Gospel Story Finder

The late Elder Matthew Cowley, who was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, once recounted the Saturday afternoon experience of a grandfather as hand in hand he took his small granddaughter on a birthday visit—not to the zoo or to the movies but to the temple grounds. With permission of the groundskeeper, the two walked to the large doors of the temple. He suggested that she place her hand on the sturdy wall and then on the massive door. Tenderly he then said to her, “Remember that this day you touched the temple. One day you will go inside.” His gift to the little one was not candy or ice cream but an experience far more significant and everlasting—an appreciation of the house of the Lord. She had touched the temple, and the temple had touched her.

“We’re having a scavenger hunt,” Mom announced at family home evening.
Ten-year-old Amy and her brothers, Nathan and Carl, grinned.
Mom continued, “You’ll be able to find most of the things on the list tonight, but some may take all week. Heavenly Father will help you, if you ask.” She passed a list to each person.
Amy scanned the page: (1) a picture of Jesus Christ; (2) a story of a missionary experience; (3) a true pioneer story; (4) the name of an ancestor with your first or middle name.
“OK,” Mom said, before Amy could finish reading the list, “be back here in an hour. We’ll try to finish the list during the week, and we’ll share our experiences next week.”
Amy read the rest of the list: (5) a story about President Hinckley when he was young; (6) a scripture about faith; (7) a picture of a temple; and (8) someone to give a copy of the Book of Mormon to.
Amy groaned. The first seven wouldn’t be too hard. But who would she give a Book of Mormon to?
“The first one’s easy,” Amy said to herself. She pulled a small picture of Jesus Christ out of her journal.
Her Primary class had read Alma 32:21 last week. It was a good scripture on faith, so Amy marked it.
Amy’s middle name was Evelyn, and it was her great-grandmother’s name, too!
Next she looked through copies of The Friend. She found a picture of the Tokyo Japan Temple, a story about President Hinckley growing up, and several true pioneer stories. Then the hour was up.
No one in the family had thought of someone to give a Book of Mormon to. In the closing prayer, they asked for help in finding people who were looking for the gospel.
Brother and Sister McKenzie had just come home from their mission, so on Tuesday, Amy asked them about their mission. But she still didn’t know who to give a Book of Mormon to.
Amy thought and prayed all week. Who would want a Book of Mormon? What would she say to them? “We’re having a scavenger hunt—would you like a Book of Mormon?” They would laugh.
She didn’t want to be laughed at. The Book of Mormon wasn’t a joke. It was a special book. She loved it, and she loved Jesus Christ. That was it! It was a book for people who loved Jesus! Now Amy knew just the person.
She knelt and prayed for Heavenly Father’s help. She felt calm and warm inside as she rode her bike to her friend Sarah’s house. But the calm feeling vanished when she got to the door. She prayed silently, then rang the doorbell.
“Hi, Amy,” Mrs. Morgan said. “Sarah’s at her grandmother’s this week.”
“I came to talk to you,” Amy said. She took a deep breath, then hurried on. “Mrs. Morgan, you love Jesus Christ a lot, don’t you?”
“Oh, very much,” smiled Mrs. Morgan.
“Would you like another book about Him?” Amy held out a Book of Mormon.
“The Book of Mormon,” Mrs. Morgan read. “Another Testament of Jesus Christ.”
“It tells some really wonderful things about Jesus,” Amy said. “About His visit to America and what He taught the people there. And it has one of my favorite scriptures—‘When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God’” (Mosiah 2:17).
“Another Testament of Jesus Christ,” Mrs. Morgan repeated softly. “Yes, Amy, I would like to read this. Thank you.”
Amy grinned, and the warm feeling grew inside her. “I like all of it, but 3 Nephi tells about the Savior’s visit to the Americas. I especially like when He blesses the children.”
Amy helped Mrs. Morgan find 3 Nephi.
Amy smiled and left as Mrs. Morgan sat on the steps and began reading. Still full of that warm feeling, Amy knew she had won the real prize of the scavenger hunt, and she hoped everyone else in her family would win it, too.

ELDER BENNETT: Because our goals shape our priorities, and our priorities determine our actions, and what we become, we must change our goals if they are not leading us to eternal life and to what we want to become. When I was 12, I had a goal to be a dentist in Hollywood. Twenty years later, Shelley and I were living in Hollywood, with an orthodontic office in Beverly Hills, California. Goal accomplished, right?
Well, we realized that our greatest desires, eternal life and exaltation, and our highest priorities—obeying our Heavenly Father and following Jesus Christ and His prophets—were at risk because of worldly values and all the material distractions that the world claimed would make us happy and fulfilled.
We realized that our greatest desires and highest priorities in eternity must also be our greatest desires and highest priorities now.Thus, Heavenly Father's plan for our family required us to move. We prayed for and were eventually blessed with another opportunity that was more ideal for our family.

