be accepted as a guide dog. “That was a sad time when Tiger didn’t make it,” says Scott. “I had to call the family and tell them.”

Baptism Then and Now
Maggie, age 11, and Lily, age 9, were baptized in a font near the place where the first members of the Church were baptized.
Both girls were very excited to be baptized. When it was Lily’s turn to be baptized, she had an interview with her bishop. “He asked me if I had a testimony of the prophet and if I paid my tithing,” Lily said.
The girls both have good memories of their baptismal days. “When I came out of the water, I had a feeling that I could do anything,” Maggie said.
Both girls got journals so they could record their feelings about their special days.

It started innocently enough. Like most other children, I would sit by the window, look out at the stars, close my eyes, and make my wishes. I wished for everything my childish mind could dream of: a pony, a puppy, a fairy godmother. I never got my wishes, but that was okay because it was all done in fun.
I grew older and stopped wishing on stars. But, unfortunately, I didn’t stop wishing. Now it took on a definite covetous tone. I wasn’t wishing for a puppy or a pony, but I wished I could be more like Kathy, because all the boys liked her, or I wished I had clothes like Linda’s.
Whenever I saw someone with something I didn’t have, I thought of how much happier I would be with it, so I would start wishing for it. Almost everyone I met seemed to have something I didn’t have. I began to believe that everyone else had everything, and I had nothing.
Of course I began to feel sorry for myself. I would whine, “If only things were different.” Or, “It’s just not fair!” Or, “Why me?”
So how did I ever find my way out of this quagmire of envy and self-pity? Believe it or not, I found my answer in the Church hymnbook. One Sunday I was sitting behind a girl who had extremely beautiful hair. I was wishing that mine were that long and shiny when we began singing “Count Your Blessings” (Hymns, 1985, number 241).
Now, I had probably sung that hymn dozens and dozens of times, but it never meant anything to me until then. For the first time, I paid attention to the words. Why was I always wishing for things I didn’t have? Why did I feel angry and cheated because life wasn’t treating me fairly? The answer was right there in the hymn. I wasn’t counting my blessings. All I ever thought about was what I didn’t have, which completely obscured my awareness of all the things I did have.
I went home from church and did exactly what the hymn said to do. I made a list of all my blessings. First came the obvious ones, like home and family, food and clothing. But then I wrote down other things like my personal strengths and assets, the many opportunities and positive experiences I’d had, my understanding of the gospel and the unique perspective that added to my life. When I added them up, I counted more than 100 blessings. As the hymn says, I really was surprised.
I carried this list for a long time, and whenever I found myself slipping back into my old wishing habit, I would read the list. It always helped me to have a feeling of gratitude rather than one of envy and self-pity.
Finally the day came when I didn’t have to carry the list anymore because I no longer needed to wish for things. I was happy for others and their blessings, because I was more aware of my own blessings. I became much happier once I finally quit wishing.

