Gospel Story Finder

When I was away from home attending the university, I received a letter on Mother’s Day from my own mother recounting this tender experience:
“This Mother’s Day is extra special because I am thinking now that I have been ‘Mother’ to you for 21 years, and what a privilege it has been. We felt you were special to us. We named you Mary. We wanted you to remain pure and kind, as the name implies.
“Your aunt with the same name loved you very, very much and made you a beautiful, tiny dress to be blessed in, [sewn] mostly by hand, so that you could have a name in the very first sacrament meeting after you were brought home—still so very tiny.”
As I read this letter, I realized my mother’s greatest hope was that I remain pure and virtuous. Virtue “is a pattern of thought and behavior based on high moral standards” (Preach My Gospel [2004], 118). My mother knew that life would be difficult and that to remain virtuous would be a lifelong challenge. She wanted me to have the blessings of the gospel to guide me and help me meet that challenge.

The only construction project Kalene Rice, 14, had ever been involved with was when she helped her father build a birdhouse. Cassie Rudy, 17, also couldn’t remember even holding a hammer. “I might have used one once to hammer a nail in the wall to hang a picture, but I’m not sure,” she says.
If Cassie wasn’t sure then, she is now. She joined Kalene and about 180 other young people from the Frederick Maryland Stake in Chestertown, Maryland, to build two houses in two days. Cassie has the callouses on her hands to prove it.
When John Lewis, the Frederick Stake Young Men’s second counselor, was thinking about what his stake should do for its 1993 youth conference, this thought hit him: Let’s build some houses. Let’s show the youth what their limits are and prove to them that they can accomplish more than they believed possible. He was enthusiastic. He pitched the ideas to other stake leaders. They were enthusiastic. He contacted the Chester Valley Habitat for Humanity, a Christian housing ministry that helps provide decent housing for low-income families in the northern part of the state. They were excited to get the LDS youth involved. Now all Brother Lewis had to do was convince the kids—all 180 of them—that building two houses is what they should do for youth conference.
“When I found out we were going to build a house for youth conference, I was, like, ‘There’s no way. Not in two days,’” said 16-year-old Lindsay Meyers.
Yes way.
Last July, the Frederick youth arrived at the two job sites—located about a block apart from each other—and found the foundation poured for each home. That was it. The materials—the nails, shingles, plywood, two-by-fours, siding, doors, windows, showers, and plumbing equipment had been delivered to each house. Installing it all was up to them.
The youth assigned to each house were separated into 15 different groups, with an adult build-team leader delegated to each team. Each house site also had a professional builder serving as foreman to oversee the project. Everyone was asked to bring a hammer and a pencil. And to control who was doing what, each team wore a different colored T-shirt. Everything was set. Then the weather decided it wasn’t going to cooperate.
For the first time in several decades, three consecutive days in Chestertown were over 100 degrees. Throw in some intense humidity (the 90–95 percent variety), and things heated up considerably.
Nicole Spencer, a Laurel in the Mt. Airy Ward, noticed the heat but didn’t mind it. “Being able to work and drive nails and stuff kind of makes you forget about how hot it is,” she said. “When I first heard what we were going to do, I was kind of excited we were actually going to build a house.”
Edward Rice, 17, and Samantha Gabriel, 15, both got their day started by holding pieces of wood together so it could be measured for door and window openings. Rick Orchard, 15, did his part by moving wood closer to the job site. “Yeah, I’ve been sweating. I also get the feeling that I know what I’m doing is right. I can feel the Spirit with me,” he said.
As for Lindsay, by the time the first day was complete, she was a believer. “I had a few doubts in my mind whether we could accomplish it. Not now,” she said. “Seeing what you’ve made, and accomplishing a goal and seeing a finished product makes it fun. I think the main reason it’s worth it is we’re helping somebody. I feel like this is totally worth my time. Being in the heat and sweating doesn’t matter.”
Working alongside the Frederick youth were several members of the two families who would move into the homes once they were completed. One girl, 16-year-old Chalita Rochester, was excited about the project and enjoyed working alongside the LDS youth. “I didn’t know any Mormons before this. To get kids to go out and build a house is great,” Chalita said. “They could be just sitting home watching TV, but they’re out here doing it. They are very active teenagers.”
With 90 kids on each job site and plenty of adults helping out, it’s amazing how fast a house can go up. One day it’s a barren lot with only a foundation in the middle of it. Twenty-four hours later a house is being built along with testimonies.
“I’m grateful for the opportunity to be here. Every time I come to a youth conference, a piece of my testimony grows. These last two days I have really gained a testimony of service,” said Brooke Sattley, a Laurel in the Damascus Ward.
