Gospel Story Finder

“Can your family come caroling with us on Thursday night?” Sarah asked. “We’ll sing at a nursing home and have hot chocolate and cookies afterward.”
Caitlyn shook her head. “I wish we could! But our family’s going to an ice-skating party that night.”
Caitlyn liked ice-skating, but she was tired of having every night in December filled. After school she talked to Mom about it. “I really want to go caroling with Sarah, but every night is so busy. I feel like there’s not even time to think about Christmas!”
Mom nodded. “I know what you mean.” She ticked off items on her fingers. “Ice-skating party. School program. Service project.”
“All those things are good,” Caitlyn said with a frown. “How do we decide which ones to do?”
“I’ll talk to Dad,” Mom said. “Maybe we should have a family meeting about this.”
After dinner that night, Mom brought the family calendar to the table. “Caitlyn and I have been talking about how busy December is,” Mom said. “We’ve decided that we’re going to unschedule Christmas!”
“But we have to have Christmas!” seven-year-old Ben said. “That’s when we celebrate Jesus’s birth.”
“I don’t mean getting rid of Christmas,” Mom said with a smile. “We just need to clear out some of the things leading up to it. We’re so busy these next few weeks that we haven’t made time to focus on Christ and family.”
Dad opened up the family calendar. “So let’s talk about what will really help us focus on Christ this Christmas season. First off, the ice-skating party or caroling with Sarah’s family?”
“Skating sounds fun,” Caitlyn said, “but I’d rather go caroling. I bet singing at the nursing home would really help us all focus on Christ.”
“Sounds like a good choice to me,” Dad said with a smile. “We can go ice-skating another time.”
“Yay! I love caroling!” Ben said.
“OK,” Mom said. “That’s four votes for going with Sarah’s family.” She put an X through the skating party and wrote in “caroling.”
One by one, the family went through each item on the calendar, crossing off some and writing in others. They marked some nights as family nights to stay home and do things together. Other nights they made sure that what they had planned would focus on Christ.
“Can we make a gingerbread house?” Ben asked. “The old-fashioned kind?”
“I think that can be arranged,” Mom said.
“And let’s act out the Nativity! We can’t forget that,” Caitlyn said.
Mom wrote it on the calendar. “This way we’ll be sure we made room for it.”
Thursday night, Caitlyn and her family went caroling with Sarah’s family. “This is so neat,” Caitlyn said to Sarah as the families sang song after song at the nursing home. “Everyone looks so happy to see us.”
The families made a plan to come sing next month. And maybe next Christmas too!