“Come on, Sam,” Jeremy said as he walked along the old dusty roadbed with his friends. “Nobody will know but us.”
Lagging behind the group, I thought about the conversation Jeremy and I had had that morning. He had told me about his plan to steal watermelons from Brother Vargas. I knew stealing was wrong, but I thought if I did what he wanted, we would be friends. So when he had finished talking, I told a lie. “I know all about stealing. It’s easy. I’ve done it before.”
“You have!” he had exclaimed, looking surprised. “Wait until I tell the other guys.” After he had told everyone in the group, they looked at me with renewed interest. I liked that, but now I was in trouble. I didn’t want to steal anything, especially Brother Vargas’s prize watermelons.
Brother Vargas was as old as my grandpa, but he had been my only friend when we first moved to Fawn Creek. He knew I was lonely and needed a friend. And I knew that the money from his melon field made up most of the income he and Sister Vargas lived on.
“Hurry up, Sam,” one of the kids called over his shoulder. “Brother Vargas will be back soon to pick up another load of melons. If we don’t get to his field before he does, we’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
Oh, well, I thought, walking faster, I need friends my own age. Jeremy’s in my Primary class and my Scout troop, and all the guys like him. If we become friends, I’ll have a lot of guys to hang around with. Besides, Mom thinks he’s a good friend. So did I—until now.
When I caught up to Jeremy, he began making plans. “Clint, you be the lookout. If anyone comes, whistle. Brett, you take Sam and head for the nearest row of melons. Jeff and I will be right behind you. Remember, we won’t have much time, so don’t be too choosy. Just get the biggest ones you can carry.”
“Yeah,” Clint agreed, licking his lips. “We already know how good they taste.”
“What if we get caught?” I asked.
“Getting nervous?” Brett questioned.
“Not me,” I lied for the second time in a half hour. “You’re right; we’d better hurry.”
The real reason I wanted to hurry had nothing to do with taking melons. The truth was, I didn’t want to see the way Brother Vargas would look at me if he caught me robbing him. We were friends, and true friends take care of each other. I was starting to feel awful.
“Don’t worry, Sam,” Jeremy said. “No one will find out.”
How did I get into this situation? I wondered. I needed someone to blame. So I blamed Mom. It’s her fault we moved after Dad died.
“Yeah, sure,” I muttered under my breath. “And look at what you’re doing.” I knew why Mom had sold the house. She didn’t want to go to work and leave me home alone. She’d loved that old house, and I knew she didn’t want to move away from her friends any more than I did.
“Sam, you’re dragging your feet again,” Jeremy said.
“Yeah, I know,” I said, as I sent a rock flying across the road with the side of my foot.
When we finally reached Brother Vargas’s melon field, I knew I had made the worst decision of my life. But I didn’t know how to get out of it. Then the words to a song we were learning in Primary popped into my head. I began to sing softly:
“Choose the right when a choice is placed before you. In the right the Holy Spirit guides; And its light is forever shining o’er you, When in the right your heart confides” (“Choose the Right,” Hymns, number 239).
When I got to the chorus, all the boys began to sing with me. When we finished, I knew I had to say something. “We can’t do this!” I declared looking first at the guys and then at the melon field. “This just isn’t right.”
“But you said you’ve stolen things before,” Jeremy said accusingly.
“That was a lie,” I admitted. “I’ve never stolen anything in my whole life, and I don’t want to start now.”
“Neither do I,” Clint said, walking over to stand next to me.
Surprised, I turned to Clint. “I thought you had stolen before. You even said you knew how good Brother Vargas’s melons are.”
“We lied, too,” Brett admitted. “Brother Vargas gives my family watermelons from his field every year.”
“Yeah, and they sure are good!” Jeff said, almost drooling. “He gives melons to anyone who wants them.”
“Then why were we going to steal them?” I asked, almost shouting.
“We thought it would be fun,” Clint said as he dug the point of his shoe into the loose dirt.
“Yeah,” Jeremy agreed, his voice a whisper. “But it sure doesn’t seem like fun now.”
When Brother Vargas drove up, we were sitting in the shade of the big metal shed still talking about his watermelons.
“Hi, boys,” he called. “It’s good to see you. I could sure use your help putting another load of melons on the truck.”
Feeling a little guilty, we asked him how we should do it so we wouldn’t damage the melons. Two hours later, after the truck was loaded, he offered us jobs for the rest of the summer. Then he said, “Each of you take a watermelon home to your families.”
“My family is going to love this!” Brett said excitedly. “Just yesterday Dad said his mouth was watering for a taste of Brother Vargas’s melons.”
“Mine, too,” Clint said with a big grin.
After Jeff, Clint, and Brett headed for home, only Jeremy and I were left.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I guess I just got carried away.”
“I’m sorry, too, Jeremy. I’m glad we finally made the right decision.”
Jeremy’s whole face lit up. “So am I! Now we can eat watermelon without feeling bad—and we have jobs, too! It doesn’t get much better than that!”

