Gospel Story Finder

Betsy walked into her mom’s room, holding a pair of scissors, a book, and a box of jumbo crayons. “Will you help me cut out and color my paper dolls?” she asked.
“Maybe later honey,” answered Mom. “I still have housework to do before our company comes.”
Betsy walked back to her room and flopped down on her bed. If only Mom weren’t so busy, she thought, we could spend some time together. Looking up, she noticed something on the cluttered bulletin board nailed to her wall. A pink paper hand dangled from a thumbtack. Betsy read the words printed across the hand: “I’ll be a helping hand.” Sister Summers had helped Betsy and her classmates each make one in Primary.
Betsy had a great idea! She quickly straightened her room, then tiptoed to the bathroom and cleaned off the countertop. Next she crept into her brother’s room, made his bed, and put away his toys. Then she slipped into the laundry room, pulled the towels from the dryer, folded them neatly, and placed them on top of the washer. She heard Mom’s footsteps as she sneaked back to her room to wait.
Betsy grinned when her mom’s happy face appeared in the doorway. “You’ve been quietly busy, haven’t you?” asked Mom as she hugged Betsy.
“I thought if I helped you with your work, you would have more time to spend with me,” said Betsy.
“You were right,” said Mom. “My fingers are ready for cutting and coloring.”
As Betsy snuggled close to her mom, she was glad she had helped her—not just so Mom could spend more time with her, but because she had a wonderfully warm feeling inside!

I shall always be grateful that almost sixty-five years ago the good bishop of our ward came to me and asked me to be Scoutmaster of twenty-four boys in the Whitney Ward. We all received our handbooks at the same time. This was a great group of young men with a lot of musical talent.
In those days we had in the Mutual various cultural activities which were competitive. Among them were boys’ choruses. Each ward was expected to have a chorus, and ofttimes the bishop would invite the Scoutmaster to take the responsibility for getting the boys out to practice. So it was in our ward.
As is often the case when a man is asked to do a job, I sought out the help of a good faithful woman who could play the piano and knew some musical technique. Under her direction we started our practices. The song to be sung in the competition was assigned by the general board and was the same throughout the Church—“The Morning Breaks; the Shadows Flee,” by Parley P. Pratt (Hymns, no. 269).
For weeks before and after Scout meetings we prepared. Finally the time came when we would meet in competition with the ten other wards of the Franklin Stake. We were successful in winning in the stake, and then we were to meet the winners of the six other stakes in Cache Valley in the tabernacle in Logan.
I shall never forget approaching that great tabernacle that evening. We went inside and drew for places. We drew last place, which only prolonged our anxiety.
Finally the time came that our group was to march up to the platform. As our accompanist played “The Stars and Stripes Forever,” those twenty-four boys went up the aisle single file and formed in a half moon on the stage while I crouched down between a couple of benches to try to give them some leadership. Then they sang as I’d never heard them sing, and of course you can imagine that I’d not be telling this story had we not won first place in Logan.
We went home literally walking on air. We were so happy that this little community of fifty families had won over the other stakes and wards of the valley.
In the first Scout meeting following our victory, those boys (never forgetting anything that is of value to them) reminded me that in a moment of anxiety I had promised them that if we won in Logan, I would take them all on a hike over the mountain thirty-five miles to Bear Lake Valley.
Since a promise made is a debt unpaid, we began planning our hike. During the meeting one little twelve-year-old raised his hand and said very formally, “Mr. Scoutmaster, I would like to make a motion.” That was a new thing in a Scout meeting—or at least it was for me—but I said, “All right, what is it?”
He said, “I’d like to make a motion that we all clip our hair off so we will not be bothered with combs and brushes on this trip.”
I noticed three or four of the older boys start to squirm in their seats. They had reached that very critical age in life when they were beginning to take notice of the girls, and they knew a clipped head would be no asset to them with the women.
I put the question and it carried, with these three or four older boys dissenting. Then it was agreed that if they did not submit willingly, there were other ways of enforcing the rules of the troop. So they submitted.
Then, true to form—never forgetting anything if it was to their advantage—one of the older Scouts said, “How about the Scoutmasters?” It was our turn to squirm.
The following Saturday at the county seat, two Scoutmasters took their places in the barber’s chair while the barber very gleefully went over each head with the clippers. As he neared the end of the job, he said, “You know, if you fellows would let me shave your heads, I would do the whole job for nothing.”
So after our session with the barber, we left on that great thirty-five-mile Scout trip to which I had made commitment as an inducement to get the boys out to practice their singing—twenty-four boys with heads clipped and two Scoutmasters with heads shaven.
It was a glorious three weeks together with those wonderful boys out in the hills and in the mountains and on the lake. I wish I could follow for you the life of each one of those boys from that time until the present. I am proud of them.

It is inspiring to learn how Parley Pratt came to know of the book about which he wrote the words of this hymn. In August of 1830, as a lay preacher, he was traveling from Ohio to eastern New York. At Newark, along the Erie Canal, he left the boat and walked 10 miles (16 km) into the country where he met a Baptist deacon by the name of Hamlin, who told him “of a book, a strange book, a VERY STRANGE BOOK! … This book, he said, purported to have been originally written on plates either of gold or brass, by a branch of the tribes of Israel; and to have been discovered and translated by a young man near Palmyra, in the State of New York, by the aid of visions, or the ministry of angels. I inquired of him how or where the book was to be obtained. He promised me the perusal of it, at his house the next day. … Next morning I called at his house, where, for the first time, my eyes beheld the ‘BOOK OF MORMON’—that book of books … which was the principal means, in the hands of God, of directing the entire course of my future life.

“I opened it with eagerness, and read its title page. I then read the testimony of several witnesses in relation to the manner of its being found and translated. After this I commenced its contents by course. I read all day; eating was a burden, I had no desire for food; sleep was a burden when the night came, for I preferred reading to sleep.

“As I read, the spirit of the Lord was upon me, and I knew and comprehended that the book was true, as plainly and manifestly as a man comprehends and knows that he exists.”

Parley Pratt was then 23 years of age. The reading of the Book of Mormon affected him so profoundly that he was soon baptized into the Church and became one of its most effective and powerful advocates.