On another occasion I climbed Cuquenan Falls, the second highest falls in the world. To the best of my knowledge, I was the 14th person ever to reach the top. I was accompanied by Terry Brian, my partner in the rafting venture; Bernardo, a Venezuelan who provided transportation to the climb site; and Brazilo, our local Indian guide.
A four-hour hike from our vehicle brought us to the Indian village of Paraitepuy (Pear-rye-tu-pwee). Cuquenan and Roraima, two huge, twin, flat-top peaks loomed above us in the sky, shooting straight up. At the base of the mountains were rolling green hills and ravines overflowing with rain forest. All around were other high plateaus and mountains. Clouds loomed close overhead, and in the many crevices all around were broad-leafed plants, bats, and orchids. Everything was very green and beautiful.
Up at dawn the following day, we hiked across the plateau toward the foothills of Cuquenan. We stopped at the stream for lunch and bathed in the cool mountain water. The going became increasingly hard from there on. Finally we made camp in a large cave in the late afternoon. After bathing in the river, we spent the evening being eaten by jejenees (heh-he-nees), small gnatlike flies that bite as hard as horse flies. Cuquenan loomed larger than ever above us, filling much of the sky. The Indians call it Matuwe (Mat-too-wee), “the place of the dead.” They believe their dead ancestors wander around on its top as zombies, eating any unwary mortals who get caught there at night. The top of the mountain, we were told, was dark, misty, cold, and empty like a lunar landscape.
When we awoke the next morning there was a clear, red sunrise, and then the clouds and mist rolled in. The mist was very heavy, almost like rain. It was very cold at first. In the gloom we saw a single deer bound over the hill and out of sight. We also saw jaguar tracks. We crossed several streams. Tall grass about two or three feet high blocked our way. It was very wet and rough on our legs. Our path kept getting steeper and steeper. Eventually we passed from the tall grass into thicker vegetation. There were lots of prickly plants, seven-foot-tall ferns, and foot-tall carnivorous pitcher plants. The terrain continued to get steeper. From time to time the mist would break enough for us to see Cuquenan rearing up straight above us.
Soon we were slipping and sliding through a dark corridor cut out of a patch of dense rain forest. Moss hung everywhere from the giant fern trees. We finally stopped for lunch high on a rock point in the sun.
Soon we left the massive vegetation, and the terrain got rockier and steeper. Whenever we became thirsty we drank water from the pitcher plants. Then came the steep bouldering. It was very dangerous in parts, and we made slow progress. But finally we saw the top of the mountain, and our route lay clear before us. We scrambled onto the top at about 3:30 in the afternoon.
The top consisted of barren, dark-brown sandstone eroded into grotesque shapes. Here and there were stubby brown trees, about four feet tall, with reddish leaves. There were also some ferns, flowers, and grasses all growing from the bleak sandstone and pools of water. It was very misty and eerie. Through the clouds and mist we occasionally caught glimpses of the mountains below us where red and blue macaws flew above the jungle. We climbed up to some caves to make camp, then walked across the summit to the top of Cuquenan Falls. It was a beautiful view. Simply incredible!
On our way back to camp, I stopped and picked up some quartz crystals in a stream bed. For a moment I thought they were diamonds. Bernardo and I stayed to collect a few and maybe find some real diamonds. Brazilo was eager to get back to camp and build a fire. Bernardo and I didn’t pay any attention to the encroaching darkness because we kept our eyes on the creek bottom looking for diamonds. All of a sudden we looked up and found ourselves surrounded by darkness and misty fog. We were lost somewhere on top of Cuquenan Mountain!
We had built stone markers earlier to mark our trail, but we couldn’t see them now. The scape was all rock so we couldn’t follow our footprints. Bernardo panicked and began running wildly off into the night. I caught him, calmed him, and prayed. Suddenly it came to me that we just needed to follow the creek down to the edge of the mountain and then follow the edge around to where we had climbed up onto the summit earlier. There was some mud there and we could find our footprints. So that’s what we did. Bernardo was still scared, but I was calm inside. We found our footprints and followed them up to the cave where Brazilo was waiting. We arrived in time for spaghetti dinner and hugs and well wishes.

When I got home from school, Jerry was sitting on the living room floor, cutting pink tissue-paper snowflakes. “Hey!” I said as we slapped hands in our usual greeting. “How’s it going?”
Jerry held up his hand for me to examine. “Blisters?” I asked, not really surprised. “I’ve been cutting all day,” he said. “Do you think I have enough?” He held up a thick stack of snowflakes.
“It looks like you have enough there to decorate the gym for the grand ball,” I said. I guess Jerry’s a little young to appreciate my sense of humor. Every time I say anything funny, he just looks at me with his big brown eyes as though I’d just said something profound that he should store away for later use.
I snickered, not really sure if I was laughing at Jerry’s gullibility or at my desire to tease him. I tease Jerry a lot, I guess. It’s pretty easy to do because he’s so serious and so believing.
Jerry had been cutting snowflakes almost steadily since Sunday morning. Mom had given him the idea and the pink tissue paper. She had explained to him that even though it wasn’t white, it would be easier to cut through ten layers of tissue paper than typing paper.
“Besides,” I had added, “just think what the world would be like if it snowed pink snow.” Jerry’s eyes got that trusting, faraway look in them as I continued: “Pink lakes, pink trees, pink oceans. …”
Mom gave me a warning look, and I shrugged my shoulders as if to say, “Hey, I can’t help it if he believes everything that I say.”
Jerry had immediately made five snowflakes, and everybody made quite a fuss over them. They were pretty good snowflakes, considering that they were cut by a five-year-old with kindergarten scissors. I even told him that I thought they were pretty neat. But Mom added the clincher. “What beautiful snowflakes, Jerry—snowflakes of love.”
Well, you could just see the gears turning in Jerry’s head. He spent the rest of the morning cutting snowflakes. He took them to church and gave them to everyone—the bishop, the ward clerk, his Primary teacher, his classmates, the organist. I think that Jerry was trying to make his own personal pink snowstorm with his snowflakes of love.
He didn’t stop with those, though. He kept at it the next day. I even pretended patient indifference when my good buddies, Mark and Wayne, came over to play basketball and Jerry presented each of them with three pink snowflakes.
They looked at me, hoping for a logical explanation for the gift. “It’s his contribution to world peace and brotherly love,” I explained and went in for a perfect lay-up. The guys were nice about it and folded their snowflakes and put them deep into their pockets.
After family home evening, while I pondered some math problems in our room, Jerry was still cutting snowflakes. When I caught him watching me, he’d just smile and keep on cutting. I’d chuckle and nod and go back to calculating. I didn’t think any more about it until the next day.
The morning hadn’t gone well at all. I had hit the snooze button on my alarm one too many times, and I was going to be late for school. I grabbed my books and folder and bounded down the stairs, trying to put on my jacket as I went. Jerry was sitting at his usual spot at the kitchen table. “Hi, Jer,” I mumbled as I shoved some scrambled eggs into my mouth.
“I made a surprise for you,” he said.
“Great!” I said, grabbing a piece of toast and heading for the door.
I ran the two blocks to school and hit the front door just as the second bell sounded. I dashed down the hall, opened the door to my first-period history class, and in one gliding motion threw my books onto the desk and slid in behind them. But the books didn’t stop. I grabbed for them, but they sailed on out of my reach and across the aisle, bumped against the opposite desk, and flew in every direction. Fifty-four eyes were riveted on my folder as it flew open and released a pink snowstorm of pastel, tissue-paper snowflakes.
The air currents from the heat vent sent the snowflakes sailing into the air. Everyone watched as they twisted and turned and fluttered down to cover the floor like a soft, pink blanket. I watched in a trance until the last snowflake had fallen. Suddenly, Jerry’s words registered in my mind: “I made a surprise for you.”
All eyes in the classroom were focused on me, waiting for the explanation that they felt they deserved. What could I say? I threw open my arms in a gesture of helplessness and admitted to the world, “My little brother loves me.”
And as I bent to gather each gift of love, my heart sang out, “I love you, too, Jer.”