That time came all too quickly for Brigham, who developed a deep love for and loyalty to Joseph. Brigham followed the young Prophet unquestioningly through many difficult times, and at the Prophet’s call Brigham left his family again and again to preach the gospel in the eastern United States, in Canada, and in England. He was in Boston on June 27, 1844, the day Joseph and Hyrum were killed in Carthage, Illinois. Though rumors of the brothers’ deaths spread rapidly, it was not until July 16 that Brigham learned for certain of their martyrdom.
As President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, Brigham Young gathered the other members of the quorum who were also preaching throughout the eastern states and returned with them to Nauvoo.
A conference was held in Nauvoo on August 7 and 8, and Brigham addressed the grieving Saints. Benjamin F. Johnson reported that “as soon as [Brigham] spoke I jumped upon my feet, for in every possible degree it was Joseph’s voice, and his person, in look, attitude, dress and appearance … ; and I knew in a moment the spirit and mantle of Joseph was upon him.”

Dear Buddy,
Wow! Two letters from you in one week! That was great! But now I have a real problem, and it’s all because of you and your good looks and charm. I’m worried that you may steal my girlfriends from me!
Seriously, Melissa and Kelly are both good friends, and there’s nothing too serious between us as far as I’m concerned. But if they both show up at the house at the same time, you’ll have to use your charm and personality to save the day.
Elder Watts and I are teaching some terrific people. The Brooks family has a boy just a year older than you. His name is Bobby, and he’s been going to Primary for three weeks now and has made some friends there. Bobby and his mother want to get baptized and join the Church, but Mr. Brooks says that he can’t seem to get a testimony. We challenged him to finish reading the Book of Mormon and to pray for a testimony of whether it is true or not.
We are also teaching a student from the university, a great guy named Will Landers. Will likes the Church but has to solve some problems before he can join. Please remember all these people in your prayers.
And whatever your problem is, don’t be afraid to tell me.
Love,Reed
Dear Reed,
Today was the second worst day of my entire life! (The worst day was the day that you left home.) We had baseball tryouts, and I was terrible! I couldn’t do anything right. I need you here to help me. Dad says that he’ll practice with me, but you know how busy he is all the time. How can I ever learn to play baseball good enough to get on the team and then play for the high school and get a scholarship for college like you did? Sometimes I feel like a dumb little kid who can’t do anything right.
Do you know now what my secret is? My secret is that I don’t think that I can stand to have you be away for two years. I want you to come home right now! I need you, Reed. Please come home now!
Love,Buddy
P.S. If I ever decide to play baseball again, can I borrow your glove and bats?
Dear Buddy,
Last time you and I played baseball, you were as good as I was when I was your age—maybe even better! Your problem is that you want to be great right now. But you have a lot of work and practice and growing to do. Lots of the guys who were better baseball players than I was at seven and eight years old never made the college teams because they didn’t work as hard as I did all those years. So don’t give up if you really want to do it.
As far as the other problem goes, you know that I can’t leave my mission. But I’ll tell you a secret. Sometimes I get homesick, and it really hurts inside when I want to see all of you and can’t. I miss playing baseball with you, Buddy, and going for ice cream and to the movies and talking in the dark after we’ve gone to bed. What I do when I get homesick is pray for strength and comfort. And then I try to forget about myself by helping other people. That seems to work every time.
You can help Elder Watts and me too. Please pray for the Brooks family and Will Landers. And pray that Elder Watts and I can help them.
Love,Reed
P.S. I’m afraid that my glove and bats are too big and awkward for you, but you can try them if you want. And you can have all my baseballs if you promise to wear them out with your practicing.
Dear Brad May,
My name is Bobby Brooks. Yesterday your big brother baptized me, and I became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints! Elder Watts baptized my mom and dad. I’m really happy now, and Mom and Dad are happy too. We know that we did the right thing because this is the right church.
Elder May is a great guy! I like him a lot. He’ll be here only a short time, but you’re lucky because he’ll always be your brother. I hope that he’ll always be my friend. I want to be a missionary like him someday. Thanks for sharing him with us.
Sincerely,Bobby Brooks
Dear Reed,
Something awesome just happened! When I got your letter, I tried to do what you said. I prayed for help so that I wouldn’t miss you so much. Then I prayed for the people you’re teaching. Then I thought that maybe I’d write a letter to them. But before I wrote, I got a letter from Bobby Brooks, and he said that you baptized him!
I want you to stay on your mission and find more people who want to learn about the Church. I want you to tell me all about your mission because I want to grow up to be a missionary just like you.
Please tell Bobby that I’ll write a letter to him soon.
I have to go now so that I’ll be on time for baseball practice.
Love,Buddy
(To be continued)

Youth in the Saskatoon Saskatchewan Stake know what it means to stand on solid ground. Their youth conference theme this year was “Like a Rock,” and every activity centered on the idea of having a firm foundation by living the gospel.
A highlight of the conference was a mini-food drive in which the youth hit the streets of the city of Prince Albert and collected canned and packaged food for the local food pantry.
“As the food drive started, spirits were pretty low because we weren’t getting many donations,” says priest Scott MacDonald. “But as the day went on, food collection picked up.”
Other conference activities included workshops, dancing, and an impromptu basketball tournament. Most of the youth agree that all the activities helped to make their friendships—and their testimonies—rock solid.