“The fact that we’re all doing this for the service and not getting paid makes me feel good inside,” said Nicole. “And it means a lot more to me because we’re doing this for someone we have gotten to know.”
Nicole had no trouble keeping busy. One of her first jobs was to help install joists, the horizontal beams running from wall to wall to support the floor. Theron Virgin, a priest in the Monocacy Ward, helped work on the subfloor once the joists were in place. Dawn Rowzee, 16, took some two-by-fours and helped build the frame for the wall, while Jay Wahlquist, 16, helped nail in the support beams before the floor went in. With sweat pouring down his face, Jay sincerely said, “You can have fun doing this, and I have really enjoyed myself the last couple of days. I was able to start new friendships and strengthen others. But the greatest thing was the service that we did. And it isn’t the kind of service we sometimes do because we’re forced to do it. This has really strengthened my testimony.”
By Saturday night, it was time to clean up for a testimony meeting held at a nearby Methodist church. Both sites looked considerably different. Two houses were now standing, where 48 hours before all the youth could look at was a blueprint of what was hoped would be built there.
Everybody was grimy and extremely tired. But the youth of the Frederick Maryland Stake were smiling. They had provided in volunteer labor the equivalent of one man working full time for 18 months. They did that in two days. They built 75 percent of two houses. The remaining 25 percent was completed by other Habitat for Humanity volunteers. Those volunteers included many of the LDS youth, who made the two-hour drive back to Chestertown a few days later so they could help finish what they had started.
“This whole project depended on our attitude,” said Cassie. “We could have sat here the whole time and not worked. But that wouldn’t have been any fun. It’s a really good feeling to know we can do things like this.” Adds 14-year-old April Hough, “This has taken more time and more work, but it has been so useful because we’re helping someone who is less fortunate.”
Maybe Jay said it best. “Ignorance is sometimes good because when you don’t know how hard it is to do something, you don’t think of it as being hard when you do it. Heavenly Father has given me a chance to see things in a wonderful way and to live in a church that gives us so much.”
This youth conference was a chance for these young Latter-day Saints to give something back. The two houses in Chestertown, Maryland, will always stand as testaments to that.
When Brooke Sattley heard her stake was going to build two houses in two days, she decided to do something more. “I heard about the youth conference at the same time I was looking for a Laurel project,” says Brooke.
One thought led to another, and before long Brooke had a project. If the people needed a house, she concluded, they might need some things to go inside it too.
“I went to the youth conference’s main coordinator and he gave me a list of things the families needed—mostly small stuff,” she says. “He also told me the people needed a washer and dryer, but not to worry about the big things.”
Well, she did worry. And before long, members of the Frederick Maryland Stake were notifying her they had a washer and dryer, a microwave, a dresser, a box spring and mattress, as well as smaller kitchen appliances and silverware they were willing to donate.
Initially, Brooke printed a list of items she needed to get the project rolling. She then included the list with a letter she wrote to each bishop in her stake explaining the project. The bishops read Brooke’s letter to their congregations, and before long, people were calling her to find out where they could drop off their stuff.
“I had no idea so many people would get involved. I think it’s so wonderful how the Saints of the Church can just pull together and totally give their all,” she says.
“It has been frustrating at times,” she adds, “but I’ve been so glad I could put forth my entire effort to help these families out. Nothing beats the feeling you get inside.”

La Verkin, Utah—One night when I was sixteen years old, Father gave a Christmas party for his own children and their families and the nearest neighbors. We danced. My brothers were the musicians. We knew it was Father’s aim to end the party at ten o’clock, which he did right in the middle of a square-dance by ordering the musicians to stop. But Father didn’t know that my brothers had lifted me up to the clock many times that night. Each time I turned it back thirty minutes. It must have been past midnight when the party broke up.
“Julia’s Christmas,” from the Christian Olsen family record, Our Pioneer Heritage, 14 (1971): 199

Brisbine Italian Chili
What do you do when there are chili beans and tomato sauce in the cupboard but no chili powder? The only spice in sight was Italian spice when Elder Ted Brisbine from Wenatchee, Washington, was making chili one night in Houlton, Maine. The answer was (you guessed it) Italian chili. He liked it so much that he made it that way from then on. People from New Mexico and Texas get upset when they hear this recipe, but don’t let that stop you from trying it.