Pooja Prabhakar, 18, says she has received many blessings because of the gospel. “I have been brought into the light of truth, and I am happy that I can prepare myself to go back and live with my Heavenly Father.” She says that becoming a member of the Church has changed her life in many ways: “I begin each day with scripture study. I dress modestly. I use good language. I used to have a habit of making fun of others, but because of the Church I learned that I shouldn’t be doing that, so I stopped.”

She says she was 14 years old when she first attended Young Women. “I loved it,” she says. “I was very much reserved, but as I went on, I became jolly happy. I learned how to be a good daughter to my parents, a loving sister to my siblings, and a peacemaker at home. It’s been jolly nice, especially when I received my Personal Progress medallion.”

Now as she transitions into Relief Society, she has many pleasant memories—of singing songs at a residence for the elderly “to show our love;” of gaining a testimony that the Book of Mormon is true, that Joseph Smith was a prophet, and that President Thomas S. Monson is a living prophet; and of “learning more about the gospel every time I come to church.”

She tells of an experience she and her friends had one day on their way to school. “We saw an older woman who was trying to find her way to the chemist [pharmacy] to get a prescription filled, so we stopped and helped her.” They not only walked with her to her destination, but they went inside and made sure she was able to get what she needed.

“I’m glad to know God would let us help her,” Pooja says.

Let me share with you the tale of the CEO and the gas station attendant:
“[A chief executive officer or CEO] and his wife were driving along an interstate highway when he noticed that their car was low on gas. [He] got off the highway at the next exit and soon found a rundown gas station with just one gas pump. He asked the lone attendant to fill the tank and check the oil, then went for a little walk around the station to stretch his legs.
“As he was returning to the car, he noticed that the attendant and his wife were engaged in an animated conversation. The conversation stopped as he paid the attendant. But as he was getting back into the car, he saw the attendant wave and heard him say, “It was great talking to you.”
“As they drove out of the station, [He] asked his wife if she knew the man. She readily admitted she did. They had gone to high school together and had dated steadily for about a year.
“Boy, were you lucky that I came along… If you had married him, you’d be the wife of a gas station attendant instead of the wife of a [CEO].”
“My dear,” replied his wife, “if I had married him, he’d be the [CEO] and you’d be the gas station attendant.” [24] ?

Without my dear Petra, I would still be at the gas station.

When I recently faced the daunting task of choosing two counselors, I wondered how I could possibly choose just two from twelve men whom I love and respect.