One night as I lay sleepless, feeling discouraged and very much alone, I remembered a scripture in John where the Savior had promised his disciples that he would not leave them comfortless. I turned on the light, reached for my Bible, and opened it to chapter 14. At the end of verse 26 I paused, then reread that verse [John 14:26]: “But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things.”
Those words provided the first ray of hope I had felt in months. My husband, Glenn, was suffering from a condition called Alzheimer’s disease, for which there is no known cure. Alzheimer’s disease affects the central nervous system which, over a period of months or years, decreases one’s mental and physical abilities.
Glenn was a fine and righteous man before he became ill. We had looked forward to many happy years of church service together and the opportunity of serving a mission. But as his condition worsened, Glenn was forced to quit all activities that required him to think. He gave up his church callings, he quit reading, quit doing the things he liked to do, and even quit watching television. Eventually he even began to get lost when he was out walking and could no longer go anywhere alone.
Unable to keep himself busy, Glenn became restless and continually depended on me to do something with him or take him somewhere. I spent all my time with him.
The problems of caring for my husband increased steadily. Alzheimer patients often become difficult to take care of. Glenn began to refuse my help. It became impossible to reason with him, because by then he had lost the ability to talk and understand language. Our days became long struggles of getting through washing, dressing, shaving. My feelings were divided between impatience—even anger—and deep compassion for my helpless husband. In spite of all the problems, I wanted to care for him myself. But I needed to learn how to care for him, and I knew I needed more help that I could get from any other earthly source. I did not know how to help him until I read that passage of scripture in John.
I had never thought of the Holy Ghost as a teacher. I had prayed continually for the strength to care for Glenn, but up until then I had relied on my own wisdom. Now a scripture showed me the way to go beyond my finite capabilities. My heart went out to others in similar circumstances who must provide constant care for the sick or the elderly. I hoped that they could come to know of the divine help available to them if they would just reach out.
Since that sleepless night when I was guided to read the Savior’s loving words, I have turned to the Lord for help, and the Holy Ghost has been like a living presence by my side, comforting and teaching me how to care for my husband. Although Glenn behaves mentally and physically like an infant now, I am at peace. My heart is not troubled by the present, nor am I afraid of the future. I know the Holy Ghost will comfort and guide me. My life has meaning. I am serving the Lord by caring for one of his helpless children.

Then, several years later, after I had moved from home, I faced a serious crisis that left me with deep emotional and spiritual pain. Without the necessary faith in Christ to guide me, I felt lost and alone. I had stopped praying sometime earlier and had just recently decided that I would no longer go to church.
Just at that point in my life, my home teachers, Dan and Terry, came by. I was a little embarrassed because I hadn’t been to church that day and had no good excuse for my absence. The Spirit told them that something was seriously wrong, so they persisted in presenting a lesson that seemed to be especially for me. They visited with me for a while, and when it was time for them to go, they offered a powerful prayer. The Spirit lingered after them for a short time, and I felt more hopeful than I had in a long time.
I wanted that Spirit to remain. I gathered up the remnants of my faith and offered a prayer. Because I hadn’t been praying for a while, I had no real hope or expectation of an answer. But as I knelt and prayed, a black cloud lifted, and I felt an overpowering warmth come into my heart. Complete love and understanding filled the room. I was surprised at the depth and strength of the Savior’s love—how well he knew me!
There was no room for misunderstanding or doubt as he lovingly empathized with my challenges. All of a sudden, words came into my mind, telling me where I could improve. And the Savior promised me all the help I would need. I learned that there is indeed a loving Heavenly Father and a Savior, Jesus Christ, and that they know each of us as individuals. I also learned that they will give us the help we need as we extend our faith in them. And I knew that, no matter what, we must always pray.
Although I still had problems to overcome, I knew the Savior was there, ready to help. I have never felt completely alone with my problems since. I can now say, along with the hymn, “I know that my Redeemer lives.” And I am grateful.

When I was a little girl, comic books were treasured items. When we went on a family vacation my mother allowed us each to buy a new comic book to take along. I always chose either an Archie and Veronica or an Uncle Scrooge. Although Uncle Scrooge (Donald Duck’s rich uncle) was the prototypical tightwad, I loved the frames that showed him diving into his coins. Does anyone here remember the artist’s rendition?

At least once—and usually on the last page, he would go into a room that was essentially an indoor swimming pool, but instead of water, the pool was filled with his money. With an expression of absolute delight and happiness Uncle Scrooge would bounce on the end of the diving board and then dive into the money, swimming around in it—loving the absolute abundance of it all! That’s the way I feel about my blessings. There are so many we all revel in. Abundance with a capital “A.” Remember that in God’s world there is enough and more for everyone. Ultimately we can each inherit all that the Father has. Interesting math, isn’t it? That we each get everything that He has.