My great-grandmother Ann Stewart, born in 1833, had an older sister Elizabeth. She and her grandmother, known simply as “Granny,” brought the rest of the family into the Church as a result of a remarkable experience they enjoyed together.
When the Mormon missionaries came to the home of my great-great-grandfather Archibald Stewart in Ireland, Elizabeth, the third child, immediately felt the truthfulness of their message. She began to study and search for more assurance of the things she felt within. Her feelings and study stirred an immediate response in Granny, who was the real matriarch of the Stewart household.
Elizabeth spent many hours explaining to Granny, through written material, that a new prophet of God, Joseph Smith, had been called to bring back to earth the simple message that Christ was alive and had appeared to man.
Elizabeth felt a testimony burning within and asked her parents for permission to be baptized. But because of the unpopularity of the Mormons, her parents objected. Then, when Elizabeth was about to give up, Granny came to her rescue. “Let the child alone,” she said. “I have read all her books, and I do believe the child is right.” Granny was not one to be overruled, so her parents gave their consent.
On January 9, 1841, a wintry day, as Elizabeth left home with her baptismal clothes she found Granny by her side. The two walked to the river where the elders planned to hold the services. A hole had been broken in the ice. When the elders came forward to baptize Elizabeth, Granny said, “Watch your manners, child. Never step in front of your elders.”
Granny was baptized. She had brought nothing to change into, but even though she walked home in wet, frozen clothing, she didn’t take cold. She didn’t change her clothes until all the other family members had gone to bed. She said nothing about her baptism, but went about her usual tasks as though nothing had happened. After the others were asleep, she hung all her clothing near the fireplace.
When Elizabeth’s father, Archibald, got up the next morning, he saw the clothes drying. He began to joke to the others about Granny having been dipped in the river along with Elizabeth. Granny surprised him though, when she said, “Archibald, if you don’t want people to hear, stop shouting so loudly. You can’t talk about Granny now, for she can hear better than any of you.”
Granny had been deaf for 20 years, but a miracle had occurred. Her hearing had been restored at the time of her baptism. From that day until her death, she heard distinctly. In fact, Archibald laughingly said she heard too much!
This manifestation of the power of the Lord through his appointed servants made the family think seriously. They studied the gospel and as a result most of them were soon baptized.

When I was 14, I played football on my ninth grade team – yes I once played football. In those days I was very skinny, actually the lightest member of the team, but I could play wide-receiver and my size mattered less than getting open. My 119 pounds was actually under the limit to qualify for the team but they listed me on the roster 10 pounds heavier. At the beginning of the season in my nearly all white junior high school of middle class homogeneity, a boy named Perry Taufaasau enrolled and came out for the football team. The coaches were interested because one, Perry was large for our age, 6’3 and 250 pounds. His pedigree was also promising; his father was African American and a former professional boxer who had actually lasted 15 rounds with Cassias Clay, you know him as Muhammad Ali. And his mother was Samoan. At that time he lived with his older brother who had just finished an illustrious career as the nose tackle for the Boise State Broncos football team – even in those days they were a team to be reckoned with. Perry had been sent to Boise from Los Angeles, California by his mother to extricate him from gang life. His arrival at our white-bread school caused quite a stir, not only was he racially different, but he dressed and moved different, like a gangster from the hood. While I am sure he longed for camaraderie, he seemed to revel in his cool, stand-offish demeanor. He just looked mean, and knew all these timid teenagers were terrified of him. The only time he really spoke with any one was during football practice when he would taunt opposing linemen with diminutives and insults.

One day during the lunch hour he strutted into the gym where most of the students were hanging out and then sat alone looking mean (again) on one of the benches. I thought, “Enough of this;” I really felt that as a follower of Jesus I should make some kind of gesture for inclusion. So I went up and sat next to him, and said, trying to sound confident with no fear, “Hey man, what’s going on?” Not a very deep opening line, but it seemed cool at the time. I gave him the hand shake of the seventies (there have been numerous variations since) and he said, “Not much.” Wow, we are getting somewhere with this. And then we just talked. I joked with him about how he had embarrassed one of our teammates when he laid him out flat during practice. He smiled just ever so slightly. He joked with me about how skinny I was. Perhaps because I made fun of myself too, he started to smile even more. So we talked through the lunch period. It was probably nothing I really said, but that I said something, anything to him, and from then on I was his “Little Mac” (My name is McArthur). We hung out together often, and everyone came to see us as an odd couple; the dark, giant, scowling, sarcastic gangster football player with the miniature white boy almost-too-skinny-to-be-seen Mormon. One thing was for sure, through all the years he remained in school no one ever hassled me! Ultimately, after a couple years of playing football and trying to make the grade Perry was kicked off the football team for just too many fights with other teams, his teammates, and even with fans who came to heckle him. But we remained friends. As I sought ever more to honor my priesthood and keep myself in good company, he continued to spiral out of control with an indulgent, sometimes violent, and often illegal lifestyle. When he needed someone to talk to we still got together and enjoyed a laugh. I even encouraged him to come to Church with me. He didn’t. But increasingly I would only see him after trouble with the law. One morning he called me from the hospital. I rushed to see him; he was recuperating from a serious injury after he wrapped a stolen car around a tree traveling 100 miles an hour while being pursued by police officers.