Because I know that good inspiration is based upon good information, I prayerfully met one-on-one with each Apostle.6 I then sequestered myself in a private room in the temple and sought the Lord’s will. I testify that the Lord instructed me to select President Dallin H. Oaks and President Henry B. Eyring to serve as my counselors in the First Presidency.

When I was 10 years old, I was exposed to pornography. After that, I became heavily involved in it for two years. When I was 12, my mother decided to have a family home evening on the law of chastity. I realized during this family home evening that I had a problem and that it was unhealthy and wrong. I told my mother about it, and she helped me get rid of the pornographic materials I had. Later that week, I received a blessing from my bishop.
For the next three years, I tried to stop using pornography, but I kept having relapses. One night when I was 16, I was struggling especially hard. I remember falling to my knees and praying for help, because I knew that when we have challenges, we need to pray to Heavenly Father for all things. During my prayer, I received peace and strength.
I then had the idea to fill my time with something good to replace the temptation. I started to work diligently on Personal Progress. As I did, I felt my Savior’s love. Heavenly Father helped me to vigorously focus on Personal Progress instead of pornography. The more I focused on the teachings of Jesus Christ in my Personal Progress, the more I became resistant to the temptations of pornography.
Heavenly Father also helped me in other ways during my struggle. He helped me realize that I couldn’t go on the computer alone or else I would be tempted to search for pornography. I decided that when I wanted to use the internet, I would use the computers at a nearby public library instead of the devices at home so that I would always be surrounded by people.
With the help of the Lord, I finished my Personal Progress and received my Young Womanhood Recognition. I felt so good and proud and thankful to my Heavenly Father for helping me to get this far. My relationship with the Lord felt so strong because I had relied on Him for so much help. Eventually, having become clean and strong, I went on to serve a mission.
Heavenly Father is willing to help us with our righteous desires if we ask Him. I know how important it is to use the grace of Jesus Christ’s Atonement at all times. If we desire to overcome our weaknesses and turn to God, He will help us.

Photographs of the ward courtesy of Nolfo Zambrano
If someone offered you a piece of delicious banana bread, how would you react? For the young men in a ward in Ecuador, that’s one way they start conversations about the gospel.
Every two months they have a missionary day with open houses in a different area of their ward. They split into several teams, each made up of a young man, a full-time or recently returned missionary, and an elder or high priest. Some of the groups work at a tent, some go to contact people in the park, and some go door to door.
When they meet someone, they offer the person a piece of banana bread. When the person accepts, he or she is told that although the bread is delicious and good for the body, the missionaries have a message that will be nourishing to the person’s soul. The young men and their companions then invite the person to meet with the missionaries. In this way, they’ve been able to get 40 to 50 referrals for the missionaries in a couple of hours.
The young men also fellowship the members of their own quorums. On Saturdays they meet for a Young Men activity and to work on Duty to God. Then they visit the less-active members of their quorum. They encourage them to attend church and then invite them to come back to play sports or participate in another activity.
In this way and many others, these young men are preparing to be lifelong missionaries. Two of them (at right) share how they feel strengthened and inspired by their experiences.
I have been a member of the Church for five years. My parents are not members, but my uncle Jorge is the Young Men president, and he has been a great support. I am also grateful to my bishop for his constant support and encouragement.
I decided to get closer to the Church after one of the missionary days they had in the ward. It was one of my first experiences that motivated me to join the Church. As a deacon, teacher, and now a priest, my leaders have always supported and encouraged me to participate in all of the missionary work activities. I like the open houses, where I have the opportunity to share with others the blessing of being a member of Christ’s Church. What inspires me most are the service activities, where I have the opportunity to serve my neighbor as Jesus taught us to do.
A year ago, my younger brothers, Luis, age 15, and Israel, age 12, joined the Church. Together we have been working on the projects in Duty to God, and since their baptisms we have shared wonderful experiences working together. All of the young men in the ward are very close, and we support each other.
I know that baptism is the gate to enter the kingdom of heaven. When we are in the service of our fellow beings, we are in the service of God (see Mosiah 2:17). Missionary work blesses families, and I know that my life has changed because of the gospel.
Alvaro T., 17
As a deacon I learned my responsibilities thanks to the support of my parents and leaders and working with the goals in the Duty to God booklet. As a teacher I learned more by going to do visits as a home teacher, participating in the open houses on the missionary days, sharing banana bread, attending Mutual, and participating in ward and stake activities.
Now as a priest I get to focus more on missionary work. Working with the Young Men president and as an assistant to the bishop, I have learned much more about my responsibilities as a priesthood holder.
Our leaders constantly invite us to come with them and the full-time missionaries so that we can become familiar with missionary work. They also exhort us to read the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon. All of these experiences motivate and prepare me to receive the higher priesthood and to serve a full-time mission.
Isaac G., 17

