Gospel Story Finder

In later years I worked as an engineer installing robotic systems for many companies. There was one project I worked on for a long time. Some of the people I worked with didn’t always use good language, but they were my customers, and I had to work with them. I tried, in little ways, to improve their language.
I went back to that company years later, and while the manager was giving me a tour, someone came up to him and spouted a long sentence of expletives about a problem they were having. The manager didn’t respond to the question being asked but introduced me and said, “Now, he doesn’t stand for that kind of language, and we will not use that when he’s here.” I had no idea of the influence I had had all those years earlier. I didn’t need to defend my standards; the manager stood up for me.

If we remember that our families can be eternal, our trials won’t seem as difficult. A man from Hong Kong, Lee Hing Chung, learned this for himself. When he lost his arm in an accident and could not work to support his family, he became very depressed. He and his family later joined the Church and were sealed in the temple. Before Lee was baptized, he thought that money would make him happy. After he was baptized and made temple covenants, he found true happiness because he understood Heavenly Father’s plan. He said, “When I attend church on Sunday with my family, I am so grateful that we are together and that we can be together forever. … The temple reminds me to be good, to be disciplined, to be worthy.”* Temple blessings give us hope, happiness, and a desire to become like Heavenly Father so that we can be with our families forever.

The spiritual roots of my family tree have been strengthened for three generations because of the unwavering faith of my great-grandfather.

Another example in my family history reminds me not to doubt. In 1913 in Mexico, Elder Ernest Young and his companions preached the gospel to my great-great-grandmother Maria de Jesus de Monroy, a widow; her three daughters, Natalia, Jovita, and Guadalupe; and her only son, Rafael—my great-grandfather. They were baptized on June 10. Two months later, citizens of the United States left the country because of the Mexican Revolution.

On August 29, 1913, the day President Rey L. Pratt and all American missionaries were to depart, Rafael Monroy, a 34-year-old convert of two months, went to the mission home to express his concern. “What is going to become of us?” he asked. “There is no organized branch in San Marcos, and we don’t have the priesthood.” Listening to Rafael’s concerns, President Pratt asked him to sit down. He placed his hands on Rafael’s head, conferred on him the Melchizedek Priesthood, ordained him an elder, and set him apart as president of the San Marcos Branch.

Rafael, who understood that his baptismal covenant was sacred and eternal, also understood that he should share the gospel. For 23 months he and his counselor, Vicente Morales, helped in the conversion and baptism of more than 50 people. They preached to dozens more.

Then, on July 17, 1915, the revolution arrived in San Marcos. Revolutionary soldiers accused Rafael and Vicente of belonging to and supporting the opposing army, hiding weapons, and belonging to a strange religion. They took them prisoner, tortured them, and hanged them until they fainted. Then the soldiers gave them one last chance to save their lives. They would be spared if they would renounce their religion. Rafael answered, “I cannot do it, for I know that what I have received is true.”

Rafael and Vicente did not doubt. They acted consistent with their knowledge and testimony. At the end of that day, they were executed by the Liberation Army of the South, giving their lives for what they believed.1

Some years ago while on a family vacation, we acquired a rather unusual pet—a water snake from the beaches of Puget Sound. My children named him Sneaky, short for Sneaky Snake.
Early one morning while the family was out walking, Sneaky somehow got out of his cardboard box. When the room attendant entered to tidy the room, Sneaky headed for the open door. The attendant slammed the door in absolute terror, and since Sneaky got caught in it, we might say he came all apart.
It was the end of Sneaky, the beginning of a nervous breakdown for the attendant, and a time of weeping on the part of our children. Now, there is a lesson here. The attendant had erroneously perceived Sneaky as something less than the friend he was.

Sister Andrea Julião, from São Paulo, Brazil, discovered that just as relationships with earthly friends grow stronger when we spend time together, our relationship with Heavenly Father becomes stronger when we focus on Him through Sabbath worship.

While visiting family who weren’t members of the Church, Sister Julião decided to wake up early Sunday and try to find a Latter-day Saint church building in the area. As her family prepared for a day of adventurous recreation, Sister Julião searched the neighborhood until she met someone who pointed out a steeple in the distance. Sister Julião was able to attend worship services. “I had the most amazing Sabbath day,” she said. “I felt Heavenly Father’s love so strongly. I felt that He enjoys when His children obey His teachings. I gained a stronger testimony of the Church of Jesus Christ.”