We kept sporadic contact after his juvenile detention sentence, and then I went away to college. Then during my second year of college as I was preparing for a mission he called me when I had come home during the Christmas break. He told me how he had a steady job; he was working as a bouncer at a local bar. He asked if we could meet. So I invited him to attend a Young Single Adult Christmas dance (a risk yea?). He accepted. I told him how he needed to be in standards and that under no circumstances could he be inebriated. So I picked him up and we went to the dance. We had a great time. He was masterful at the robot (ever heard of that dance style?). I took him home afterward. He said he had not had such good fun in years, if ever. I invited him to the YSA New Years Eve dance for the next week. He readily accepted. The following week I returned to the house he was staying where a bunch of other big Polynesian former football players lived, none of them members. “Hey Little Mac,” they greeted me, “Perry is not here. Not sure where he went. But hey, you are the one friend we can trust that will do him good.” When I arrived they had already begun their own New Years Eve libations so I departed quickly. I headed to the dance the whole evening hoping he would make a sudden appearance. He never came.

The next day, New Years Day, I received a phone call that he was in jail for a burglary the evening before. Instead of being with me and enjoying the company of great YSA members, he had gotten drunk, and then broke into a closed restaurant with really no purpose than to use the restroom. I had to return back to school before his trial, but by the time I returned home that summer he was incarcerated at the state penitentiary to serve a 3-5 year prison term. During that summer I received my mission call to serve in the Micronesia Guam Mission and I dutifully prepared myself for this honor. Each week, I traveled to the penitentiary to visit him. I was intimidated by all the security and pat downs to enter the room for the one-hour-only visit. I was the only one who ever came to see him. We had great conversations, he told me more than I wanted to know about prison life and I told him about the gospel. I told him that despite the bad hand dealt in this life, he really did matter, and that freedom only comes through obedience to the will of the Lord. He was jealous that I was headed to the islands. All his life he wanted to reconnect to the islander roots of his mother’s family. Just a few days before I would depart for the MTC I visited him one last time. I told him I loved him and that Jesus loved him too. This giant man (he was now much bigger than in high school) gave me the same handshake we used all those years ago as boys (he couldn’t hug me, it was against the rules), and told me, “I love you man, you’re my Little Mac.” And so tearfully we parted. He called out as I left, “Give `em the gospel brother.” Yes, I was his brother, and as I left I recalled the Lord’s statement, “…I was in prison, and ye came unto me” (Matthew 25:36).

But the story does not end there. And there really is no happy ending though I am sure you are hoping for one. Into the last half of my mission I received word that he had been released from prison on parole, and then one winter day, when my mother had gone out in the garage to get in her car, she was startled to find Perry sleeping in the back seat to get out of the cold. After gathering herself she told him to come in the house to get warm and prepared him some hot food for breakfast. Then she sent him on his way. A short time later he was wandering the streets one evening in the inclement weather and called my parents in his distress. My father went to bring him home and out of the cold. They prepared him another hot meal and sat at our table. After he had eaten he suddenly, in an abrupt shift, slammed his hand down upon the table, stood up, and ordered my parents in a gruff voice to stand. They were greatly alarmed by this sudden aggressive and seemingly hostile behavior. Frightened beyond reason, they stood up. And then, this giant outlaw that even put fear into the meanest of street fighters, wrapped his arms around my parents, hugged them tightly but tenderly, and kindly told them, “You and your son are the only people who have ever been nice to me. This is family.” Relieved and also moved, my parents returned a kind word. Then my father took him and dropped him off where he wanted to go. I wish there was more to tell you. Perry exited our lives. He was eventually ordered out of the state, and should he return he would find himself back in prison for a very long time. All we heard is that he returned to California. But I can testify, that this son of God taught me more about becoming a true follower of Christ than about any other. Strangely, he also prepared me well for my mission. He served as one of my missionary prep. teachers, because you see, he was my Samoan precursor to my much loved companions Nelson Leausa, Fatu Stevenson, and Tiitii Tuiletefuga, they too much larger than me, men of great girth and stature. Because there were only four of us missionaries in the Marshall Islands I even remained with one of them for nearly a year, 24/7, opening areas to mission work and learning to serve and love each other as we served the Lord. But often, during my mission while I diligently worked with my companions, I would reflect on Perry and quietly thank God, and hope in some way he would feel this gratitude. As I taught with these noble Polynesian companions I would remember Perry’s encouraging words from prison, “Give `em the gospel brother.”