When my mom died unexpectedly at age 61, I felt completely blindsided. She was my source of love, gentleness, support, strength, and laughter. I felt that I had been robbed of my mother and that my three children had been robbed of their grandmother. I even felt anger toward Heavenly Father. How could He do this to us?
For a while, I would wake up in the middle of the night unable to fall back asleep. One morning, I woke up at 3:00 a.m. Hoping to distract myself from life without my mother, I looked on my phone and found a cooking video on my newsfeed. It was comfort food in all its glory: chicken pot pie. I thought how amazing it would be to have a chicken pot pie, but I didn’t feel up to preparing any food for my family other than pouring milk into a bowl of cereal. For now, I would have to do without any comfort food, or so I thought.
Within one day of each other, two friends brought me chicken pot pies. I broke down and cried. I was incredibly touched by their kindness. I knew this wasn’t a coincidence. It reaffirmed to me that God was mindful of me, that He loved me, and that He cared about my seemingly insignificant desire for a chicken pot pie even when I had been angry with Him. I needed this reminder so much.
I’m grateful for those friends who brought me chicken pot pies. They ministered to me in ways they couldn’t have imagined. They helped me feel my Heavenly Father’s love when I needed to feel it the most.

Thomas ran through the house looking for Dad. His Scout patrol meeting started in 10 minutes, and he needed help tying his neckerchief.
“Dad! Can you help me?” Thomas pointed at his neckerchief. But Dad was busy talking on the phone.
“Of course Cody can join our patrol,” Thomas heard Dad say. “In fact, we have a campout next weekend.” Dad talked some more, then smiled and hung up.
“Who was that?” Thomas asked.
“You know Cody from school? That was his dad. Cody’s going to join our den and come on the campout next weekend.”
Going on overnight campouts was Thomas’s favorite part of being an 11-year-old Scout, and he liked Cody. But he was confused about one thing. “But Cody doesn’t go to our church.”
“I know,” Dad said. “Cody’s church doesn’t do Scouts, so he wants to join our patrol.”
But everybody in our patrol is from our ward, Thomas thought. How would Cody fit in?
Before the campout, everyone met up at the Church building. “Hi,” Cody said to Thomas. The boys talked for a bit, and then Cody said, “I brought a two-person tent. Wanna share it with me?” Thomas grinned and said yes. Soon the Scouts set off for the mountains. When they got there, the boys ran off to set up their tents.
“Ready?” Thomas called to Cody.
“Ready!” The two boys pushed the tent poles into the ground. Their tent rose up and made a long shadow. “That was easy,” Cody said. “Race you to the river!” Cody bolted away, and Thomas followed behind.
Cody took a turn leading a hike and lighting the campfire. He liked exploring and was really friendly. Thomas was glad Cody got along with the group so well.
At dinner that night, Cody and Thomas grabbed their tinfoil dinners and joined the other patrol members at the picnic table. “Brother Wilson, will you say the prayer?” Dad asked one of the other leaders.
Thomas folded his arms and looked over at Cody. He wasn’t sure how Cody prayed at his church. But Cody bowed his head too and said “amen” at the end—just like everybody else.
“Why did your dad call him ‘Brother Wilson’?” Cody whispered. “Is he really his brother?”
“It’s because we’re all children of Heavenly Father,” Thomas explained. “Do you pray the same way we do?”
Cody smiled. “We use some different words, but it’s mostly the same.”
Pretty soon it was time for s’mores around the campfire. “Now we’ll have Cody give the spiritual thought for tonight,” Dad said.
Thomas was surprised, but Cody gave him a thumbs-up as he walked to the front of the group. “Thanks for letting me come,” Cody said. “I was a little nervous at first, but you’ve all been really nice. I’m going to share one of my favorite scriptures.”
Cody read, “A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you” (John 13:34). Thomas recognized the scripture. “I go to a different church than you guys, but we all show that we love God in the same way—we love each other. Thanks for being my friends!”
Dad stood and thanked Cody. “Now let’s sing ‘Love One Another’ to finish our evening,” he said. Cody listened and smiled while the group sang.
“Nice song,” he said as he crawled into their tent. “It was just like my scripture!”
Thomas smiled and climbed into his sleeping bag. Cody and I might go to different churches, he thought, but we can still be great friends.