With a will to serve, Sister Marilyn Jones of Sydney, Australia, accomplished a task that at first seemed impossible. Her son had physical handicaps, and Sister Jones knew that he and others with disabilities would benefit from a neighborhood recreation center. There were zoning restrictions to change. She solicited support and filled out innumerable papers for government grants. It took hours of talking to convince others to lend their efforts.

After eight years, Marilyn and her neighbors saw the results of their charitable labors. The community program they operate blesses hundreds of children who have physical limitations.

Recently, a friend of mine took his son on a trip down the Colorado River through Cataract Canyon, located in southeastern Utah. The canyon is famous for its 14 miles (23 km) of white-water rapids that can be particularly hazardous.
In preparation for their adventure, they had carefully reviewed the National Park Service website, which contains important information about personal preparedness and common, hidden hazards.
At the beginning of the trip, one of the experienced river guides reviewed important safety instructions, emphasizing three rules that would ensure the group’s safe travel through the rapids. “Rule number one: stay in the boat! Rule number two: always wear a life jacket! Rule number three: always hold on with both hands!” He then said again, with even more emphasis, “Above all, remember rule number one: stay in the boat!”
This adventure reminds me of our mortal journey. Most of us experience periods in our lives where the tranquil waters of life are appreciated. At other times, we encounter white-water rapids that are metaphorically comparable to those found in the 14-mile stretch through Cataract Canyon—challenges that may include physical and mental health issues, the death of a loved one, dashed dreams and hopes, and—for some—even a crisis of faith when faced with life’s problems, questions, and doubts.
The Lord in His goodness has provided help, including a boat, essential supplies such as life jackets, and experienced river guides who give guidance and safety instructions to help us make our way down the river of life to our final destination.
Let’s think about rule number one: stay in the boat!
President Brigham Young commonly employed “the Old Ship Zion” as a metaphor for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
He said on one occasion: “We are in the midst of the ocean. A storm comes on, and, as sailors say, she labors very hard. ‘I am not going to stay here,’ says one; ‘I don’t believe this is the “Ship Zion.”’ ‘But we are in the midst of the ocean.’ ‘I don’t care, I am not going to stay here.’ Off goes the coat, and he jumps overboard. Will he not be drowned? Yes. So with those who leave this Church. It is the ‘Old Ship Zion,’ let us stay in it.”
On another occasion, President Young said that he also worried about people losing their way when they were being blessed—when life was good: “It is in calm weather, when the old ship of Zion is sailing with a gentle breeze, [and] when all is quiet on deck, that some of the brethren want to go out in the whaling boats to have … a swim, and some get drowned, others drifted away, and others again get back to the ship. Let us stick to the old ship and she will carry us [safely] into the harbor; you need not be concerned.”
And finally, President Young reminded the Saints: “We are on the old ship Zion. … [God] is at the helm and will stay there. … All is right, sing Hallelujah, for the Lord is here. He dictates, guides and directs. If the people will have implicit confidence in their God, never forsake their covenants nor their God, He will guide us right.”
Given the challenges we all face today, how do we stay on the Old Ship Zion?
Here is how. We need to experience a continuing conversion by increasing our faith in Jesus Christ and our faithfulness to His gospel throughout our lives—not just once but regularly. Alma asked, “And now behold, I say unto you, my brethren [and sisters], if ye have experienced a change of heart, and if ye have felt to sing the song of redeeming love, I would ask, can ye feel so now?”
The experienced river guides today can be likened to the Church’s apostles and prophets and inspired local priesthood and auxiliary leaders. They help us arrive safely to our final destination.
Recently, I spoke at the new mission presidents’ seminar and counseled these leaders:
“Keep the eyes of the mission on the leaders of the Church. … We will not and … cannot lead [you] astray.
“And as you teach your missionaries to focus their eyes on us, teach them to never follow those who think they know more about how to administer the affairs of the Church than … Heavenly Father and the Lord Jesus Christ do” through the priesthood leaders who have the keys to preside.
“I have discovered in my ministry that those who have become lost [and] confused are typically those who have most often … forgotten that when the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve speak with a united voice, it is the voice of the Lord for that time. The Lord reminds us, ‘Whether by mine own voice or by the voice of my servants, it is the same’ [D&C 1:38].”
In other words, they leave the Old Ship Zion—they fall away; they apostatize. Tragically, they often experience short-term and eventually long-term unintended consequences, not only for themselves but also for their families.
Our local Church leaders, like seasoned river guides, have been tutored by life’s experiences; have been trained and mentored by apostles and prophets and other officers of the Church; and, most important, have been tutored by the Lord Himself.
On another occasion this year, I spoke to the young adults of the Church in the May CES devotional broadcast. I said:
“I have heard that some people think the Church leaders live in a ‘bubble.’ What they forget is that we are men and women of experience, and we have lived our lives in so many places and worked with many people from different backgrounds. Our current assignments literally take us around the globe, where we meet the political, religious, business, and humanitarian leaders of the world. Although we have visited [leaders in] the White House in Washington, D.C., and leaders of nations [and religions] throughout the world, we have also visited the most humble [families and people] on earth. …
“When you thoughtfully consider our lives and ministry, you will most likely agree that we see and experience the world in ways few others do. You will realize that we live less in a ‘bubble’ than most people. …
“… There is something about the individual and combined wisdom of the [Church leaders] that should provide some comfort. We have experienced it all, including the consequences of different public laws and policies, disappointments, tragedies, and deaths in our own families. We are not out of touch with your lives.”
Along with rule number one as I’ve applied it, remember rules two and three: always wear a life jacket, and hold on with both hands. The words of the Lord are found in the scriptures and the teachings of the apostles and prophets. They provide us counsel and direction that, when followed, will act like a spiritual life jacket and will help us know how to hold on with both hands.
We need to become like the sons of Mosiah, who “waxed strong in the knowledge of the truth.” We can become men and women “of a sound understanding.” This can be accomplished only by our “search[ing] the scriptures diligently, that [we] might know the word of God.”
In searching the scriptures and the words of past and current apostles and prophets, we should focus on studying, living, and loving the doctrine of Christ.
In addition to developing the habit of personal scripture reading, we need to be like the sons of Mosiah and give ourselves “to much prayer, and fasting.”