Growing up, Elder Choi dreamed of becoming a general in the Korean army. So when his bishop asked him to speak about preparing for a mission, Elder Choi said no. Another young man spoke instead, which made Elder Choi feel guilty.
“The Holy Ghost told me I needed to serve a mission,” he says. He prepared for and served two years as a missionary, interrupted halfway through by three years of mandatory military service. To this day, Elder Choi says he and his wife, Koo Bon Kyung, “never deny anything that comes from the Lord.”

In 2007 the University of Washington invited me to a banquet honoring its female athletes. I had played tennis at the university 44 years earlier, and my tennis partner and I had won the Northwest championship in doubles. At the banquet I would be recognized for my achievement.
On our way to the dinner, my husband and I picked up Lynda, a friend from our days as students. She was also the one who introduced me to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when I was 33. Together we enjoyed seeing our former campus and old friends.
However, when I went to pick up a packet and name tag prior to the banquet, I was disappointed to discover that printed on them was the name “Sharon Krull,” not Sherry Krull. “Oh, well,” I thought, and I crossed out Sharon and wrote Sherry instead. But the mistake continued through the night. Later in the evening, when the host introduced me as an award recipient, he called me “Sharon.” The plaque he handed me also included the error.
It wasn’t a huge problem; I was grateful to have been invited to the banquet, and the people in charge of the event promised to replace the plaque with one bearing the correct name.
The next day was Easter Sunday. My husband and I had spent Good Friday at the temple and had spent much time during the week pondering the Savior’s last days on earth. But the most powerful part of Easter that year came during sacrament meeting, when our bishop made this statement: “How grateful I am that the Lord knows my name.”
I felt a great joy come over me. As much as I had enjoyed the previous evening, the happiness I felt at this truth far outweighed anything I felt from receiving “the honors of men.”
My life changed then, at my baptism and confirmation, and it changed again that powerful Easter morning when I received the witness that Heavenly Father and the Savior really do know our names. I cannot fully express the joy that it is to know Heavenly Father and the Savior—and to know that They know me.

One day when I was making a tuition payment, I met the director of my school. During our conversation I mentioned that I was a member of the Church and explained the PEF program to him. He told me he knew some Latter-day Saints and they were good people. He also said he had had some LDS students.
After I had attended one month of classes, the director invited me to finish my major early by taking double classes, graduating in 14 months instead of 24. I explained to him that I would not be able to pay the extra tuition until the next year when I renewed my loan, but he told me that my word was good enough since I was a Latter-day Saint. So again I was blessed. I began taking more classes, even though this required more studying and more hours in class, while continuing my part-time job.
I was amazed as I attended school how the Lord blessed me by increasing my knowledge. As part of my education I have helped people who had back problems, scoliosis, sprains, sciatica, and neck pain. Helping others improve their health and their lives through rehabilitation therapy is a pleasure—and a dream that has become a reality.
Everything is going well. I am elders quorum president in my ward. By the time I graduated in April 2003, I had taken all the required steps to have my own practice, and Fabiola and I were expecting our first child.

When I first arrived in Brazil as a missionary, I immediately loved the beautiful, green country and the open, loving, humble people.
The work was often difficult. Representatives of another church would tell the youth to throw rocks at us. We were put in jail. It was hard for people to join the Church, because their neighbors would ostracize them. That was in the late 1950s when the Church didn’t have even one stake in Brazil.
Now there are almost 200 stakes. It has been a spiritual blessing to see the miraculous growth of the Church in Brazil as I’ve returned with my family as a mission president and member of an Area Presidency.

Nearly 200 years ago, the American short story “Rip Van Winkle” became an instant classic. The main character, Rip, is an unambitious man who is very good at avoiding two things: work and his wife.
One day, while wandering in the mountains with his dog, he discovers a group of strangely dressed men drinking and playing games. After accepting some of their liquor, Rip becomes drowsy and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens his eyes again, he is surprised to find that his dog is gone, his rifle has rusted, and he now has a long beard.
Rip makes his way back to his village only to discover that everything has changed. His wife has died, his friends are gone, and the portrait of King George III in the tavern has been replaced by a portrait of someone he does not recognize—by General George Washington.
Rip Van Winkle had been sleeping for 20 years! And in the process, he had missed one of the most exciting periods in the history of his country—he had slept through the American Revolution.
In May 1966, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. used this story as an illustration for his speech “Don’t Sleep Through the Revolution.”1

The admonition in James 1:5 that if we lack wisdom we should ask of God applies to each of us. Let me illustrate with a personal example. As you are aware, vitamins can be a huge blessing for health, and prenatal vitamins are very important. But I had an experience that taught me that for me and my body, a particular brand of vitamins was causing me problems.