I recently faced the issue of relevancy in my own life. While serving as bishop of a University of Utah student ward, I received an appointment that would take me to the United Nations and later to Switzerland, during the coming arms control negotiations there. I had grave doubts as to whether I should or should not accept this appointment, as it would necessitate my release as bishop and take me from my family for several weeks, pending their joining me at Geneva. I asked my stake president for guidance, and with his affirmative advice, I accepted.
On the last few occasions that I spoke to my ward family, I was forced by the prospect of our separation to speak upon subjects that I considered most helpful to them, as judged from the perspective we shared—that of a common belief in the gospel.
My talks on those occasions were entirely devoid of current events, either domestic or foreign. In fact, as I think back on the year spent as bishop, I do not recall a church meeting in which I spoke on a current event with my ward family. I do not say this to suggest that eternal gospel principles do not serve as guides in helping meet current problems, for of course they do. Nor do I mean to infer that current topics may not, in the proper setting, be appropriate subjects for Church talks and classes. However, given the relatively short time I had with my brothers and sisters, I felt that my time, my influence upon them, the force of my own knowledge, testimony, and priesthood power could better be spent upon basic things, eternal things.
Their lives, spanning more years into the future than my own, would undoubtedly include confrontations with specific problems that I could not now foresee. The best way to arm them to meet these challenges, I felt—and still do—was for me to talk about basic Church doctrine and to leave many current issues for them to resolve on the basis of their own application of gospel principles.

One day the missionaries came to visit. John likes to ask missionaries where they are from, what their families are like, and how many people they are teaching and baptizing. But on this day he asked them how they paid for their missions. Parents and family members often give support, the missionaries explained. “I want to pay for my own mission,” John said. At 10 years old, he’s well on his way to being ready for his mission in more ways than one.

Several years ago I had the opportunity of hiking Mount Sinai. It was a very significant experience in my life. I started in the early morning when the stars were still spread across the darkness and watched from the peak of the mountain the world illuminate beneath me as the sun rose. Pilgrims who had come seeking spiritual enlightenment surrounded me, adding a cosmic quality to the journey. I remember thinking I would never experience anything quite like it again. My friend who was with me, however, said that we could have many “Sinai experiences” in our lives and that we should seek these experiences.

“The area conference was truly wonderful,” a third letter said, “a wonderful experience to all the Filipino Mormons here. I cried when the President first entered the hall and the congregation started to sing ‘We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet.’
“We live not far from Manila. We just planned traveling home every night after the conference. Well, last Monday the conference ended at almost 10:00 p.m. We were really flying to reach home before the curfew bell at 12:00. We were still having our journey when our back tire got flat, so we had to stop. Lucky we stopped, because a Filipino constabulary told us that we’re not supposed to travel any more tonight. So we stayed in the gasoline station until 4:00 a.m. till the curfew was off. We went back to Manila again the following day for the balance of the conference.”

When I enrolled in a philosophy class in high school, my dad was a little concerned. In philosophy, everything is questioned, including the existence of God. My teacher taught us things that go against religion and deny God’s existence.
One philosophy test asked, “Why have we come to the earth?” The answer I was supposed to give was so that we could become self-actualized and take our place in the circle of life. I didn’t write that answer because it’s not what I believe.
Instead, I wrote, “We have come to the earth to be tested and to return to live with our Father in Heaven for eternity with our families.”
Afterward, the teacher called me up and asked me if I knew the correct answer to the question. I told him I did but that I wasn’t going to write something I knew was untrue.
He asked me if I was religious and which church I belonged to. I told him I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He told me that he had never known any religious student who was courageous enough to stand up for his beliefs and write such an answer.
“I did not give you full credit because your answer wasn’t the correct one,” he said. “But I gave you points for having the courage to write what you believe.”
I was happy because I had answered according to my convictions and according to the gospel truths I know and am trying to live.
Benjamin M., Chile