A story is told of a woman who was upset that her son was eating too much candy. No matter how much she told him to stop, he continued to satisfy his sweet tooth. Totally frustrated, she decided to take her son to see a wise man whom he respected.
She approached him and said, “Sir, my son eats too much candy. Would you please tell him to stop eating it?”
He listened carefully then said to her son, “Go home and come back in two weeks.”
She took her son and went home, perplexed why he had not asked the boy to stop eating so much candy.
Two weeks later they returned. The wise man looked directly at the boy and said, “Boy, you should stop eating so much candy. It is not good for your health.”
The boy nodded and promised he would.
The boy’s mother asked, “Why didn’t you tell him that two weeks ago?”
The wise man smiled. “Two weeks ago I was still eating too much candy myself.”

When I was a boy, I looked forward to passing the sacrament to the ward members. We deacons were trained as to our duties. One of the men in our ward, Louis, suffered from palsy. His head and hands shook so violently that he could not, by himself, partake of the sacrament. Each deacon knew that his duty in serving Louis was to hold the bread to his lips so that he might partake and to similarly place the cup of water to his mouth with one hand, while steadying his head with the other, the tray being held by another deacon while doing so. Always Louis would say, “Thank you.”

Penny Edwards was in the ninth grade when she realized that someday she wanted to work in the business world. The process was simple enough: she took some business classes. Since she was also interested in the law, but didn’t want to become a lawyer, it occurred to her sometime in high school that perhaps legal secretary would be the ideal occupation. And that meant getting some higher education.
Penny’s high school grades were good (mostly A’s and B’s), but she never looked into scholarship possibilities, and she really didn’t save any money for college. So, after graduation, Penny went to work.
It’s easy to just keep working, especially when you have car payments to make, and it took a few years before Penny realized she wasn’t getting any closer to what she really wanted. If you have to work for a year to earn enough money, that’s one thing. “But,” she says, “I waited too long. If you know what you want to do, just do it. Start. Jump in. No one’s going to do it for you.”
So Penny took the leap and enrolled in LDS Business College. There, she began to learn the essentials of being a legal secretary. Yet she knew from experience that there’s more to a job than the technical skills you get in school. For example, one of the things Penny did after high school was to set up a successful business doing artificial nails for women. “It was boring,” she says. “You sit and you are a psychiatrist to all of these women.” She had learned that the working atmosphere and the personality requirements are just as much a part of the job as the technical skills.
That’s why Penny jumped at the chance to get a good, close look at her chosen career before graduation. LDS Business College’s “co-op” program placed her in a paying part-time job with a local real estate/law firm. There, Penny works in a real job setting. She meets regularly with her boss to set goals and objectives. Evaluations from her boss, the program coordinator, and her student adviser become the basis for her grade. Best of all, she knows first-hand that the job is something she will enjoy doing full-time.
“You can sit in class,” Penny continues, “and you can read the information in a book, and you can even give the right answers on tests. But there is no way to know how you are really going to feel in a work environment until it happens to you, day in and day out.”
Whether it’s in a co-op program like the one Penny’s in, or in an internship of some kind, Penny notes that “It’s very beneficial to work in an environment before you graduate to see if you really want it.”

Many years ago when at the age of 12 I was ordained a deacon, my father, who was president of our stake, took me to my first stake priesthood meeting. … He walked up to the stand, and I sat on the back row, feeling a little alone and uncomfortable in that hall filled with strong men who had been ordained to the priesthood of God. The meeting was called to order, the opening song was announced, and—as was then the custom—we all stood to sing. There were perhaps as many as 400 there. Together these men lifted their strong voices, … all singing these words with a great spirit of conviction and testimony:
Praise to the man who communed with Jehovah!
Jesus anointed that Prophet and Seer.
Blessed to open the last dispensation,
Kings shall extol him, and nations revere.
(“Praise to the Man,” Hymns, no. 27.)
They were singing of the Prophet Joseph Smith, and as they did so there came into my heart a great surge of love for and belief in the mighty Prophet of this dispensation. In my childhood I had been taught much of him in meetings and classes in our ward as well as in our home; but my experience in that stake priesthood meeting was different. I knew then, by the power of the Holy Ghost, that Joseph Smith was indeed a prophet of God.1