Even with the school yard empty, LeeRoy listened to the playground sounds. He heard the clanking of the rings swaying in the hot October wind. The chains of the swings were banging gently against the poles. Sometimes a tumbleweed got caught under the slide. It would finally be freed by a gust of wind and continue on its way out into the Arizona desert.
His small western town had lots of sounds that LeeRoy knew very well. The playground sounds were very faint, yet he could hear them as he sat inside his third grade classroom.
School was supposed to be fun. All the other kids really liked school. They were always laughing and crowding around the teacher and raising their hands. They got the right answers. Their papers had lots of stickers that read, “Good job” or “Superstar” or “Terrific.” LeeRoy could see their papers from his seat in the back row of the room. He never raised his hand. His papers got no stickers. His papers got comments like “Better” or “Keep trying,” made with a red marker. He sat holding a paper the teacher had just handed back, marked “Try harder, LeeRoy!” Although this was only the fifth week of school, he sighed, feeling as though he had been there forever.
“Today I have a special surprise for all of you,” the teacher announced.
LeeRoy looked out the window. He watched a tumbleweed free itself from under the slide. She has no surprises for me, he thought. I’m just a dumb kid. He heard a faraway train whistling its arrival. There were seven train whistles every day before lunch. He knew because he listened for them.
“Our town newspaper has invited each class in our school to write a story about how we know our town,” the teacher continued. “The class that writes the most unusual, interesting one will get their story printed and will receive awards.”
There was instant chattering in the classroom.
“Raise your hands to talk,” the teacher reminded them.
“What do eight-year-olds know about a town?” Lisa asked as she raised her hand and spoke at the same time.
“Just think about it. We know a lot of things,” Miss Anderson said, including herself as a part of the class.
“I know about catching crawdads in the creek,” Tom boasted.
“Oh how gross!” Molly put in. “How about the new library?” The class had been to it twice, and it was indeed a fine library for a town of only six thousand people.
“That’s boring, Molly,” Danny said, without adding any suggestions of his own.
Miss Anderson quieted the class. She went up and down the aisles, asking for more suggestions. “What do you know about the town, Fred?” she asked. Fred simply shrugged his shoulders. “Keith?” she questioned as she started down another row.
“My dad says we’re going to get tons of snow this winter,” Keith announced.
“It has to be something we know,” corrected Susan. “What about our city park? We all go there.”
“That’s a good idea,” agreed Miss Anderson. She reached the end of the row. “What do you know, LeeRoy?”
LeeRoy looked from the window up to the teacher and said, “Huh?”
“LeeRoy, what do you know about our town?” she repeated, looking disappointed that he had not been paying attention.
LeeRoy looked up again and barely whispered, “I know noise.”
Bursts of laughter broke out. LeeRoy lowered his head and heard his heart pounding, punishing him for being so dumb.
“That’s very interesting, LeeRoy,” Miss Anderson said, waving her hand for the others to be quiet. “Tell me about the noises you know.”
“Just listen,” LeeRoy slowly began. “The playground rings make sounds, and the chains on the swings, and the wind, and the clock, and the trains …” He looked up.
The class got very quiet, surprised to hear LeeRoy talk. The fan on the top of the teacher’s file cabinet whirred as it turned from side to side, clicking each time it stopped and started the other way.
“Listen to the fan,” Molly said, breaking the silence.
Everyone listened until Fred said, “I hear the lights humming.” Again silence fell as everyone held his breath and listened to the lights hum. LeeRoy watched as they all listened.
“That’s a neat idea, LeeRoy!” Tom said. The class listened for more sounds that they hadn’t really thought about before.
“We all know noises,” remarked Susan. “Let’s use LeeRoy’s idea for our story. We could write about the noises in our town.”
“That’s a wonderful suggestion, Susan,” Miss Anderson agreed. “Do we all agree?” When the class yelled its excited approval, she asked, “May we use your idea, Lee Roy? And will you help us learn about your special noises?”
LeeRoy nodded, and a shy grin broke out on his face.
The next day the class members listed all the noises that they’d heard after school and during the night. LeeRoy told them about the sounds that he liked best: the popping of the popcorn in the street vendor’s cart and the squeaking of the film moving in the movie theater. He liked the way the planks of the classroom floor creaked when the heater went on.
The story from Miss Anderson’s third-grade class was titled “My Town’s Noise.” It told about how quiet a desert town like theirs was, yet how alive it was with noise. In describing their noises, they had described their town.
The newspaper printed their story on the front page with a picture of the big blue first-prize ribbon next to the story. Under it was a picture of the class members and their teacher. In the front row, with a big grin on his face, stood LeeRoy.

I was sitting in the corner of the celestial room by the organ during the dedication of the Memphis Tennessee Temple. President James E. Faust (1920–2007), a member of the First Presidency from 1995 to 2007, had come to dedicate the temple. He and several other leaders were seated behind the microphone. A local Church choir filed in and stood behind them.
A young woman I visit taught was a member of the choir. Throughout the meeting, I prayed that she would receive what she had come for. She had confided in me that she came to the temple dedication that day to find out her standing with the Lord. She had committed serious sins in the past, and though she had repented, she still struggled to feel good about herself and even to feel good about singing in the choir.
I stared at President Faust, feeling that he, as a representative of the Lord in the First Presidency, ought to be able to do something. But how could I tell him, and how could he do anything? After the meeting, he would file out of the room just as he had come in, and there would be no introductions, no handshakes, and no words exchanged. I understood that he was busy and had travel arrangements, but still I prayed.
President Faust, deep in thought, looked at me for a while—the muscles in his eyebrows were knit together. When the meeting ended, a happy expression flooded his countenance with light.
He looked at me again and then suddenly stood up, turned around, and stretched his arm forward as far as it would go. He pointed directly at my friend. Then he said firmly and loudly, “The Lord loves you!”
President Faust’s gesture was small and simple yet so powerful that it could have come only from the Holy Ghost communicating to him what I could not. Those few words blessed my friend and continue to sustain my faith that the Lord is mindful of the details of our lives and “that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6).