While serving as a young missionary in England, President M. Russell Ballard had an experience that changed his life forever.
“I remember walking down the side of the River Trent in Nottingham, England. …
“As I was walking along that river, … I said a prayer in my heart. I desired to feel some guidance from the Lord. I pled that He would be pleased with what I was trying to do. I asked, ‘Am I doing what you want?’”1
“An overwhelming feeling of peace and understanding came over me. It was at that precise moment in time that I came to know that Jesus Christ knew me, [and] that He loved me, … I didn’t see any visions and I didn’t hear any voices, but I could not have known of Christ’s reality and divinity any more intensely had He stood before me and called out my name.
“My life has been shaped by that experience. From that day to the present, every significant decision I have made has been influenced by my knowledge of the Savior.”2

On another occasion, as Sister Monson and I were driving home after visiting friends, I felt impressed that we should go into town—a drive of many miles—to pay a visit to an elderly widow who had once lived in our ward. Her name was Zella Thomas. At the time, she was a resident in a care center. That early afternoon we found her to be extremely frail but lying peacefully on her bed.

Zella had long been blind, but she recognized our voices immediately. She asked if I might give her a blessing, adding that she was prepared to die if the Lord wanted her to return home. There was a sweet, peaceful spirit in the room, and all of us knew that her remaining time in mortality would be brief. Zella took me by the hand and said that she had prayed fervently that I would come to see her and provide her a blessing. I told her that we had come because of direct inspiration from our Heavenly Father. I kissed her on the forehead, knowing that I perhaps would not again see her in mortality. Such proved to be the case, for she passed away the following day. To have been able to provide some comfort and peace to our sweet Zella was a blessing to her and to me.

A few years ago I had the opportunity to teach seminary at Timpview High School in Provo, Utah. I was excited to begin a new year and looked forward with great anticipation to what the future held.
I was somewhat apprehensive, however, about going to Timpview because it would be my first experience of teaching or attending school without spending my afternoons playing football or baseball or coaching. I knew I could do it, but I worried nevertheless. I suppose that is why I enjoyed pep assemblies so much. It was an opportunity to feel many of the same feelings I had had as a player and as a coach. You have probably had the same experience—chills running down your arms and the back of your neck when you enter the gymnasium while the band is playing and the cheerleaders are cheering. It’s exciting!
I remember one particular assembly before a big game. The cheerleaders had planned a special class competition involving cream pies. I don’t remember all the details, but I do remember that some of the athletes, you know the type, the ones who all sit together and won’t cheer except on rare occasions, got an idea to liven things up by throwing some of the pies at the cheerleaders. Somehow the activities the cheerleaders had planned were left in a barrage of pies being thrown, hairdos being ruined, and the student body cheering for the athletic culprits. I must admit, it was quite an experience.
Very little was said to these young men, that I am aware of, by the cheerleaders. Each girl allowed the boys to think they had really gained the upper hand and gotten away with a fast one.
The pies were soon forgotten, and another pep assembly greeted us a few weeks later.
This time, as we entered the gym, there were 12 caramel apples on center court. Big, beautiful, brown caramel apples, waiting for someone to eat them.
When everyone was settled down and the band had ceased playing, the head cheerleader walked to the microphone and began to explain that morning’s class competition. From the small piece of paper she read the names of six football players and challenged them to a candied-apple-eating contest. As each name was read the responding young man came down to the basketball court with confidence, raising his hands as if in triumph, knowing that he could eat an apple faster than any girl.
Myself and another teacher were called upon to judge this historic event. The cheerleaders explained the rules to me, and I then explained them to the young men. The young men, however, were not overly concerned because each was proficient in eating and eating quickly. The only two rules were (1) every apple on each team must be completely devoured and (2) the girls were to be allowed a ten-second head start.
After hearing the rules, the young men decided on a game plan: they would not chew—just bite, swallow, bite, swallow, until each apple was gone. With such strategy the contest began.
The whistle blew, and the girls began to eat with great care and deliberate actions. The boys, on the other hand, stood watching, waiting for their winning opportunity.
When the second whistle blew, each young man, without any hesitation or forethought, lunged toward the caramel apple before him. With no table manners evident, they began to devour them with great haste—bite, swallow, bite, swallow. Then suddenly, in unison, as if a light switch had been turned on inside each boy, heads raised in shock and disbelief as they realized they were not eating candy covered apples but candy-covered onions! The crowd roared when they realized what had happened. The cheerleaders, on the other hand, stood calmly, hands signaling the peace sign in recognition of their sly plan to deceive the football players.
By now these poor boys were looking as white as sheets and trying to get rid of the large bites of raw onion which were now floating throughout their systems.
I’ll never forget it! Those poor guys smelled like onions for quite some time, and it was not an easy task to rid themselves of the stench.