Tami liked to go to Primary. She liked learning about Jesus, she liked to sing, and she liked her teacher, Sister Brown.
Tami liked everything about Primary except for one thing. She couldn’t sit with Mom. Mom taught a different Primary class.
Mom, I want to sit with you.
You need to sit with your Primary class, and I need to sit with mine.
Tami walked to the chairs where her class was sitting. She was not happy.
Tami saw that Jamie was sitting all by herself. Jamie was new to Primary. She was crying.
Tami sat in the chair next to Jamie.
Don’t cry. It’s OK.
I want my mom.
I know, but Sister Brown is really nice. I’ll sit next to you so we can be together.
Thank you.
Tami saw Mom smiling at her. It felt good to help Jamie. She was glad she was sitting in her own seat.

When the 23-year-old Heber J. Grant was installed as president of the Tooele Stake, he told the Saints that he believed the gospel was true. President Joseph F. Smith, a counselor in the First Presidency, inquired, “Heber, you said you believe the gospel with all your heart, … but you did not bear your testimony that you know it is true. Don’t you know absolutely that this gospel is true?”
Heber answered, “I do not.” Joseph F. Smith then turned to John Taylor, the President of the Church, and said, “I am in favor of undoing this afternoon what we did this morning. I do not think any man should preside over a stake who has not a perfect and abiding knowledge of the divinity of this work.”
President Taylor replied, “Joseph, Joseph, Joseph, [Heber] knows it just as well as you do. The only thing that he does not know is that he does know it.”
Within a few weeks that testimony was realized, and young Heber J. Grant shed tears of gratitude for the perfect, abiding, and absolute testimony that came into his life.

Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH by Robert O’Brien; illustrated by Zena Bernstein. Atheneum, 1971. Mrs. Frisby’s husband died suddenly last summer, and in the spring she and her four children have to move to a summer residence or be plowed under by the farmer’s tractor.
Mrs. Frisby starts out to find help. She befriends a crow named Jeremy, visits a wise owl, and then goes to the rats of NIMH for help.
These intelligent rats have a highly developed underground colony; however, they have found life too easy for them and have made plans to become self-sufficient. How the rats and Mrs. Frisby help each other is an exciting science fiction story. This book won the 1972 Newbery Award for the most distinguished contribution to American literature for children.