I want to remind you that six months ago, following conference on Sunday, we went home to listen to a television program. We were concerned for President Gordon B. Hinckley. (I had the privilege and the honor to watch him for a number of years before he became our prophet and leader. I watched the careful way that he carried on the affairs of the Church that had been his while he was a counselor to three Presidents.) President Hinckley was to appear on a nationwide television program, and we wondered how it would come across. We knew of the importance of it and what it would mean to us. We knew of the work and the hours of prayer and meditation and study that our prophet and leader had done in being prepared for this exposure which would reach, according to the information we have received, some 35 million people. You will remember, as I remember now, the anticipation and the wonderment of how this would come across.

After that program was over, my heart was beating fast, and I felt it would burst. I was filled with joy and thanksgiving to the Lord for the way our prophet and our leader had handled the interrogation by one who had a reputation of attempting to ask questions that might be difficult to handle. What a joy it was for us to witness how our prophet and our leader had been blessed and magnified! As I watched his face on the television (and I’m sure you would have had the same reaction), I realized that a vast number of people were seeing what a prophet of God looked like: a kind, good, and handsome man, clean and intelligent. You could see the outstanding character, the personality of our prophet and leader, who would be exposed to that vast audience of people. And then when the interrogator asked President Hinckley, “Do you really believe that story that heavenly beings appeared to that young boy in that grove of trees? Do you really believe that to be true?” And here our prophet just instantly said, “Of course I do. Isn’t it great?”

Those words have been ringing through my ears ever since that happened: “Of course I do. Isn’t it great?” He made that pronouncement with such confidence and with that wonderful personality he has, declaring it to all of the world. We want President Hinckley to know that since that time, missionary activity in the United States in the area where people who heard that program reside has picked up, and member activity has picked up too. More people have become interested in the Church because they have seen a living prophet in the flesh stand before that immense audience and declare to the world, “Of course I do. Isn’t is great?” We would hope and pray that the missionaries throughout the world would have that same feeling and that same understanding and that same determination—to want to so declare this message of hope and salvation and eternal life to all the world.

My piano teacher is not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but she knows that some of our members are called to play the organ. One time she encouraged me to audition for a scholarship to learn the organ. I decided to audition so that I could learn to play the organ in order to serve in church.
The morning of the audition, I woke up extremely sick. My mom said our family would be praying for me. When we got to the audition, my dad told the judges I wasn’t feeling very well. Before I began playing, I said a little prayer in my heart. I asked Heavenly Father for His help, especially if He wanted me to play the organ at church. As I began to play I felt as if someone else was playing. I didn’t feel sick but instead was just amazed to watch my fingers move. Before I knew it, I’d finished all my songs, and I don’t remember making any mistakes.
As soon as I got off the bench, the sickness returned and my dad took me home to rest. I slept all day until my mom woke me up that evening to tell me I’d won the scholarship. I know Heavenly Father wanted me to learn to play the organ and listened to my prayer. I’ve truly felt the Lord’s hand in my life. I’m so grateful for the talents He has blessed me with, because as I share them and use them to serve, He strengthens and blesses me.

As he grew up on the farm, Ezra, or “T” as he was nicknamed, learned the value of work. At age four he could drive a team, and he was soon herding cattle, thinning beets, milking cows, and doing general farm work. When Ezra was 12, his father was called on a mission. The family sold half the farm and shared their two-room home with the family that operated part of the remaining acres. President Benson’s mother was left to care for seven children, and the eighth was born shortly after his father arrived in the mission field.
“Never did I hear a murmur from her lips,” President Benson recalls.
In this time of hardship, the family pitched in. Ezra was known as a “tease” at school, but he worked hard. He also found time to trap muskrats to help meet expenses, and to round up cattle in the mountains. At 16, he single-handedly thinned an entire acre of sugar beets in one day. He loved sports, especially basketball and baseball, and was a friend and teammate of Harold B. Lee, who later became the 11th President of the Church.