It seems that these things which are not easily measured are of great importance. Stay focused on these simple things, and avoid becoming distracted.
As I have known people who have not stayed in the boat and have not held on with both hands during times of trials and troubles or who have not stayed in the boat during times of relative calm, I have observed that many of them have lost their focus on the central truths of the gospel—the reasons why they joined the Church in the first place; the reasons they remained fully committed and active in living gospel standards and blessing others through dedicated, consecrated service; and the ways in which the Church has been in their lives “a place of spiritual nourishment and growth.”
Joseph Smith taught this central truth: “The fundamental principles of our religion [are] the testimony of the apostles and prophets concerning Jesus Christ, … ‘that he died, was buried, and rose again the third day, and ascended up into heaven;’ and all other things are only appendages to these, which pertain to our religion.”
If we keep our focus on the Lord, we are promised a blessing beyond comparison: “Wherefore, ye must press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men. Wherefore, if ye shall press forward, feasting upon the word of Christ, and endure to the end, behold, thus saith the Father: Ye shall have eternal life.”
Sometimes faithful Latter-day Saints and sincere investigators begin to focus on the “appendages” instead of on the fundamental principles. That is, Satan tempts us to become distracted from the simple and clear message of the restored gospel. Those so distracted often give up partaking of the sacrament because they have become focused, even preoccupied, with less important practices or teachings.
Others may focus on the questions and doubts they experience. Of course, having questions and experiencing doubts are not incongruent with dedicated discipleship. Recently, the Council of the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles stated: “We understand that from time to time Church members will have questions about Church doctrine, history, or practice. Members are always free to ask such questions and earnestly seek greater understanding.”
Remember, Joseph Smith himself had questions that began the Restoration. He was a seeker and, like Abraham, found the answers to life’s most important questions.
The important questions focus on what matters most—Heavenly Father’s plan and the Savior’s Atonement. Our search should lead us to become kind, gentle, loving, forgiving, patient, and dedicated disciples. We must be willing, as Paul taught, to “bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.”
To bear another’s burdens includes helping, supporting, and understanding everyone, including the sick, the infirm, the poor in spirit and body, the seeker and the troubled, and also other member-disciples—including Church leaders who have been called by the Lord to serve for a season.
Brothers and sisters, stay in the boat, use your life jackets, and hold on with both hands. Avoid distractions! And if any one of you have fallen out of the boat, we will seek you, find you, minister to you, and pull you safely back onto the Old Ship Zion, where God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ are at the helm and will guide us right, to which I humbly testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Goals are great! Almost everyone sets goals, and everyone reaches some level of success or failure in his efforts to reach them. Some goals seem almost unattainable—like running the sub-9-second 100-yard dash, or vaulting over 18 feet. Some goals are strange—like wanting to make the longest banana split in the whole world. And some goals are just downright ridiculous—like seeing how many live gold fish you can swallow.
But two young men from Ogden, Utah, set a goal that was a learning experience, a great character builder, and a goal that, as far as we know, has never been achieved before, especially by two brothers. Since they have been Scouts, Chad and Craig Carson, ages 15 and 16, have each earned every merit badge that has been offered by the Boy Scouts of America. Each has 127 merit badges. This is actually more merit badges than are now offered because some have been discontinued since Chad and Craig earned them. Both boys are Eagle Scouts and have found the Scouting program an exciting general education in itself. Their dad has figured that they have done enough reading, research, and study to qualify as sophomores in college.
Craig and Chad didn’t start earning all those merit badges until two years ago. Chad, the younger of the two, had a little catching up to do, but once the brothers were working together, they spent some time almost every day working toward their common goal. During one summer they earned 48 merit badges. It took more than half an hour to read them all at the Court of Honor. They now have all 127, and they each need two merit badge sashes to display their awards because there is only room for 100 per sash.
When asked which merit badges had given them the most trouble, both Chad and Craig said that beekeeping was the greatest challenge. It wasn’t so much doing the work as it was finding someone who was qualified to teach them and pass them on the badge requirements. After some searching and one unsuccessful attempt to get together with a beekeeper, they finally found a man who was teaching a class in beekeeping at Weber State College, and they were able to complete the merit badge requirements with his help. By the way, Chad and Craig are still beekeepers.
Cotton farming was also a tough one. When the brothers decided to work on this, they had to send away for the book because it seems that no one really raises cotton around Ogden anymore. And after they got the book, they just couldn’t find any cotton seeds. But their mother remembered that she had been in the South some 17 years before and had picked a ball of cotton as a memento. And there are seeds in a real cotton ball. Chad and Craig took the seeds that were in that 17-year-old cotton ball and grew four cotton plants.
Craig and Chad say that the physical skill merit badges have been the most fun to earn. They have learned how to ski, swim, shoot, water ski, and do many other things that they otherwise might not have had the opportunity to do.
When asked if they thought they had missed out on anything because they had spent so much time working on all those merit badges, Chad said, “No, sir! We’ve been able to do more ourselves and as a family because we have set goals. When we were going to get our skiing merit badge, Dad had to drive us up to take lessons, and he decided that instead of just waiting around, he might as well take lessons with us. Now we all ski. It has been great for the whole family.”
Craig said, “It’s not really hard to earn the merit badges if you put your mind to it. Scouts could earn a lot more merit badges if they tried, and if they did, they would be glad they put forth the effort.”
So, on September 21, 1974, Chad and Craig Carson received the last of the merit badges they could earn. Both brothers give a great deal of credit to their mother and father. Chad said that his mom was always saying, “Come on! You can do it!” She would help them schedule appointments and drive them wherever they had to go. At the beginning of the summer, she would help map out a plan for which merit badges they could earn. Both boys also had high praises for their Scout leaders. The leaders challenged them and helped in every way possible.
Now Chad and Craig think there should be a merit badge given to help Scouts like themselves figure out where they can keep all the projects, models and charts that it takes to earn all those badges.