An unusually warm March sun felt good on ten-year-old Jamie’s back as he sat astride the board fence and watched a large herd of sheep moving up the dirt road toward him. Men on horseback rode on each side of the herd and behind it. Dogs circled silently around the sheep, their bushy tails waving happily. The sheep bleated and pushed against each other, bells clanking merrily on some of their necks. Jamie loved seeing them come by and watched their approach eagerly. Two of the riders waved to him as they rode by, nudging the animals. Some of the sheep came so close to the fence that Jamie could almost touch their woolly backs with his shoe.
After the herd had moved far up the road, almost out of sight, Jamie jumped down from the fence. But he could still hear a soft bleating from somewhere close-by. As he walked slowly up the road, the sounds seemed nearer. Suddenly in the dry ditch by the roadside, he spotted the gray white wool of an old sheep. He ran quickly and slid down the bank into the ditch. The ewe lifted her head, and patient yellow eyes looked into his.
“What are you doing here, sheep?” he asked. The ewe bleated again and tried to get to her feet. Jamie saw that one back leg was twisted and dangling. “You poor thing! I’ll go get Grandpa.” Jamie scrambled out of the ditch and ran down the road and through the gate. His grandfather was coming around the side of the house and almost collided with him.
“Grandpa!” Jamie shouted. “There’s a sheep in the ditch, and its leg’s hurt. Come see!”
Grandpa followed Jamie silently to the ditch and looked down at the sheep. “Whose herd was it that just came by?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Jamie answered. “Some riders waved to me, but I didn’t recognize any of them.”
“Probably from over in Lansdale, bringing their sheep down for shearing.” Grandpa stooped down, put one arm around the ewe’s chest and the other around her hips, and picked her up. The animal bleated with pain and fright as he staggered up the ditch bank with her. Jamie followed his grandfather through the gate and around to the sheds where their own sheep were brought for lambing and shearing.
Grandpa lowered the ewe gently onto the straw and examined her leg. “Go ask Grandma for part of an old sheet,” he directed.
When Jamie returned with the sheet, Grandpa had straightened the ewe’s leg. He tore the sheet into strips and made a splint on the leg with a small flat stick.
“Can we keep her?” Jamie asked.
“She doesn’t belong to us,” Grandpa answered.
“The man riding on that side must have seen her in the ditch,” Jamie argued.
“Maybe and maybe not. And even if he did, she still doesn’t belong to us.” Grandpa tied the strips firmly and stood the ewe up. He looked into its mouth at her ragged yellow teeth. “This is a very old sheep, Jamie. Could be they didn’t want her. Not good for much any longer and hurt to boot.” Grandpa felt the sheep’s stomach carefully. “But she’s going to lamb any day now. That’s worth something.”
“Grandpa, could the lamb be mine since I found its mother?” Jamie asked eagerly.
“Jamie, this is not our sheep.” He looked at Jamie’s sad brown eyes. “We’ll put her in the pasture with the others. If her leg heals and if she lambs and if no one comes for her, you can have the lamb.” Jamie looked up hopefully. “We’ll have to ask around, though, and see if we can find the owner,” Grandpa concluded. Jamie smiled at his grandfather and knelt to pet the old woolly sheep.
The ewe lambed two weeks later. Grandpa had awakened Jamie before the sun was up and had taken him out to the lambing shed. The tiny white lamb stood in the dim light, wet and wobbly, bleating very softly, almost mewing. Jamie loved it instantly and named him Joshua after a white cat he once had.
Every day after school Jamie jumped off the bus and hurried to the pasture to find the lamb, to pet him, and to pick tender young weeds and grass for Joshua to nibble from his hand.
It was a very warm day in the middle of April when Jamie found Joshua and the old ewe missing from the pasture. He ran into the house where his grandmother was kneading bread in the sunny kitchen.
“Where are they?” he demanded.
Grandma glanced at Jamie, then punched the bread and smacked it onto the floured table. “Mr. Goodman came and got them.”
Jamie was stunned. “Mr. Goodman! Why? When?”
“He drove up with his wagon, loaded them in, and was driving away when I went out and asked what he was doing. He said the ewe was lost from his cousin’s herd when they came through here. His cousin said he could have it, so he was taking it. Then he just climbed onto the wagon and left. I didn’t know what to say.” Grandma rolled the dough and smacked it angrily onto the table again.
“Where was Grandpa?” Jamie asked.
“Over to Dayton getting feed. But he’s out in the granary now.”
Jamie ran out the back door and found his grandfather unloading sacks of grain from the wagon. He lowered a sack to the ground and looked at Jamie. “It wasn’t our ewe, Jamie,” he said, before the boy even spoke to him.
“It wasn’t Mr. Goodman’s either!” Jamie’s heart was pounding, and his stomach felt cold.
“It was given to him by the rightful owner, son, so it is really his,” Grandpa said, dragging the sack into the granary.
Jamie followed. “It’s not right!” he shouted, feeling tears starting up behind his eyes. “That was my lamb. You said I could have it.”
“I said you could have it if no one came for it. Someone came.”
“It’s been a month!” Jamie pursued. “When it was just a wounded old ewe, no one cared about it. Those men knew they’d left it in the ditch, and they told Mr. Goodman. But he didn’t want it then. Now when she’s well and has a nice little lamb, he comes for her. It’s not right, Grandpa, and you know it.” Tears were stinging Jamie’s eyes, and his cheeks burned.
Grandpa settled the sack of grain with the others and turned to Jamie. “Well, Jamie, if you really think that’s your lamb, why don’t you go tell Mr. Goodman.”
Jamie’s tears stopped abruptly, and his stomach lurched with fear at the very thought. Mr. Goodman was the watermaster and also the richest man in the county. He rode the ditches on a big gray horse, a forbidding figure with a shovel and a shotgun sticking up behind him. Jamie believed that the big man would shoot anyone who took more than his rightful share of water. He had thick black hair, a black mustache, and fierce, dark eyes. None of the kids took apples from his orchards, no matter how red and tempting they looked from the road. Jamie could not imagine arguing with the watermaster. “Why don’t you talk to him, Grandpa?” he suggested hopefully.
“Because, Jamie, I never considered that ewe to be mine. I don’t figure I have any claim on her or her lamb. If you’re of a different mind, then you talk to him. He’s a fair man.”
Jamie thought about it for three days. He thought of little else. In school he sat in a daze, making up conversations with Mr. Goodman, thinking of good arguments. At night he lay awake picturing himself facing the tall, stern man, the man who took what he wanted without asking or apologizing. Sometimes he saw himself angry and indignant, sometimes mild and reasonable. The more he thought about it, though, the more wrong it seemed to him. He longed for Joshua, for the feel of his soft wool and the sight of him bouncing around the pasture. By the middle of the week Jamie knew for certain that he would have no peace within himself until he talked to Mr. Goodman.
Thursday night as he lay in his bed, a plan began to form in his mind. He thought about what Grandpa had said—that Mr. Goodman was a fair man. He tried to think what might seem right to Mr. Goodman about the lamb. When Jamie awoke the next morning he knew what he would do. All day at school he pondered the idea. When he got off the bus that afternoon he went straight to his grandfather, who was cleaning out the lambing sheds.
“Grandpa, would you excuse me from my chores this afternoon?” he asked.
“Why?” Grandpa questioned.
“I’m going to see Mr. Goodman.”
“Thought you might. But why just at choring time?”
“I want to catch him at his chores so I don’t have to knock on his door and maybe go into his house or something.”
Grandpa looked at him and nodded. “All right. Take the pony. And watch what you say.” Grandpa looked at him closely again. “Are you scared?”
“Yes,” Jamie answered. He turned away and went to saddle the pony.
Jamie found Mr. Goodman cleaning his shearing shed. Great mounds of wool were stacked on one side. Jamie stood in the doorway of the shed, holding a piece of paper in one hand and waiting for Mr. Goodman to notice him. Finally, the man looked up and stopped sweeping. “Well,” he growled. “What do you want?”
“I’m James Nielsen. My grandfather—“
“I know who you are. What do you want?” The afternoon sunlight from the doorway fell across Mr. Goodman’s face, and it seemed to blaze.
“It’s about the old ewe and her lamb.” Jamie swallowed hard.
“You think they’re yours, I suppose.” Mr. Goodman walked toward Jamie. Jamie wanted to turn and run, but he didn’t.
“No, sir, but I think you owe me some money for taking care of them. I have it written down right here.” Jamie handed Mr. Goodman a piece of paper.
Mr. Goodman took off his hat and looked at Jamie for several seconds before he examined the paper. He studied it for a long time. When the man finally looked up his eyes were very black, and he frowned with his whole face. Jamie wondered why he had ever thought his idea would work.
“Three dollars is too much for feed this time of year when sheep can graze,” Mr. Goodman said.
“Grandpa gives them a supplement.”
“Ten dollars for veterinary care? You’re not a vet. Neither is your grandpa.”
“The ewe got well though. And that includes helping her with her lamb.”
Suddenly Mr. Goodman smiled. “Did your grandpa put you up to this?”
“No, sir. He said it wasn’t his ewe, and you had a right to take her and her lamb. But I think it’s wrong.” Jamie hadn’t meant to say that, and Mr. Goodman wasn’t smiling now, but the boy went on anyway. “We took care of the ewe and got her well, and her lamb was born on our place. I wondered if instead of giving me the money, you’d give me the lamb.” Jamie stopped, his heart pounding in his throat.
Mr. Goodman sat down on a box and looked at the paper again. “This list of expenses is fair enough, I guess, but the lamb’s worth more than what I owe you.” Jamie’s heart sank. “However, if you’ll come over here and help me clean up from shearing for the next three nights, the lamb’s yours.” He stood up and smiled at Jamie. His eyes were not fierce at all, but quite warm and friendly. Mr. Goodman held out his hand to Jamie. “Is it a deal?”
“Yes, sir!” Jamie smiled and shook the man’s big hand. Then he turned and ran to his pony and climbed on. As he rode away, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Mr. Goodman still standing in the doorway watching him.
When he rode into the yard, Grandpa was waiting by the gate. Jamie jumped down quickly. “You were right, Grandpa. He’s a fair man.”
Grandpa put his arm around Jamie’s shoulders and pulled him close. “And you’re a brave man, Jamie. Tell me what happened.”