The walk up the black paved road to the temple in American Fork, Utah, for Elizabeth (10) and Ethan (9) Ault is much shorter than the forty-mile walk on a rocky dirt road their great-great-great-grandfather took to work on the Salt Lake Temple. The Aults live just a few blocks from the new Mount Timpanogos Utah Temple. Every morning Ethan loves to see the sun shining on the temple’s stained-glass windows on his way to school.
Elizabeth and Ethan’s great-great-great-grandfather worked as a stonecutter on the Salt Lake Temple. Following his pioneer ancestor’s example of sacrifice, Elizabeth and Ethan’s Grandfather Ault donated all the grass for the Mount Timpanogos Utah Temple grounds, and his family volunteered to lay it. Elizabeth and Ethan got to help lay the sod (grass).
There are many steps to laying sod. Elizabeth helped smooth out the dirt with a rake, and sometimes she helped lay the sod on the ground. Ethan picked up scraps and piled them on a wooden pallet. Working in the sun can get hot and tiring, but they liked to help on the temple grounds because it made them feel good. “Even cleaning up the temple grounds was a privilege because it is the Lord’s house,” their mom, Connie, said.
Elizabeth felt especially close to the temple because the ground was broken to build the temple on the same day she was baptized. “I was so happy to have the temple ‘born’ on my baptism day. The temple makes me think of Jesus Christ.”
Ethan knows that temples are important for doing ordinances for the dead, including baptisms. He and Elizabeth were eager to go to the temple dedication with their brothers and sisters and their mom and dad.
Elizabeth shares her birthday with her great-grandmother, Grandma Cunningham. She also shares her name. Elizabeth is Grandma Cunningham’s middle name, and there is a special bond between them. When Grandma Cunningham moved out of her house, she gave Elizabeth one of her scripture sets. “Grandma is special, and she’s always reading the scriptures,” Elizabeth said. She remembers her grandma’s good example when she reads the scriptures.
When Ethan bears his testimony in sacrament meeting, he says that he is thankful for the scriptures and the temple. Both Ethan and Elizabeth share their testimonies almost every fast Sunday. Mom and Dad agree, “They’re a good example for the rest of us.”
The Aults worked on the temple grounds once a week, with help from volunteers. Originally just the Ault family and their relatives were going to lay the sod. But the project was so big that different wards and friends volunteered to help.
When the two children were not working at the temple, they helped at their dad’s golf driving range. He appreciates all that they do for him. But the children don’t just work—they love to rollerblade, ride their bikes, and play with their dog, Snowball. Ethan likes to play soccer with his brothers Eric (14) and Evan (12). He also plays right field on a baseball team called the White Sox. Elizabeth often goes to cheer him on. “They are good friends, and they watch out for each other,” Mother said.
Elizabeth likes to read—her favorite place to be is in her room, reading. But her best talent is singing. She sang in a school talent show and with a choir in stake conference. Her mother can’t remember a time when Elizabeth didn’t sing. She likes to sing in harmony with her mother. “Oh, What Do You Do in the Summertime?”* is Elizabeth’s favorite song to sing in Primary.
Ethan likes to draw pictures in his Primary class. Art is also his favorite subject in school. He likes to draw space shuttles and rockets. He also creates spaceships with plastic building blocks. Working with spaceships is good practice because he wants to be an astronaut. His neighbors have a telescope that he uses to get a closer look at the stars. When he sees stars sparkling in the sky, Ethan thinks of heaven and Heavenly Father.
Perhaps his love for stars and spaceships will take him to space in the future. For now, though, he and Elizabeth are content that they got to help landscape the Mount Timpanogos Utah Temple grounds. “Their” temple also sparkles and reminds them both of heaven.

In August 2003 I started my own company doing painting, gardening, landscaping, and maintenance work. Things aren’t always easy when you have your own company, especially when starting out. At the beginning of one month, Rebeca and I needed to pay rent for our home. We didn’t have a penny. So one morning we prayed that we might somehow obtain the money we needed. Later that day I was hired for a job that paid enough to cover our rent.