When I was pregnant with my sixth child I experienced severe depression. I felt like my entire world was sinking into darkness. One Sunday I had reached what felt like the bottom of a pit. I went to sacrament meeting with my family, but then fled home to cry on my bed. I poured out my heart to Heavenly Father. I wailed, sobbed, and pleaded. “Please tell me what to do. I can’t go on like this.” Shortly before my family was to arrive home I had a distinct impression from the Holy Ghost to stop taking my prenatal vitamins. Certainly an answer I wasn’t expecting, because I had successfully taken prenatal vitamins for five pregnancies, but I obeyed and the darkness began to lift. When I put my trust in God and followed the personal revelation He gave me I was healed. I know that He will do the same for you—in His own time and in His own way. He will tell us exactly what we need to know exactly when we need to know it and in a way that we will understand.

Is it true that “with God nothing shall be impossible”? (Luke 1:37). José Javier Alarcón, 16, of Maracaibo, has tested this scriptural promise.
“When I was eight or nine years old, my parents divorced. Later a friend invited me to church, and eventually I wanted to be baptized. But my mother, who had been baptized but hadn’t been active for many years, wouldn’t let me. When I was 12, she finally allowed me to be baptized. As I grew in the gospel, I started to pray that my mom would come back to the Church. A couple of years later, she did!”
José Javier’s mother, Miriam, admits that she had been apart from the Church for eight years and “didn’t ever intend to come back. But when my son began praying with great faith for me … something started to happen inside me. I began to feel a strong desire to pray and read the scriptures. One night the Lord changed my heart, and from that night I changed completely. So I owe it to my son. I thank the Father for giving me such a wonderful son!”
“It’s a gift from God,” says José Javier. “I had to do part of it. But it was actually God who did all of these things.”
Now José Javier, his mother, and his younger brother, Jesús David, 10, have visited the temple. José Javier has been baptized for the dead, and their mother has received her endowment.

Pat: In the summer of 1973, Brother David K. Skidmore received military orders to report for duty in Thailand. Leaving a wife and two small children behind, David hoped to make the year pass as quickly as possible.
On the evening of his arrival, he was invited to join in a social gathering with his new squadron. He turned down an alcoholic drink for a soda pop and tried to obscure himself in quiet conversation amid the pounding of the music and the layered haze of smoke.
As he was introduced around, Brother Skidmore eventually ended up standing at the bar with the squadron commander, a colonel. With the officer’s arm around David’s neck he was a captive, listening to tales of airplanes, daring, and past comrades.
Soon a signal was given and the men gathered around the bar. The music was turned off and it became very quiet. Everyone was served a small drink of very strong alcohol. When the drinks came to Brother Skidmore, he said quietly, trying to be casual, “No, thank you, I prefer this soft drink.”
The room went silent. “But this is a squadron tradition,” the man said.
Thoughts raced through David’s mind: “Why me? Why in front of the whole squadron? Why the very first night?” Trying to sound confident, David explained that he did not drink alcohol but would participate with soda pop.
With that, the silence deepened, and the commander’s arm tightened around his neck and he said, “Lieutenant, I’m ordering you to have this drink. You’ll drink it if I have to pour it down you myself.”
David thought of how far he could get if he tried to fight. He envisioned the results, and an unpleasant visit to the wing commander to change squadrons. Again he asked himself, “Why me?” But he gathered his courage amidst the waiting silence and said, “I’m sorry, sir, I will not drink alcohol.”
An electricity filled the air, and David prayed silently with all his heart.
The colonel leaned back and measured him with his eyes, then replied, “You are going to drink this . . .”
David kept praying.
Then the colonel added, “. . . unless you are a Mormon.”
What relief filled a soldier’s soul! Of course he was a Mormon! He’d always been a Mormon. Why hadn’t he said so earlier? “Yes, sir, I’m a Mormon,” he answered.
The commander quizzed David again to make sure he wasn’t simply taking an easy out. Then he said, “A soft drink for this man, please” (David K. Skidmore, “Yes, I Am a Mormon,” Ensign, September 1985, pp. 55–56).

Matthew is a very good example of Christlike love. He is very loving to his family, and he is a good example to the teachers and other students in his kindergarten class. His teacher says that he has no enemies, and he sticks up for others if he thinks that they are unfairly treated. He isn’t afraid to stand up for the right. Last year when terrorists attacked, Matthew raised his hand and said, “We need to remember that they have babies, too. Just because some of them do something bad to us doesn’t mean that we need to do something bad back.”