Suddenly there are a dozen girls DarLynn Hawkins hardly knows at her bedroom door. They are all Latter-day Saints, they are all about her own age, and they are giving her big smiles and plates of cookies.
“Why don’t you come to our church next Sunday?” one of them asks, and they all nod and smile some more.
DarLynn smiles back and wonders when these girls will leave.
But they don’t leave. They talk and laugh, and eventually DarLynn begins to feel their enthusiasm. And she begins to wonder if this is what it’s like to be a Latter-day Saint. Is it always fun? Her father was LDS once. She had heard things about the Church, but …
That was about a year and a half ago. Now DarLynn Hawkins, 14, is a member of the Church. She and two of her best friends, Amy Van Camp and Erica Egli, both 14, are sitting on the couch in Amy’s house in Gurnee, Illinois, remembering the events that led to DarLynn’s baptism.
“We had just moved here,” says DarLynn, “and I didn’t really know anyone. All of a sudden here were all these girls asking me to come to their church. I knew who Amy and Erica were, because we’re in the school band together …”
“But we didn’t really like each other,” Erica adds with a grin. All three girls laugh.
“No, we weren’t best friends or anything,” says DarLynn. “And I did think I was being rushed into the Church at first.”
Amy admits that maybe they were pushy. But, as she points out, there are no instructions to follow when you want to talk to a friend about the Church. And every now and then, you make a mistake. “We’d heard her father had been a member of the Church at one time. Erica and I just got the feeling DarLynn might need the Church in her life. The standards of the Church are so high, and they can help you through the tough times.”
When Erica and Amy sensed that DarLynn was uneasy, they slowed things down. They became closer friends with her during a school band trip, gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon (she read parts of it during the summer), and invited her to Church activities (which made her more comfortable with the other members). Eventually, Amy and Erica gained the courage to ask DarLynn if she would like to have missionaries visit her home.
Erica says it wasn’t easy getting up the nerve to ask DarLynn such an important question. “You have to conquer the fear. We were afraid that if she didn’t accept, it would hurt us because the Church means so much to us. I was afraid she would laugh at the lessons or think they were boring.”
But DarLynn said yes. “And everything the missionaries said was so interesting,” she says. “They really got through to me and made it fun. There was a time in every discussion when I’d almost cry. Then during one discussion the missionaries asked me to read, ponder, and pray. I did that night, and the Spirit was there. It was so cool. I started to cry, and I knew the Church was true.”
DarLynn’s parents had watched her carefully study the teachings of the Church. When she asked for their permission to be baptized, they were happy to give it.
While there are no rules to follow when talking to a friend about the Church, there is one common mistake some people make—going to places or doing things you know are wrong with your friend, with the idea that you will take that friend to a Church activity next time.
That’s not too bright, says DarLynn. “When I was younger, I wanted to try everything—smoking, drinking, everything. Then I got to know Amy and Erica. They were strong in the Church, and I thought that was really cool. It made me want what they had. We wouldn’t be as close now if they had followed me and had done the things I wanted to do back then.”
And if Erica and Amy had not been examples to DarLynn, they would have missed a great ending. Erica says, “I’ll never forget …” and Amy joins in, “DarLynn’s baptism!”
“It was the best feeling as we watched DarLynn being baptized, because we had helped her find the truth,” Erica continues. “You could see how happy she was. After she changed into dry clothes, she came out and said, ‘I’m perfect, and you’re not!’”
“I was kidding,” says DarLynn.
They all laugh again—a trio in perfect harmony.

One of the most memorable lessons was learned by those who left the path. They felt disappointed as they had to wait in “spirit prison” and watch their brothers and sisters walk by them on the path.