“Thanks again, Alanna,” Brother Tolley said. “You did a great job.”
“You’re welcome.” Alanna Johnson could barely keep the excitement from her voice.
Her first baby-sitting job had gone perfectly. She’d taken the child-care kit that she’d made at a Primary Achievement Day activity and played games with the Tolley’s three children until it was bedtime.
Brother Tolley walked her to her front door and waited while she let herself into the house.
Alanna hadn’t even looked at the money Sister Tolley had pressed into her hand at the end of the evening. She’d expected five or six dollars. Now, she saw that it was a twenty-dollar bill!
That’s eighteen dollars, she thought, after I pay my tithing. Alanna imagined her parents’ faces when she handed them the eighteen dollars.
Things hadn’t been easy for the Johnson family since Dad had lost his engineering job a year ago. Her sixteen-year-old brother, Steve, had found an after-school job at the supermarket. And, for the first time Alanna could remember, her mother had taken a part-time job.
Still, the family struggled to make ends meet. There had been no new clothes or movies in the last year. They no longer went out to eat on Fridays or to the bowling alley on Saturdays. Alanna didn’t really mind, as long as their family was together.
But now she could help. Eighteen dollars! That was enough to fill the car with gas or to buy a bag of groceries.
Her excitement faded as she wondered if Sister Tolley realized how much money she had given her. Could she have made a mistake? Alanna frowned as she remembered that Sister Tolley had simply pulled the money from her purse without looking at it.
Maybe Sister Tolley meant to give me the twenty-dollar bill. Baby-sitting three children is a lot of work. Alanna remembered that the Tolleys didn’t seem to have much money, either. But, she silently argued with herself, they gave me the money. I didn’t steal it. Alanna looked around the living room. Though the room had only a few pieces of furniture, her mother had hung pictures of the Savior, the Prophet Joseph Smith, and President Gordon B. Hinckley on the walls. Alanna remembered helping her mother cut the pictures from the Ensign and put them in frames they’d found at a garage sale. President Hinckley seemed to be looking intently at her from his framed picture.
He wouldn’t keep the twenty dollars, she thought. Not if it didn’t really belong to him.
She found her parents in the kitchen. Her mother was cooking; her father was paying bills at the table.
Alanna took a deep breath and told them what happened. “I wanted to give the money to you, to help out the family, but I think Sister Tolley made a mistake.” She swallowed hard. “I’m going to give it back to her.”
Dad settled his big hand on her shoulder. “You just gave us the best gift there is, Alanna. Knowing that you want to do what is right is worth far, far more than eighteen dollars.”
Mom kissed her. “We’re very proud of you, sweetheart.”
When her family arrived at church the following morning, Alanna looked for Sister Tolley. “I think you overpaid me last night,” she said and handed the twenty-dollar bill to her.
Sister Tolley looked startled, then relieved. “I didn’t know where that money had gone! I knew that I had put it in my purse. Then this morning, I couldn’t find it.” She started to cry. “It’s the last payment for something my husband needed. I didn’t know what I was going to do if I didn’t find it.”
Alanna discovered that she was crying, too.
Sister Tolley opened her purse and counted out six dollars. “I hope you’ll baby-sit for us again. Our children think you’re the best baby-sitter they’ve ever had—and so do I.”
Alanna gave her mother five dollars. After paying her tithing, she had only forty cents left, but somehow she felt very rich.
There is no substitute under the heavens for … the boy or girl who is honest.—President Gordon B. Hinckley (Ensign, November 2000, page 52.)