Daddy has taken me—only me—camping today! Baby Justin is at home with Mama. And Claire and Michael are home, too—they have each gone with Daddy before. I have waited and waited, and finally it’s my turn.
Daddy and I clear a space for the tent. We fling sticks into the trees, and Daddy digs up a rock with his fingers. “It was waiting to poke into my back when I lie down,” he says.
We put up the tent. It’s a two-man tent that’s just right for Daddy and me. “You could almost put it up yourself,” Daddy says.
We walk down to the river. Daddy straps on my life jacket, nice and snug. When I climb into the front of the canoe, it wobbles. I’m a little scared, but Daddy holds it still while I sit down. “I’m here,” he says. “I won’t let it tip over.” He pushes the canoe away from the shore, and we slip into the silent river. I lift my oar and flip a few drops of water back at Daddy. He flips some at me.
A breeze sends yellow leaves flying. They float down, down, down, to land lightly—golden boats on the shimmering green silk river.
We eat sandwiches on a little island where frogs sing. Daddy teaches me to skip stones on the quiet water. Hop, hop, plop.
Back at our campsite, dusk is falling. We gather wood—tiny twigs, medium-size sticks, and thick logs. Daddy starts the fire.
I watch the flames lick the sticks. Sparks crackle and fly into the black sky to meet the stars. The stars wink and blink. I blink. I think my eyes are sizzling. I move a little farther from the fire.
We eat our campfire supper, then toss our plates and cups into the flames. The cups shrivel. The plates blacken, then flare up.
We roast marshmallows and make icky, sticky, gooey, messy, yummy s’mores. My fingers stick together, so I lick them clean.
I lean against Daddy. He tells me stories of when he was little with his father. The stories are funny at first. Then quieter.
We watch the fire.
“I like to be alone with you sometimes,” I say. “When we’re at home, everyone wants to talk to you at the same time.”
Daddy nods. “I hear you even in a crowd, but sometimes we need to be in quiet places to talk and listen, to know each other even better.”
I snuggle closer.
Daddy continues, “Just like with Heavenly Father. He hears us in crowds, but I still like to pray to Him in quiet places. To talk, to listen, and to know Him better.”
“Me, too,” I say.