Jackie Haws, 18, said: “Because I was on the youth committee, one of my jobs was to try to lead others astray. Because of this, I ended up going to ‘spirit prison’ and being separated from the others. I felt such shame in prison. But I’m so grateful for repentance. I need it every day.”

Many years ago, as I began serving as head coach of the Ricks College men's and women's cross country teams, I reflected on my experience as a distance runner and assistant coach. I had observed runners--inferior in talent to their peers--often out-perform these peers in key races. I had also observed talented runners who ran well, race after race. What was it about these runners that enabled them to experience consistent success? In what ways did they focus internally to get the most from what they did physically? As a young coach I concluded if I could figure out what consistently successful runners focused their thoughts on as they prepared for and ran races and teach this in a way those I coached could learn and passionately apply, then as individuals, as teams, and as a program we would realize greater success and be happier with the results.

One of the most foundational of these success principles is to have a clear understanding of your purpose. Understanding a strong, well-defined purpose empowers you to succeed. It strengthens your resolve and commitment, energizes you to get through obstacles, and focuses your efforts as you proceed along your chosen path. The first step to understanding your purpose is to discover what it is.

At one of our team meetings at the first of each cross country season, I would invite then college president, Elder David Bednar, to speak to our athletes. One of the first questions he would ask them was, "What do you think is the purpose of our cross country program at Ricks College?" After listening to their responses, he would clarify, "There is really only one reason why we have athletics at Ricks College and that is so others may see Christ's image engraven in your countenances."[2] He would then invite each of our team members to embrace the Honor Code, to live by both the letter and spirit for which it was given. He would also promise our athletes that as they diligently strove to realize that purpose, the Lord would strengthen them to perform beyond their natural abilities.[3] Understanding that purpose, buying into it as if it was their own, and exercising faith to receive the promised blessings, our athletes and teams radiated the light of Christ and were empowered to experience great success.

I was about three or four months into my own mission, thrusting in my sickle with energy and diligence, when all at once—and I mean it was all at once—I thought, “Why am I doing this?”
“For God, of course,” I knew the answers. God had called me, God needed me, and there I was.
Then, as suddenly as before, I wondered, “Where is God?”
“Wait!” I felt guilty at the thought. “I’m an elder; I’m on a mission. I’m a witness. I have faith. I know … I’m supposed to know …”
Since childhood I had heard the phrase “without a shadow of a doubt.” Now, not only did I have a shadow of a doubt, I had a whole eclipse. I groped through the rest of the morning.
By lunch my companion had noticed my depression. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Well,” I spoke solemnly, “I think I lost my testimony today.”
He laughed, “Elder, you’re the best, always joking around. Go wash up so we can eat.” I smiled accommodatingly. I exited calmly. I entered the bathroom tranquilly. Then I panicked completely!
“Now what?” I turned on the faucet and splashed my face with cold water. “Moroni’s promise!” I buried my face in the towel. “Read, meditate, pray.” But I had already done that and apparently it wasn’t enough. “This doubt is definitely a job for an angel,” I decided. “I’ll just have to have a visitation.” It was settled. I tossed the towel in the washbowl and went to eat lunch.
That night after we arrived home, I prepared for bed quickly. We had companionship prayer as always. Then I climbed up to my top bunk and began my personal petition.
“Please,” I prayed. “I have to know. Are you real? Are you there?”
Suddenly my room was filled with light. I opened my believing eyes, and then the car passed. I was alone again in the dark.
That very afternoon we had told our investigators in a discussion that to know the truth they needed to read, meditate, and pray. I had read the promise to them myself. But had I done what I was asking them to do? I thought so, but maybe I hadn’t done enough. Sure, I had skimmed through the scriptures to get through seminary. And I hadn’t even skipped the Isaiah passages in 2 Nephi when I plowed through the Book of Mormon just before my mission. But still, had I done enough? Meditate? The most pondering I had done was on whatever good TV show I might miss while I studied. Suddenly very aware that I had not fully completed what was required of me, I could hardly wait until morning and a chance to begin.
At 6:00 A.M. my companion rolled out of bed for morning prayer. Nearly before his amen, I was showered, shaved, and seated at our desk. Until that day, my biggest challenge in the mission had been trying to stay awake during study time. From then on, the challenge became trying to find more personal study time.
Weeks passed and still, behind the missionary routine, the uneasiness lingered. Once again I felt an urgency to go before Heavenly Father and demand my testimony. “Now you have to tell me,” I prayed, over and over. It felt as though I were hollering down the hose of a vacuum cleaner. I wanted an answer to my prayer, but the only thing I heard was the echo of my own demanding voice.
“You can no more force the Spirit to respond,” states Elder Boyd K. Packer, “than you can force a bean to sprout, or an egg to hatch before its time. You can create a climate to foster growth, nourish, and protect; but you cannot force or compel: you must await the growth” (“The Candle of the Lord,” Ensign, Jan. 1983, p. 53).
Exhausted from the attempt, I crawled under my sheet. “If God is there,” I thought, clasping my hands behind my head, “he’s probably so busy with all the millions of people on all his numberless worlds that he just doesn’t have time for me.” I turned on my side. I felt smaller and smaller. My questions were many; my doubts were real and frightening. I missed home. I needed someone to care about me. “Heavenly Father, are you there?” I tried again. I had long since cancelled the angel order. A simple answer would do.
I waited for the burning in my bosom. Nothing happened.
The next day I began all over again. Like a gold miner I did not know where the reward might come or how much the reward might be. But the fact that it might come was enough motivation to keep me digging.
“How are you, Elder?” President Day asked. It was zone conference and time for my personal interview.
“Fine, President.”
“How’s your companion?”
“Fine, President.”
Seven questions, and seven “Fine, Presidents” later, we were finished. I stood to leave.
“Now, Elder,” President Day called me back. “Are you sure you don’t have any questions?” His eyes searched mine. I bit the inside of my cheek.
I had graduated from seminary, I had attended church every Sunday and earned my Eagle Scout Award. I had never even touched a cigarette or had a beer. I shouldn’t have questions. “No, President,” I shrugged. “No questions.”
Soon after that I was transferred. I packed my clothes in one suitcase and my books in another. There was hardly room for doubts, but deep inside I packed them, also.
In my new area I worked overtime; double time and triple time. I finished the Book of Mormon, Jesus the Christ, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder. This gold miner still couldn’t see the end of the tunnel but somehow always had enough light where he stood to keep digging.
Finally, another zone conference. Another interview.
“How are you, Elder?”
“Fine, President.”
“How’s your companion?”
“Fine, President.”
“Any questions?”
I couldn’t bring myself to expose my weakness. “Any questions?” President Day repeated. For a moment the small office seemed as large and frightening as a European cathedral. I wanted to tell him of my discouragement and doubt, but what would he think of me?
“Elder,” President Day broke our silence, “if you ever do have any questions I’m here.” In my mind the room shrank back to normal. Formalities disappeared. He was my friend, and I could trust him.
“Is there a God?” I implored.
“Yes,” he answered.
That’s all he said. No judgmental look, no scriptural references—just “yes.”
I ventured again, “Does he know me?”
President Day leaned forward. His eyes sought mine. He spoke intensely, “He knows your first name.”
“President,” I had one question left. “Does he love me?”
I listened. When he said yes, the Spirit washed over me, dissolving my anxiety in a flood of certainty. My mission president’s words had been confirmed. I felt it.
That night as I prayed again, my supplication soared. I spoke directly to a Heavenly Father I was beginning to love, through a Mediator I was at least beginning to comprehend. There were no doubts that night. There was only a peace which surpassed all understanding. God was there. He had been close to me all along, so why hadn’t he answered me months before?
Perhaps there were certain things I had to learn for myself. If he had answered the moment I called, would I have studied as hard as I did? Would I have pondered or prayed with such desire? Would I have strived to live as worthily or dedicated my time and talents in service as diligently? Would I have learned to swim if God were still holding my head above water? God’s delays are not always denials.
It was late. My companion was asleep. I stepped to the window of our room. Outside the South American night was warm. The earth seemed fresh and beautiful. The moon shone bright and full from a heaven that didn’t seem so far away anymore.
“I know that he loveth his children,” said Nephi; “nevertheless, I do not know the meaning of all things” (1 Ne. 11:17). My testimony had come slowly and would still have to grow. I did not know the answers to every question, but I, like Nephi, knew God loved me.