I was a small boy in Korea during World War II, when the Japanese army occupied my country and times were hard. I didn’t understand many of the things that were happening, such as why we were forced to speak Japanese in public, instead of Korean. We couldn’t use our Korean names in public, either—we were given Japanese names. The Japanese occupied all the nice areas in the country, and they had better homes, better food, and better clothing. But I was too young to understand why.
The Japanese forced us to work, even us very young children. And we had to give them everything we had that was made out of metal—bowls, chopsticks, spoons, all our everyday kinds of things—because they were used to make war equipment.
In spite of all this, I had two wonderful Japanese friends, Shige Chang and Yuriko. I didn’t know why they were there—their parents were involved with the war somehow—but it didn’t matter. We had fun playing together, and they shared with me the goodies that only Japanese children could get. We simply loved each other.
When World War II ended, my Japanese friends left the country and I never saw them again. It was difficult in Korea after the war, because the Japanese had taken almost everything. I didn’t want to have anything to do with Japan after that, not even to speak the Japanese language I had learned.
Since then, however, I have come to understand that people are the same all over the world. As a General Authority, I have lived and worked in Japan, and whenever I visited stake conferences there and saw gray-haired people who looked about my age, I thought longingly of my Yuriko and Shige Chang. Where are they? I wondered. To me, all the people at the conferences there represented Yuriko and Shige Chang. I told the Japanese Saints that maybe one day I’d be blessed to meet my two friends again and to share the gospel with them.

Jerell C., 17, of Kansas didn’t have any major interest in religion. But when David M., a Latter-day Saint Jerell knew from both work and school, persisted in inviting him to church, Jerell decided he shouldn’t keep turning his friend down. He agreed to attend one Sunday.
People in David’s ward were kind and welcoming, and Jerell felt at home. Before long, he was attending church with David’s family every Sunday. One thing led to another, and after meeting with the missionaries and gaining a testimony of the Book of Mormon, Jerell received permission from his family to join the Church. David baptized him July 5, 2009.
But that’s just the beginning of Jerell’s story. He learned about early-morning seminary. He knew a little bit about it from David—David had talked to him about memorizing scriptures, for example—but Jerell had never been there before. And going would present more than a few challenges. For one thing, it began at 5:30 a.m. For another, David, who had been with Jerell at every step of learning about the gospel, had already graduated from high school and would no longer be attending seminary. And—perhaps the most daunting obstacle—Jerell didn’t have a way to get there.
That didn’t stop him, however. “I wanted to learn more about the scriptures,” he says. Although he had studied the Book of Mormon reading assignments the missionaries had given him, even taking notes and sharing his thoughts with the elders, he knew there was still a lot to learn, and seminary, it seemed, was the most obvious way to do it.
So Jerell began waking up at 4:30 a.m. and biking an hour to the building where the class was held. He continued doing so—even through bad weather—for four months. At that point, a member began giving him rides.
It didn’t always come easily, he admits. “There were mornings I just didn’t want to get on that bike,” he says. “It was dark outside, so I worried about drivers seeing me.”
But he persisted anyhow, praying for strength as he rode or singing hymns to focus his mind elsewhere. “I knew I couldn’t quit,” he says.
Jerell attributes his consistency to help from Heavenly Father, a great class of students, a dedicated teacher, and opportunities to socialize with them. “We were good friends outside of class as well,” says Jerell. The payoff? At a scripture-mastery-related competition at the end of the school year, Jerell took first place.
Of course, that’s just a side perk. “I never expected to win the seminary bowl,” admits Jerell. “The blessings have just poured in for me as a new convert. I have found comfort in the scriptures and good friends in the Church. It’s been a great ride—literally.”

James Peter Fugal was an honest man! He herded sheep much of his life in the rolling hills of Idaho. On one bitterly cold winter night, he was herding sheep for another man when a blizzard set in. The sheep bunched together, as sheep do, in the corner of a fenced area, and many died.
Though the death of the sheep was no fault of his, James Fugal felt responsible and spent the next several years working and saving to repay the owner for his lost sheep.
I thought of James Fugal, the humble sheepherder, and how wonderful it was that these children were being taught the same values that made him a man of such noble character.