“Blast that girl!” said Arnie to himself. “Blast me, too! And blast everything that has to do with that stupid art show.”
He glanced upward towards heaven. “Why?” he asked. “Why on the day before the biggest art show of my life does she have to come to my school? What did I do wrong? What did I do to deserve this?”
Not receiving any answer, Arnie looked down at the pad he held in his hand. The beginnings of a little boy playing in the sand were sketched lightly in blue. Oh, yes, the picture would be a good one, one of his best. It would make a nice finale to his entry in the contest. But it was nothing compared to Jana Lee Smithy’s paintings in oil!
Arnie grimaced. If only she had arrived two days later! Then the judging would have been over and the art student-of-the-year award would have been his. After that Miss Jana Lee could have been the best art student in the school; it wouldn’t have mattered. But no. There she was. And she was brilliant.
Arnie threw down his pencil and groaned audibly. He glanced around the small park where he drew many of his sketches and collected ideas. What a waste of a beautiful day! But how could he be content to turn in just four drawings? Jana Lee Smithy was going to show four completed oil paintings, each a vision of color and light. When her paintings were unveiled in the morning and the school compared hers to his slight “sketches,” Arnie knew how his classmates would react. “Well,” they would say, “Arnie’s not quite as good as he makes out to be, is he?” And people would nod in assent and then never stop talking about what a genius Jana Lee was.
Arnie looked at the small boy who was unknowingly modeling for his sketch. Hurriedly and quietly the boy was building himself a castle. Tiny hands moved quickly and knowingly through the granules of yellow dirt. Wary of sand too dry or sand too wet, the boy’s small fingers gathered piles of sand together and molded them into turrets and walls. Broken twigs served as posts and pillars and flags for the castle.
Arnie wasn’t sure what everything the boy made was, but it was certainly immense. When Arnie began his drawing, the little fellow had just begun the main building. Now stables, dogs’ houses, an armory, and finally a great wall had been formed. The child was amazing. Or, thought Arnie, he would be until something better came along. Then the castle would be merely a trifle, something to be forgotten—like Arnie would be after tomorrow.
Arnie frowned and looked at his drawing. Despite its unfinished quality, he felt tempted to just leave it as it was. Nothing could help him now. Numbers of drawings couldn’t change the quality of Jana Lee’s work. Finally, discipline got the better of him. He picked up the blue pencil and finished the final details of the picture.
After another 45 minutes the picture was finished. Arnie smiled at the little figure in the drawing. The contentment on the child’s face was contagious, and Arnie grinned. It was a futile effort, he knew, like the sand castle whose immortality would lie in the little boy’s heart rather than in the park. But, like the child, Arnie felt a glow at having done a good job. The glow wasn’t big enough to fill the emptiness he felt at being a failure, but it was nice nonetheless. He gathered up his pencils and put them in their case. Carefully, he stood and, with a nod to the little boy, headed for home.
By the time Arnie reached his street, the slight high that finishing the drawing had given him was gone. Even the coziness of the familiar, flower-lined path that led to his front door had no effect. There’s not much that can make a failure happy, he reflected. The sounds of family that echoed in the air didn’t help, either. In fact, the thought of seeing his hopeful mother, proud father, and admiring sister made him want to hide. They’d all had such high hopes for him. And now he was letting them down. Arnie stood on the doorstep for a second trying to decide whether or not to tell them that he’d seen the winning entries, halfway hidden behind Mr. Olsen’s desk, and they weren’t his. Arnie shook his head. He didn’t want their sympathy. He opened the door.
“I’m home,” he called.
Sheryll, his sister, bounded past him on her way to the kitchen. “You don’t say?” she laughed over her shoulder. “I never would have guessed.”
Arnie grimaced at her. Sisters. Freshmen. Two deadly ingredients when combined. He put his supplies down on the floor and headed for the stairs. His mother’s voice caught him two steps up.
“You’re not going to leave your things here in the hall, are you?” He turned around and looked into his mother’s warning brown eyes. Arnie grinned sheepishly.
“Me?”
She nodded. “My visiting teachers are coming over tonight.” Arnie looked knowingly at her. “Not,” she said, raising her voice as well as her eyebrows, “that that should make any difference.”
“Of course not, Mom,” Arnie replied. He gathered his things up and took them with him to his room. Carefully, he put the drawing on his desk and his kit on the floor. Shutting his door carefully behind him, he made his way to the bathroom where he washed his hands. As he did so, he tried to smile in the mirror. It didn’t do any good. His brown hair looked unruly, his eyes dim, and his face ruddy. What a depressing sight! If my eyes looked any redder … He shrugged off the thought. What had he to complain about? He wasn’t hoping to make a living with his face, just his hands.
“Which,” he said to the face in the mirror, “are proving to be betraying assets.” Arnie went down to dinner.
As the family took their places after the prayer, Arnie’s father looked over the mashed potatoes at his son.
“So, are you ready for tomorrow, Arnie?” he asked. Arnie choked on a pea.
When his coughing had subsided he replied, “About as ready as I’m going to get, Dad.”
“Then you should be plenty ready,” said his mother.
“What were you doing this afternoon?” asked Sheryll.
“I was drawing at the park.” Arnie looked down at his plate. “I thought one more piece might help me in the contest.”
“That smacks of overkill,” said his father.
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” said Arnie.
“Besides,” said Sheryll, “everybody in school knows how good he is. All my friends like his stuff. One more drawing will be …”
“One more drawing,” interrupted Arnie. “Enough. Isn’t there anything else to talk about?”
His mother looked at him with concern. “Are you feeling all right, Arnie?”