A few years ago, Sister Cook and I were in Vava’u in the Tongan Islands. I had just spoken about following the Prophet in the general session of stake conference. At the luncheon following the conference, I sat next to a distinguished elderly patriarch. He indicated how grateful he was to hear what the Prophet was teaching. He gave me the following account:

Vava’u, which is a relatively small island, usually has sufficient rain, but periodically there are severe droughts. The island has long inlets or bays, almost like sounds, which curl into the island below steep hills. When drought conditions left the village without water, there was only one way they could obtain fresh water and stay alive. Over the centuries, they had found that fresh water traveled down through rock formations inside the mountains and came up in a few spots in the sea.

The Tongan men would set off in their small boats with a wise elder standing at one end of the boat looking for just the right spot. The strong young men in the boat stood ready with containers to dive deep into the sea water. When they reached the appropriate spot, the wise man would raise both arms to heaven. That was the signal. The strong young men would dive off the boat as deep as they could and fill the containers with fresh spring water.

This old patriarch likened this life saving tradition to the living waters of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the wise man to God’s prophet here on earth. He noted that the water was pure, fresh, and in their drought condition—life saving. But it was not easy to find. It was not visible to the untrained eye. This patriarch wanted to know everything the prophet was teaching.

Last December, two small boys extended a very special dinner invitation to Alec Ferguson, Jimmy Rasband, and Brandon Clayton, priests in the Provo Edgemont Stake. The young boys, who came from a high-risk home, invited their teenage friends as guests of honor.
“Apparently they were in a situation where they didn’t have a dad in the family. And so they kind of looked up to us three guys as father figures,” Brandon recalls with a smile. It’s one of his favorite memories of his high school years. He loves spending time with the children who have come to know and love him, Alec, and Jimmy as “the puppet boys.”
For the past three years, Alec, Jimmy, and Brandon have been volunteering their time once a month as puppeteers at Kids on the Move, a care program for children at a local hospital. Recently, the boys added a weekly show at the Family Support and Treatment Center in their hometown of Orem, Utah. In both venues, the boys perform for children in high-risk situations. And although the work can be draining, it’s also the highlight of their week.
“It’s so fun! It’s like being a kid again,” says Brandon.
In the last year alone, Alec, Jimmy, and Brandon have performed more than 100 hours of service with their puppet shows. In doing so, they have completed the service requirements for their Duty to God awards. Each of the boys has also qualified for the Presidential Service award, which is awarded to individuals who have demonstrated outstanding volunteer service and civic participation. But for these boys, it’s not about the awards—it’s about the kids.
“It’s cool to say we did 100 hours of service in a year,” says Brandon, “but I think the best thing that’s come out of this for me is just that great feeling that you get knowing that you’ve helped someone or that you’ve brought a smile to a child’s face—a child that probably doesn’t get that happiness too often in life.”
Alec, Jimmy, and Brandon are famous among the children at both facilities. The children frequently ask when the puppet boys are coming. When the three teenagers walk through the door, they are greeted by countless hugs and shouts of delight. The puppet shows that they perform last only about 20 minutes, but the boys often stay for several hours to play with their young friends. Each of the boys has made a connection in his own way with the children they serve.
“Brandon will really get into playing with the kids, and they love him for it. Sometimes 15 kids just come to him at the same time. He’s really lovable when it comes to the kids,” says Alec.
Brandon says, “Jimmy is always there for the kids that maybe don’t look like they have someone giving them one-on-one attention. Jimmy goes right over there and makes friends. He’s always there for them when they need him.”
In addition to doing the puppet show, the boys draw pictures with the children. Alec’s artistic talents make him a favorite. “They’re fascinated by Alec’s drawing ability,” says Brandon. “I’ve seen it where literally 18 kids have come up and asked him to draw a picture for each of them. And he does it just for the kids.”
Jimmy says his friends’ enthusiasm and willingness to serve are the reasons for their special relationship with the children. “They go and actively participate and play with all the kids. I think with little kids it’s often that you just have to be there.”
Francesca Lawson, Alec’s mother, often goes with the boys when they perform their shows. She describes the response of the children’s mothers. “There was one mother who said, ‘My children don’t have many positive role models in their lives. My boys really look forward every month to coming and being with these guys, because they’re positive male role models.’ I was touched by that. I don’t think these boys totally understand what a difference they’ve made.”
All three boys feel that the experience has blessed them with greater understanding.
“It’s not like it takes special people to be able to give service,” says Alec. “It’s not difficult, and it’s not necessarily very time-consuming. A hundred hours out of a year is not a lot at all. I don’t think enough people give service.”
Jimmy says he learned the importance of taking time to get to know individual children, because “the worth of souls is great in the sight of God” (D&C 18:10).
Brandon says he has gained a closeness to the Savior and a greater understanding of charity. “It’s helped me to be more Christlike. And in a lot of ways, I feel closer to the Lord, especially when I’m serving. It makes me feel like I’m doing good in life—like I’m doing okay.”
If these three friends should ever wonder whether they’ve done any good, they need only remember the words of one small boy who recently announced that when he grows up, he wants to be a volunteer—just like the puppet boys.