Sweat beads up on Bret Rasmussen’s forehead and drips down his face. He pauses in the brilliant sunshine and wipes his face on his sleeve, then hoists a stack of six folded wooden chairs. A few rows away, Brian Herr and his dad carry tables two at a time and set them up. They move steadily in the afternoon heat, staying just a little ahead of the group cutting white plastic and taping it to the tables as covers.
Bret and Brian are Boy Scouts, and they are part of a ward effort to benefit the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra. Twice a week, all summer, the youth of the Noblesville Indiana Ward labor in the hot sun. They carry dozens of tables and chairs to the base of a long grassy hill in preparation for a symphony concert. Sweat, Scouts, and symphony—an unlikely trio? What brings them together?
It all started when the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra began outdoor summer performances at Conner Prairie Pioneer Settlement, a restored 1836 village. The first few years, all concertgoers sat on lawn chairs or blankets on the grass. Later, Symphony on the Prairie organizers offered reserved tables and chairs near the stage for a higher price. But who would set up a hundred tables and a thousand chairs twice a week? The symphony looked for a service group, and that’s where LDS Boy Scout troop 596 came in.
They are not alone. Scout leaders, families, and friends all lend a hand. “It’s a time to see friends and get to know new people,” says Emily Runyan, whose brother Chris is a Scout. “Those of us who aren’t in the troop can still be an example of service to others.”
Missy Wardwell feels that her work at Conner Prairie changed her attitude towards service. She used to feel it was a duty, “but I found this was fun because I chose to come. It was great to work on something important.”
People notice the unity between youth and adults in the Noblesville Ward. Jennifer Rasmussen attributes it to what happens when teachers and leaders labor alongside the youth. “Before,” Jennifer says, “you only saw them on Sunday. But working together is a bonding experience.”
Jennifer also points out the benefits for new or quiet kids in the ward. “These youth get to know people and become comfortable working together, whereas otherwise they might have taken years to open up. They get invited to stay and join us in other activities.”
Missy points out another benefit. “In the summer, sometimes school friends call and invite me to a party. I know what kind of party it will be. It’s security for me to have another place to go that is good and fun and social.”
The LDS youth finish and settle down on the hill with cool drinks and snacks. With their service comes a bonus—they can stay and hear the symphony concert for free. As the sun lingers near the edge of the concert shell, thousands of concertgoers arrive. Sometimes 10,000 people throng the grounds on a symphony night. After the sun goes down, the scattered lights of hundreds of tiny citronella candles flicker like caged fireflies.
“I never thought the kids would stay for the program,” says Rich Armstrong of the Scout committee. “I could see youth using lots of outdoor energy, but I didn’t expect them to be interested in symphony music.”
“I had never heard a symphony orchestra before,” says Brennan Wood. “But the more you hear symphony music, the more you understand it.”
Trent Wardwell agrees. “This has given me a better appreciation for what goes into producing symphony music. Hours before the concert, while we are putting up chairs and tables, the symphony workers have to set up their sound system and prepare the stage, just for a short, two-hour show.”
The concert is finished. A few fireworks light the sky over the orchestra shell, and the LDS youth scramble up from their places. Swarming down the hill, they start folding chairs, clearing tables, and carrying them back to storage. Now that it is cooler, demonstrations of strength take place. Austin Armstrong carries eight chairs at once. Brennan staggers under 13. Jamie Ketring and Jennifer tote one table between them, but Jon Foote hoists one above his head and carries it alone.
The final tarpaulin is tugged up and over a mountain of chairs. It is time to go home.
The thoughts of all the youth are echoed by Emily Runyan. “My main memory of summers is our work at Conner Prairie.”

My wife, Elizabeth, and I know the power of such feelings firsthand. Nearly 40 years ago, a good friend and colleague, a member of the Church, started bringing up the gospel with us in casual conversation. On several occasions, he sent the missionaries to visit us. We liked the missionaries and agreed to take the discussions, but we were not truly interested in what they had to teach.
That changed in October 1978, when my colleague invited several friends, including us, to the São Paulo Brazil Temple open house. He rented several buses at his own expense so that his friends could join him at the temple, about 50 miles (80 km) away.
When Elizabeth entered the baptistry, she felt something she had never experienced before, something she later recognized as the Holy Ghost. The feeling was a great joy in her heart. She knew in that moment that the Church was true and that it was the Church she wanted to join.
A similar feeling came to me at the end of the open house, when we were escorted to the sealing room and taught the doctrine of eternal families. That doctrine touched me. I was successful in my profession, but I had long felt an emptiness in my soul. I did not know what could fill that void, but I sensed that it had something to do with family. There, in the sealing room, things started to fall into place in my mind and heart.
Within a few days, missionaries contacted us again. This time we were very interested in hearing their message.
The elders encouraged us to pray fervently about the truth. I decided this was the only way I could pray. I knew that I couldn’t make a commitment to join the Church without having a real testimony. I was anxious about approaching Heavenly Father to ask for a confirmation from Him, but at the same time, I was sure He would answer me. I shared with Him the deep desires of my heart and asked Him to give me an answer that would assure me that joining the Church was the correct path.
The following week in Sunday School, our friend who had invited us to the temple open house was sitting behind me. He leaned forward and began talking to me. The words he said answered exactly what I had prayed to know. I had no doubt that Heavenly Father was speaking to me through him. At the time, I was a stern, hardened man, but my heart melted and I began to weep. When my friend had finished, he invited my wife and me to be baptized. We accepted.
On October 31, 1978, less than a month after our experience at the São Paulo Temple, we were baptized and confirmed. The next day we participated in the second dedicatory session of the São Paulo Brazil Temple. A year later we returned to the temple with our two sons to be sealed as a family. All three occasions were beautiful, memorable experiences. We have continued to perpetuate those feelings with regular temple worship over the years.