“Just nerves, dear,” said his father. But still, even as he spoke, Mr. Wells looked at his son with a searching look.
Arnie ducked his father’s gaze and stuck his fork into his mouth. Oops, he thought as his father’s look changed to one of amazement. I should have put something on the fork first.
“Arnie, if there’s anything …”
Frustrated, Arnie stood up. “May I be excused? I’m finished. And I’ve got to mount this last drawing.”
He could see by the surprised looks on the faces of his family that they were amazed by the sudden outburst. He continued, “I’ll be in my room.” Arnie backed out of the room and fled up the stairs.
“Well, at least they only doubted my sanity,” Arnie said to himself as he shut and locked the door behind him. “They don’t have to doubt my abilities until tomorrow.”
He looked forlornly at the drawing on his desk. “Ah, friend, if you only knew what humiliation you will face tomorrow, you wouldn’t smile so much.”
The little boy grinned at him happily. The scripture in 2 Nephi flashed into Arnie’s mind. “And men are, that they might have joy” (2 Ne. 2:25). Arnie frowned. Well, he thought, joy certainly hasn’t been my cellmate these last few hours! What’s there to be joyful about? Instead of a talent made out of silk, I get one made of a sow’s ear. And I’m supposed to be happy! He shrugged and set about making the results of his poor talent presentable.
When he finished, Arnie put his five entries on his bed and looked at them one at a time. Each of them was pleasant to look at. The laughter and light in them was enough to make any viewer smile. Each drawing represented a lot of effort. It was a pity that they would go to waste. Arnie shook his head and readied himself for bed.
After placing the five drawings and his books near the door, Arnie knelt to say his nightly prayer. “Heavenly Father,” he began. But his mind went numb. Arnie had always trusted his Father in Heaven, but this night he found it difficult to bare his soul. Before, he’d always known of his worth as a child of God. He’d never had any reason to doubt. But now, Arnie wasn’t everything that he thought he was. It was a little difficult to explain to Heavenly Father that things were different and that Arnie wasn’t quite the person he thought he had been.
Finally, after many minutes of silence, only one thing came to his mind. “I don’t understand,” he said softly, “why I am what I am. But I must be of some importance, despite my faults. Help me be happy.”
Arnie paused, then closed his prayer. He climbed slowly into bed, and after tossing and turning for a long while, drifted into sleep.
The next morning dawned much too early for Arnie’s likes. I’m not any happier, he thought, than I was last night. But he did feel a little more distanced from the despair than he had felt the night before. His drawings, as he looked at them one more time before leaving the house, didn’t look quite as inelegant as they had seemed. Still, they weren’t going to win any awards. Arnie still wasn’t quite good enough to be what was expected.
Despite Sheryll’s chatter in the car, Arnie maintained a stony silence on the way to school. Luckily, his lively sister was so excited about the competition, the weather, and her best friend’s new boyfriend, that it would have been impossible for him to have said anything had he wanted to. Finally, the ride was over. He said good-bye to his father and sister and escaped down the hall to the art department.
Voices could be heard behind the wood door as Arnie approached. He really didn’t want to see anybody just yet and was about to turn away when the door opened.
“Ah, Arnie,” said Mr. Olsen. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Arnie smiled weakly.
Mr. Olsen beamed at him. “I was just going to take Jana Lee down to where she’ll be hanging her paintings. But maybe you can show her.”
Great, thought Arnie, now I’m a glorified hall monitor.
Mr. Olsen continued. “Since you and Jana will be hanging your works next to each other, that should I make things easier for all of us. That’ll be all right, won’t it?”
Arnie nodded.
“Good.”
Arnie sighed and turned around. He heard the sound of Jana Lee’s feet behind him.
“Wait a second, Arnie,” she said as she reached his side. Arnie turned to give her one of his pained looks. But when he saw her he stopped.
Jana Lee smiled and adjusted the paintings which had started to slip. But that wasn’t what stopped him. It wasn’t the paintings either, though they were as magnificent as ever. It was something that he saw in her eye, something that he recognized. Her eyes were as red-rimmed as his own.
Why? he thought. What had she to worry about? When she was ready, they headed towards the library. Neither said another word, though Arnie saw her looking at him once as he glanced at her.
As Arnie thought about what he had seen and what it meant, something occurred to him that he had never thought of before. In the parable of the talents, different talents were given to the servants: five talents, two talents, and one talent. Arnie had always just assumed that some people were five-talent people and some people were two-talent people. But what he knew when the image of Jana Lee’s overworked eyes sank deep into his heart was that most people started out with both talents and potential for talents. Just because you didn’t have five talents the first day didn’t mean you couldn’t have them—if you worked. Didn’t the Lord say, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant” to the man who began with two talents? He had started with two and had come away with four. He had done good work.
Arnie was also a worker. Perhaps, today, Arnie had two talents. But, as he thought back, he’d only begun with one. Perhaps next time, at the next competition, Arnie would have a five-talent art like Jana Lee. She, as he saw in her eyes, had worked for hers. He, as he knew in his heart, could work for his. And with that revelation, being pleased with his own work, Arnie was, for the first time in a long time, content.
He and Jana Lee reached the wall where they would hang up their works. After he helped her with the paintings, Jana Lee helped him with his drawings. When they reached the last one, that of the boy in the sand, Jana Lee smiled.
“This one’s really good,” she said. “Who was the model? He’s got such a knowing look on his face.”
“I don’t know who he was,” replied Arnie. “But he was a smart kid. And he built a great sand castle.”