It was a normal day until later in the evening, when I started getting stomach pains. I’ve had stomach pain all my life, so it seemed like one of those “stomachaches” that I could pretend wasn’t there until it went away.
But then the pain worsened. I lay in bed, sweaty and in increasing pain, and prayed that God would help lift my burden.
There was no answer. I asked God again. And again.
And there was still no answer.
When my mother came in to check on me, I asked her, “Why isn’t God answering my prayers?”
She replied, “It might seem like God isn’t listening, but sometimes you have to endure trials.”
By this point the pain was lighting every nerve on fire. The night felt as if it dragged on for days. Somehow, I was able to eventually fall asleep.
When I woke up, the pain had dulled. But I still didn’t understand why God hadn’t helped me.
One day, I read a talk by Elder Quentin L. Cook of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles entitled “Hope Ya Know, We Had a Hard Time” (Oct. 2008 general conference). One certain part stood out, quoted from Doctrine and Covenants 121:7–8: “My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; and then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high.” When I read that quote, I remembered Jesus Christ’s pain when He atoned for my sins. Our Savior willingly endured this great pain—for us.
Everything aligned. I understood why we have trials. If God took away our pain, we would never appreciate our great moments of weakness. But if, when we experience trials, we endure faithfully, we can be exalted on high.

This story took place in Jamaica.
Dashanel helped her older brother take the nut bread out of the oven. It smelled so good!
Then she heard a knock at the door. “The missionaries are here!” her sister called.
Dashanel ran to the door. She loved it when the missionaries came. She always had a good feeling when they visited. Sometimes they brought games for her and her siblings to play.
“Tyrell made nut bread again!” Dashanel said. Her brother liked to make food for the missionaries.
“I can’t wait to try some,” Elder Colas said. He and Elder Yusaki came inside and sat down on the floor. Dashanel, her brother and sister, and Mom sat across from them.
“What are we going to do for the lesson today?” Dashanel asked.
Elder Yusaki pulled out a stack of cups. “We’re going to build a faith tower. Each of these cups represents something we can do to build our faith in Jesus Christ.”
Elder Yusaki started to stack the cups into a tower. Dashanel saw that the cups had words like “prayer,” “scripture study,” and “church” written on them.
“These are all things you’ve asked us to do as a family,” she said.
“That’s right,” Elder Colas said. “When you do these things, you are building your faith in Jesus Christ.”
Dashanel and her siblings took turns building their own towers with the cups while they listened to the lesson.
After the missionaries left, Dashanel thought about what they’d taught. She wanted her faith in Christ to be tall and strong, just like the tower she built.
As the months passed, Dashanel learned more and more about the gospel from the missionaries. She started going to church with her family. She pictured her tower of faith growing taller and taller.
One day after the missionaries left, Dashanel talked to Mom. “Can I get baptized?” she asked.
“Are you sure you’re ready?” asked Mom.
“Yes,” Dashanel said. “I want to follow Jesus.”
“OK,” Mom said. “If you want to, you can be baptized.”
Dashanel’s brother and sister chose to be baptized too. Mom said she didn’t feel ready to get baptized yet.
On the day of their baptism, Dashanel and her siblings dressed in white clothes. They each waited patiently to be baptized.
When it was Dashanel’s turn, Elder Yusaki helped her into the water. Then he said the words of the baptism prayer and lowered her under the water. When Dashanel came back up, she couldn’t stop smiling! She felt happy and clean. She never wanted to forget this feeling.
Dashanel kept doing things to build her faith in Jesus Christ. She read the scriptures with her family. She prayed to Heavenly Father. She did kind things for others. And she remembered how she felt when she was baptized. She wanted Mom to have that feeling too.
“Mom, why don’t you get baptized?” Dashanel asked one day.
Mom was quiet for a minute. “You have set a good example for me. Now I need to set an example for you,” she said. “I want to be baptized too.”
On the day of Mom’s baptism, Dashanel was so happy. When Mom came up from the water, everyone was smiling. Now Dashanel’s whole family could build their towers of faith together.
Illustrations by Alyssa Tallent

As I did so, I reflected on an experience at the time of the prededication showing of the London Temple in 1958.