I sat one day some fifty years ago, as a young missionary, in the Montevideo, Uruguay mission home, being taught by our mission President, J. Thomas Fyans. He spoke of failure and of success, of Babe Ruth and baseball. I recorded the account as best I remembered it.
It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. Thirty-five-thousand fans packed Shibe Park. Lefty (Bob) Grove, one of the greatest left-handed pitchers of all times, had just struck out Babe Ruth on three consecutive pitched balls for the second successive time. Babe went back to the dugout, tipped his hat politely, drank some water, smiled, and sat down.
Now, the situation was critical. It was near the end of the game, the bottom of the ninth. The Yankees were up to bat and the bases were loaded. Two men were out for the Yankees and the score was three to one in favor of the Athletics, the opposing team.
The excitement was tremendous.
"Strike 'im out again," pleaded the fans, as Babe Ruth approached home plate for one final turn at bat. Grove strutted around the pitcher's mound. It was clear that he intended to do just that. He threw the first ball. It was a foul.
"Striiiiirike one!" roared the umpire.
Babe got ready for the second pitch. It was too fast. He swung and missed. He swung so hard that he fell to the ground. The crowd was going mad. They loved it. Ruth finally regained his feet, brushed off his trousers, dried his hands, and got set for the next pitch.
Grove delivered the pitch so fast that not a single fan could see it.
Babe swung.
It took the crowd a minute to realize what had happened. The ball was never coming back. Ruth had just knocked the longest home run of his career and one, which of course, won the game for the Yankees.
Following the game, a reporter asked Ruth, "How did you feel after you had missed the ball twice?" Babe replied, "I began to feel sorry for the pitcher, because the law of averages was against him." The reporter persisted, "Didn't you think you were going to fail after those first and second strikes?"
Babe stopped, looked the reporter squarely in the eye--and said: "Those strikes were not a failure--they were effort toward success!"

Michelle has always tried to be a good influence in her family. The Ramnauths used to live in Guyana, a small country on the mainland of South America directly below Trinidad. In Guyana, their father David made his living driving a truck, but the family was struggling financially. He found he could make more money if he went to work in the interior jungles.
“I know he was just trying to provide for us,” Michelle says, “but we grew apart because the most we would see him was like two days in a month.” Eventually her mother, Pamela, got discouraged. “She eased up on going to church, and that really discouraged me,” Michelle says. “For a few Sundays, since I didn’t have my parents’ support, I didn’t go to church.”
Then rather than giving up, Michelle went into action. “I would press [iron] my clothes each Saturday and then get up early on Sunday and go to church by myself. I did that for a few months. It was kind of hard each Sunday because people would ask, ‘Where are your mom and dad?’ I felt a part of me was missing when I went to church by myself.”
So she turned to heaven for help. “I prayed and then cried myself to sleep at night, but I always asked Heavenly Father to help us find a way. I fasted a lot of Sundays by myself, and one or two times my mother fasted with me.”
Eventually, help did come. First, Michelle persuaded her mother to come to church again. Then a missionary couple, Elder and Sister Dunn, took an interest in her family. “They said they were going to fast for us and asked if I would join them,” Brother Ramnauth recalls. “I told them that ever since I became a member of the Church, I had never fasted. But I said I would.”
Michelle and her mother joined in that fast, too. The result was positive. “I found the strength to say that the work situation I was in wasn’t good for my family and to realize that not going to church on Sunday was also bad,” Brother Ramnauth says. “So I started going back to church, and we started having family home evening.” He also was able to find a contract closer to home that allowed him to transport materials with the same truck.
“Our family became very active in the Church again,” Michelle says. “I would say it was an answer to prayer and that fasting helped, too.” It was only a few months later that the family moved to Trinidad, and in their new country they are still sticking to their standards. Michelle, Melissa, and their mother and father all have callings. Brother Ramnauth is serving in the branch presidency. “I see him sitting in front of the congregation, and I say, ‘Hey, that’s my dad,’ and I’m so proud of him,” Michelle says.