George T. Johannesen, Sr., of the Kalamazoo Ward, Lansing Michigan Stake, tells a story of his college classmate, Pete Cavallo, who wanted nothing more than to earn his letter, even though he was barely five feet tall and weighed scarcely more than a hundred pounds. Cavallo (the name means “horse”) decided to try cross-country running.
The first year, Pete finished the race, but only long after the stadium was empty. The next year he did a little better, and by the third year he had improved enough to finish while spectators were still left in the stands. By the fourth year, people were saying, “Sure do wish those little Cavallo legs could make it this year!” But nobody thought they would.
Still, there was an aura of expectancy. All eyes were on the hill leading to the stadium, hoping to see Pete Cavallo at the front of the pack of runners as they made the final dash to the stadium. Then one of those big, long-legged runners charged into view, and a sigh of disappointment went up. Fans started leaving.
But suddenly there was little Pete driving over the hill. The stadium became pandemonium, everyone shouting, “Come on Pete! Come on, Little Horse!” The winner was forgotten as if Pete had come in first. And perhaps in a way he did, because people still remember today his example of working to do the best he could.

The Mitchell family struggled much longer than the Bonds, but their son has conquered drugs and is leading a productive life as a husband, father, and faithful member of the Church. He began abusing drugs at age fourteen. As the years and his habit progressed, he eventually ruined his marriage, lost his home, and destroyed his business. Four years ago, after fifteen years of addiction, he entered a treatment program that was successful. Brother Mitchell thinks he and his wife might have helped stop their son’s abuse earlier if they had recognized the problem more quickly and dealt with it more firmly.
“We really didn’t want to believe our son was an addict. You know, you let yourself believe the things your child tells you that you want to hear. We paid his fines; we paid his legal expenses. We said, ‘Well, we’ll just help him out this one time.’ We did that for years.”
After their son entered the treatment program, the Mitchells learned the crucial concept that abusers stop abusing only when they are forced to experience the natural outcome of their behavior. “You have to help the person face the consequences of his addiction,” they say. “And the sooner you do it, the sooner he’s likely to change. He has to realize that the pleasure of using drugs isn’t worth the pain that follows.”

My new husband and I knew the importance of family home evening in helping families learn to love each other and grow together, but our children were grown and on their own. It was hard for us to hold a family night until we decided to invite my husband’s mother. At the time my mother-in-law was 74 years old and belonged to another church. She worked in a flower shop and scarcely ventured from her routine of going to work and then home.
At first she was a little hesitant to come because she knew nothing of our faith, but now she looks forward to Monday nights. We share dinners, laughter, and music and have become very close. We know that she does not want us to try to convert her, but she does allow us to share stories about our faith. One evening I read a talk from one of the Church leaders. We all felt the Spirit. We have had opportunities to show her the Ensign, and she looks at every page. We have taught her what temples are for, and she has watched Church videos. We do these things sparingly, as the Spirit guides us.
Before one of our family home evenings, I asked her to teach the lesson. She brought pictures of herself when she was young and of my husband when he was a baby. I heard stories of aunts, uncles, grandmas, and grandpas. The happiness in her eyes as she relived these experiences made my heart almost burst. I realized then that the commandment to have family home evening is divine instruction from our Father in Heaven.
Many doors have been opened for my mother-in-law to learn things pertaining to the gospel. I don’t know that she will become a member of the Church during her life on earth, but I do know that our family has been strengthened and our love increased.
Dani Jeanne Stevens, Logan Ward, Huntington West Virginia Stake

I think of my wife’s grandmother who, as a young married woman, went to Manti with her husband, who was called to work on the temple when it was being constructed there. While so working, he suffered an injury which took his life. She lived a widow for more than sixty years, working and struggling, most of the time alone, to rear and educate her children. Her lot was hard, but her satisfaction was great and her accomplishment heroic.

Recently I interviewed an exceptionally stalwart priesthood holder for a temple recommend. I asked him if he sustained his bishop, his stake president, and the president of the Church. Of course his reply to each question was sincere, humble, and strongly affirmative. Then I asked him if he sustained his wife in her calling. He paused to think about it for a minute before answering that he did.
Then he added, “President, this has been very hard for me. In the past I was the one who held important, executive positions in the Church, but now our roles are reversed. My wife is an auxiliary president; the phone calls are all for her, she goes to the leadership meetings, she is in the forefront of action. I’m the one now who stays home to take care of the children often while she’s doing Church work. I’m doing my best to support her, but this is a new experience.”
We counseled together about the eternal importance of husbands and wives working together as a team, sustaining and supporting each other in all aspects of their lives, and then concluded the interview.