Those who inspected the building were asked to defer any questions until they had completed the tour. In the evenings I joined the missionaries in talking with those who had questions. As a young couple came down the front steps of the temple, I inquired whether I could help them in any way. The young woman spoke up and said, “Yes. What about this ‘marriage for eternity’ to which reference was made in one of the rooms?” We sat on a bench under the ancient oak that stood near the gate. The wedding band on her finger indicated that they were married, and the manner in which she gripped her husband’s hand evidenced their affection one for another.
“Now to your question,” I said. “I suppose you were married by the vicar.”
“Yes,” she responded, “just three months ago.”
“Did you realize that when the vicar pronounced your marriage he also decreed your separation?”
“What do you mean?” she quickly retorted.
“You believe that life is eternal, don’t you?”
“Of course,” she replied.
I continued, “Can you conceive of eternal life without eternal love? Can either of you envision eternal happiness without the companionship of one another?”
“Of course not,” came the ready response.
“But what did the vicar say when he pronounced your marriage? If I remember the language correctly, he said, among other things, ‘in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, till death do ye part.’ He went as far as he felt his authority would permit him and that was till death separates you. In fact, I think that if you were to question him, he would emphatically deny the existence of marriage and family beyond the grave.”
“But,” I continued, “the Father of us all, who loves his children and wants the best for them, has provided for a continuation, under proper circumstances, of this most sacred and ennobling of all human relationships, the relationships of marriage and family.
“In that great and moving conversation between the Savior and his apostles, wherein Peter declared, ‘Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God,’ and the Lord responded, ‘Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-jona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven.’ The Lord then went on to say to Peter and his associates, ‘And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.’ (Matt. 16:13–19.)
“In that marvelous bestowal of authority the Lord gave to his apostles the keys of the holy priesthood, whose power reaches beyond life and death into eternity. This same authority has been restored to the earth by those same apostles who held it anciently, even Peter, James, and John.” I continued by saying that following the dedication of the temple on the following Sunday, those same keys of the holy priesthood would be exercised in behalf of the men and women who come into this sacred house to solemnize their marriage. They will be joined in a union which death cannot dissolve and time cannot destroy.
Such was my testimony to this young couple in England. Such it is to you today, my dear young friends, and such it is to all the world. Our Father in heaven, who loves his children, desires for them that which will bring them happiness now and in the eternities to come, and there is no greater happiness than is found in the most meaningful of all human relationships—the companionships of husband and wife and parents and children.

Illustration by Joshua Dennis
After getting my children off to school, I began thinking about the rest of the day. I had many things to do, but I had to work the night shift at the hospital, so I had limited time. I could work in the yard, work on a quilt for my nephew’s birthday, or exercise. Then I remembered a quote from President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994):
“When we put God first, all other things fall into their proper place or drop out of our lives” (“The Great Commandment—Love the Lord,” Ensign, May 1988, 4).
“Scriptures it is!” I thought. I sat at my desk and continued my scripture study from the day before:
“Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:
“But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven … .
“For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also” (Matthew 6:19–21).
“Where is my treasure?” I thought. Next to my scriptures were four names from my husband’s family that I had recently taken to the temple. My husband’s parents were the first in their families to join the Church. I had spent the past two years working on my late father-in-law’s line. I decided to go to FamilySearch to see if the ordinances were recorded as complete.
I looked at the temple icons along his line. To my surprise, several names I had prepared for sealing ordinances had not been recorded as complete. I must have misplaced the cards, and the sealings had not yet been done! As soon as I reprinted the names, a distinct thought came to my mind, “Now you can go about your day.”
I felt peace knowing I had put the Lord first. He helped me prioritize what was most important. Enjoying my family in the eternities is definitely what I treasure most. I know that if I put God first, all other things will work out for my spiritual benefit and for the benefit of others.

It’s 6:00 p.m. at the Yoshida family’s natural health products store in El Paso, Texas—time to close for the day. Julio and Gabriela, with help from their children, wait on their last customers, tidy up, and prepare to head home.

As different as the Hernandez and Yoshida businesses are from each other, they have something important in common. They owe their success, at least partially, to principles taught through the Church’s self-reliance initiative.

“If you make the principles of self-reliance the basis of your business, it will grow,” says Julio Yoshida. “It will become stronger and more stable. The self-reliance program also made me stronger and more positive. I find greater meaning in my work and more opportunities when I apply these principles.”

When the Yoshidas opened their business in 2016, Julio was serving as their ward’s bishop. Both money and time were tight.

“When you start a business, you have to be prepared economically and mentally because you might not have a lot of income at first,” says Gabriela Yoshida. “We didn’t suffer any losses when we opened, but our income fell short of what we were accustomed to because we were investing so much in the business. We had to tighten our belts and adjust our budget. We guarded each dollar that went out.”

In 2017, Gabriela, in charge of their family finances, attended a Personal Finances for Self-Reliance course. Julio, in charge of their business finances, took the Starting and Growing My Business course. He says that learning to use financial resources more wisely—both at home and at work—was paramount.

“I became better organized in what we bought and sold,” he says. “I made sure we moved old merchandise first and newer merchandise later. We began purchasing with better efficiency. We eventually got rid of stuff we didn’t sell. We also applied what we learned to our advertising.”

To determine the effectiveness of their advertising, they surveyed new customers to find out how they had heard about the business.

“We advertised on two TV stations, one in English and one in Spanish,” says Gabriela. “Given that many of our clients speak Spanish, we were surprised to learn that the station in English worked better for us.”

Julio Yoshida and his daughter Martha wait on customers at their family business.

That principle also blessed the Yoshida family.

“We didn’t think we had enough money to save any, but we said, ‘We must have a savings, come what may,’” says Gabriela. “So, we started saving, though it was only a small amount each month.”

During the first three years that they ran their business, the Yoshidas worked hard, saved, and sacrificed. Their children also helped at the store.

“We all worked in the family business, and we didn’t have any rest for three years,” says Sister Yoshida. “We had two children serving missions, and there wasn’t money for a vacation. We just kept saving until finally we could all enjoy a summer vacation together. We deserved it!”

It can take a while for a start-up business to begin making money and for a family to build up a savings, but for the Yoshida, Hernandez, and Vasquez families, embracing inspired principles has brought them blessings.