Let me tell you a story—a parable.
There once was a man who wanted something very much. It seemed more important than anything else in his life. In order for him to have his desire, he incurred [took on] a great debt.
He had been warned about going into that much debt and particularly about his creditor, the one who lent the money. But it seemed so important for him to have what he wanted right now. He was sure he could pay for it later.
So he signed a contract. He would pay it off some time along the way. He didn’t worry too much about it, for the due date seemed such a long time away. He had what he wanted now, and that was what seemed important.
The creditor was always somewhere in the back of his mind, and he made token [small] payments now and again, thinking somehow that the day of reckoning [the day he had to repay all the money] would never really come.
But as it always does, the day came and the contract fell due. The debt had not been fully paid. His creditor appeared and demanded payment in full.
Only then did he realize that his creditor had not only the power to repossess [take away] all that he owned but also the power to cast him into prison as well.
“I cannot pay you, for I have not the power to do so,” he confessed.
“Then,” said the creditor, “we will take your possessions, and you shall go to prison. You agreed to that. It was your choice. You signed the contract, and now it must be enforced.”
“Can you not extend the time or forgive the debt?” the debtor begged. “Arrange some way for me to keep what I have and not go to prison. Surely you believe in mercy? Will you not show mercy?”
The creditor replied, “Mercy is always so one-sided. It would serve only you. If I show mercy to you, it will leave me unpaid. It is justice I demand. Do you believe in justice?”
“I believed in justice when I signed the contract,” the debtor said. “It was on my side then, for I thought it would protect me. I did not need mercy then nor think I should need it ever.”
“It is justice that demands that you pay the contract or suffer the penalty,” the creditor replied. “That is the law. You have agreed to it, and that is the way it must be. Mercy cannot rob justice.”
There they were: One meting out justice, the other pleading for mercy. Neither could prevail [win] except at the expense of the other.
“If you do not forgive the debt, there will be no mercy,” the debtor pleaded.
“If I do, there will be no justice,” was the reply.
Both laws, it seemed, could not be served. They are two eternal ideals that appear to contradict one another. Is there no way for justice to be fully served and mercy also?
There is a way! The law of justice can be fully satisfied and mercy can be fully extended—but it takes someone else. And so it happened this time.
The debtor had a friend. He came to help. He knew the debtor well. He thought him foolish to have gotten himself into such a predicament. Nevertheless, he wanted to help because he loved him. He stepped between them, faced the creditor, and made this offer: “I will pay the debt if you will free the debtor from his contract so that he may keep his possessions and not go to prison.”
As the creditor was pondering the offer, the mediator added, “You demanded justice. Though he cannot pay you, I will do so. You will have been justly dealt with and can ask no more. It would not be just.”
And so the creditor agreed.
The mediator turned then to the debtor. “If I pay your debt, will you accept me as your creditor?”
“Oh yes, yes,” cried the debtor. “You save me from prison and show mercy to me.”
“Then,” said the benefactor [one who helps], “you will pay the debt to me, and I will set the terms. It will not be easy, but it will be possible. I will provide a way. You need not go to prison.”
And so it was that the creditor was paid in full. He had been justly dealt with. No contract had been broken. The debtor, in turn, had been extended mercy. Both laws stood fulfilled. Because there was a mediator, justice had claimed its full share and mercy was fully satisfied.