May I offer counsel of a general nature, first with comments about General Authorities. We recognize them as instruments in the hand of the Lord, yet realize that they are ordinary human beings. They require haircuts, laundry services, and occasional reminders just like anyone else. President Benson once shared with us a story to illustrate. He said:
“Orson F. Whitney … was a great man to concentrate. One day when he was traveling by train, he was so preoccupied that he did not notice the train pass the station where he was to get off. So he had to [be driven] back to where he should have been. Meanwhile the stake president waited and waited. … Finally when he decided that something had more than likely happened to Brother Whitney and he was not going to make it, they commenced the meeting. As Elder Whitney approached, he was greeted by the opening hymn, which was ‘Ye Simple Souls Who Stray.’”
We honor such a man because of his extraordinary calling. His official acts are valid on earth and in heaven. Well do I remember the first time I met one of the General Authorities. It was a feeling beyond description. Though I was but a boy, immediately—almost instinctively—I rose to my feet. Even now I feel that same way when one of the Brethren enters the room. A General Authority is an oracle of God.

Illustration by David Habben
I learned about the power and blessings of the priesthood at an unfortunate time. A few years ago, when my little brother was 14, he wrecked on his motorcycle and snapped his leg in half. My dad called and told me they were taking him to the hospital. I had a sick feeling in my stomach as I rushed to the hospital. When I got there, I saw one of my uncles. He told me how bad the accident was.
Fearing what I would see, I opened the door where my brother was and stepped into the room. I took one step, closed my eyes, and was instantly at peace. Just as I will never forget the sick feeling I had, I will never forget the feeling of peace and comfort that came over me. I recognized the feeling—it was the Spirit.
I then heard my father speaking. He and my uncle were giving my brother a priesthood blessing. He humbly blessed his son in the name of Jesus Christ to be OK, to heal, to have his leg work properly again.
After the blessing, everyone was quiet for a while. I knew at that moment that I had to live worthy to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood and be able to perform blessings for my future children.
When we gathered in the hall outside my brother’s room, my parents started to discuss what they should do. They debated whether to leave Mexico to take him to a doctor in the United States or to have the surgery performed here. Whatever option they felt was best for my brother, I knew he had already received the best attention he could receive. He had received a blessing by two men holding the priesthood, so no matter what my parents decided, my brother was going to be fine.
They decided to stay in Mexico for the operation. Doctors put a plate and 10 screws into my brother’s leg. It healed well, and a few months later he joined a soccer team. The blessing was fulfilled just as my dad had said.
I know the priesthood is the power and authority of God given to men. What a great gift He has given us.

I was raised by atheist parents and as a young man felt that my life was fine without God. That changed in 1989, however, when my large intestine ruptured, and I lay in a coma for eight days.
I have few memories from my time in the hospital, but I strongly remember envisioning a man in white standing next to me after my operation and telling me it was time to “return and wake up.” When I resisted, he added, “My brother, you are dead. You either go back, or you stay here.” I did as he said and woke up full of pain.
After leaving the hospital, I had strange dreams that included people I had never met. I had the feeling that I had promised to do something, but I didn’t know what it was. I set about searching and reading about different religions. As I read the New Testament, I realized that if the truth was on the earth, it would be found in Jesus Christ.
I searched from 1989 to 1994. I felt lost and confused as I searched for the people I kept seeing in my dreams. My struggle and confusion became great, and I found myself praying desperately for answers.
Shortly after these prayers, I met a new co-worker. She learned that I was struggling, and I told her that I was searching for the truth. She brought me a Book of Mormon, which I adamantly refused to accept. But she persuaded me to take it, and I read it all in one night. I immediately knew that I had found what I had been looking for.
When I met with the missionaries, I was astonished to see that one of them was someone I had seen in my dreams. I soon asked to be baptized, but I had to take all the lessons first.
As I studied the gospel and attended church, I found all of the people from my dreams. I knew that the gospel was what I had needed to find. The day of my baptism was one of the happiest days of my life. Six months later, I was called as the branch president. Now, nearly 20 years later, I’m still happily serving in the Church. Along with my family, the gospel is my most precious possession.