“It’s very important that we pay our tithing,” says Brother Yoshida. “We have had some tight times, but we have always remembered to live this law, and the Lord has blessed us greatly. We are self-reliant. That’s what we wanted.”

Alisa helped her younger sister, Mikki, comb her long black hair. Then they hurried downstairs and ate breakfast. Tomorrow was Father’s Day, and the two girls were going shopping today for the ingredients to make a cake for their father. It was not going to be an ordinary cake—it would be filled with surprises!
As soon as they came home from the store, they took their aprons from the closet and helped each other tie them. Next they got all the ingredients out for the surprise cake and put them on the table. While Mikki greased and floured the cake pans, Alisa turned on the oven. Then, carefully measuring and stirring, the girls soon had the batter ready. Alisa spooned it into the cake pans while Mikki watched to see that both pans had the same amount.
At last the pans were in the oven, and the best part of making the cake batter had arrived. Alisa and Mikki each got a spoon and sat at the table and scraped the bowl.
Soon the cake layers were cooling on racks and the dishes were done. The girls ran up to their room to make the “surprise” part of the cake.
First they cut a piece of paper into several narrow strips. Then on each strip they wrote one thing that was special about their dad. Next they folded the strips and went back downstairs and wrapped each one in aluminum foil. With a knife Alisa carefully made little slits in the cake, and Mikki poked a wrapped strip into each slit.
Mother frosted the cake for them. She made pretty swirls around the edges and wrote “Happy Father’s Day” in the middle.
The next day after church they had a Father’s Day party. They sang Father’s favorite songs and played some games. When Mother cut the cake, she gave everyone a big piece. Father, of course, got the biggest one.
"What’s shining in my piece of cake?" he asked.
Alisa and Mikki looked at each other and grinned.
"That’s our surprise for you!" Alisa said.
"Yes," Mikki told him. "You’re supposed to unwrap the foil and read the note out loud. Then we’ll take turns reading ours."
Each person found and excitedly unwrapped the foil-covered surprises that had been hidden in the cake. Father’s face beamed as he read the first strip. It said, "We love you because you read stories to us."
Mikki opened the next one and read, "We love you because you take care of us."
Mother’s strip said, "We love you because you do things with us."
Alisa had two surprise strips in her piece of cake. "We love you because you laugh a lot" was on the first one.
Alisa, Mikki, and Mother read the last one together: "We love you because you love us."
"I really do," Father said. "Thank you for a wonderful Father’s Day."
(If you would like to make a surprise cake for someone, just follow the directions for "Chocolate Surprise Cake" in Kitchen Krafts.)

Because of his high, clear voice, Andrew couldn’t even get a part in his own school musical. “They were doing Guys and Dolls, and the drama teacher said the only part they had for my voice would have been the female lead, which I obviously couldn’t play. Some of the kids at school went around saying, ‘I got a singing part without even taking a lesson, and Andrew, who has had all this training, doesn’t even get to be on stage.’ It worked out okay though. I got to be stage manager, and it was fun to watch everyone else perform without any pressure on me.”

Once Joseph and Hyrum had been jailed, many legal efforts were made in their behalf. None of these availed. Dan Jones went and personally talked to the governor, reporting the threats to the Prophet’s life that he had heard uttered in various groups of men now in Carthage. The governor merely said, “You are unnecessarily alarmed for the safety of your friends, sir, the people are not that cruel.”

A non-Mormon, Dr. Southwick, claimed that only two days before this a meeting was held that included a representative of every one of the United States. The subject was the political campaign; for Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon had been named respectively as candidates for the Presidency and Vice-Presidency of the United States. Joseph did not, of course, expect to be elected. But now enough support was being generated, and was showing up in the Eastern newspapers, that men in the meeting meant to stop the political career of Joseph Smith.

The Missourians present said, in effect, “If you want us to do the job, we’ll do it.” And the others said, “If Illinois and Missouri would join together and kill him, they would not be brought to justice for it. If you don’t stop him this time, if he isn’t elected this time, he will, or likely may, next time.

The governor was surrounded by mobocrats, and the Saints’ efforts with him failed. John Taylor, a man of great character and spine, saw the situation, was indignant, and said, “Brother Joseph, if you will permit it, and say the word, I will have you out of this prison in five hours, if the jail has to come down to do it.” He planned to go to Nauvoo and raise a sufficient force. But “Brother Joseph refused.”

Stephen Markham offered to change clothes with the Prophet, to make a switch – the Prophet could then get away on his horse all would be well. The Prophet turned that down. James W. Wood was assigned to go to Jesse Thomas, one of the circuit judges in Illinois, who had assured the Prophet that if he would send responsible Mormons to each community and explain the actions of recent days the citizens would be pacified.

He found that hope too, to be false, for Judge Thomas and others said, in his presence, “Don’t you think it’s better for two or more men to die than for a whole neighborhood to be in an uproar?”

After all these efforts, the only real thing the Prophet had between him and the final scene was a pistol which Cyrus Wheelock had brought him. When Hyrum said, “I hate to use such things or to see them used,” the Prophet replied, “So do I, but we may have to, to defend ourselves.”

When I was a child in Samoa, my friends and I never seemed to get tired of swimming. It was our favorite thing to do. I remember that as a four-year-old I even wanted to go swimming with my friends on Sunday after Sunday School—as if there weren’t enough hours for playing together in six days a week. But I was reared in a good Latter-day Saint home, and I recall vividly how my wonderful mother worked with me to keep the Sabbath day holy.
Mother solved the problem by directing me toward the scriptures. Knowing how much I liked to show off by reciting from books, she asked me how I would like to learn to read and recite passages from the scriptures. I jumped for joy at the opportunity, so she said to me, “All right, I’ll meet with you every Sunday after dinner to help you learn passages from these two books”—she held up the Bible and the Book of Mormon.
The first passages I learned to repeat from memory were the Ten Commandments and the first Psalm. Then I learned to recite the story of Lehi’s family from the Book of Mormon. Naturally, the more I learned, the more the principles contained in these scriptures became a part of my life—something that was strengthened by the example of my parents, who lived the gospel very faithfully in our home. By the time I left home for college in 1962, the teachings of my parents were well planted in me.