It was the same with the Haraga family, who came to the Hamilton Temple in April 2024. The parents received their endowment and were sealed to each other, and their daughter, Barbara, was sealed to them. Brother Haraga was also sealed to his deceased parents.

Brother Haraga was the first in his family to embrace the restored gospel when he was baptized in 2011. His wife and daughters joined him in 2015.

The Haraga family’s greatest desire was to attend the temple together to become an eternal family. Their dream became a reality in April 2024 when they entered the Hamilton Temple to be endowed and sealed. Faith in Jesus Christ led them to receive ordinances and make covenants in the house of the Lord.

We had just finished dinner at my grandparents’ cabin, and I was outside playing with my five little brothers when my dad walked out and called to me.
Of course when your dad calls you like that, you’re afraid you may be in trouble. So I trudged over and mumbled, “Yeah, Dad?”
Surprisingly, he said, “How would you like to go on a motorcycle ride with me?” I’m sure my eyes must have widened to the size of golf balls as I quickly responded, “Yes, of course I want to go.”
Soon my dad was leading the way as we each drove a motorcycle down a path that winds through the majestic forest surrounding our cabin and then climbs to the top of a hill. As we rode, I was so excited that I could barely keep the throttle on low. Once or twice my dad had to tell me to slow down.
My mind wandered as we rode. I was curious why I had been given this special treat and my brothers hadn’t. When we reached the top of the mountain, Dad said, “This looks like a nice place to stop and rest.” So we parked our motorcycles and sat down on some rocks overlooking the forest. We were both quiet for a moment, enjoying the beauty around us. As I glanced over at my dad, I noticed his thoughtful stare and knew something was coming.
He and I had never really talked a lot. I guess it was just too hard for him to express himself to anyone but my mom. Then he interrupted my thoughts and said, “Kjersten, your mother and I have been talking, and we have decided you are now mature enough to know some of the details concerning our marriage and family.” I could tell by the words he used and by the way he said them that he had been planning this talk for a while.
His voice was soft as he began. “Your mother and I first met at the fire station where I was a student firefighter, and she worked in the office. We began dating, and I realized she was different from the other young women I had dated before. I was a carefree young man who had been brought up in another church. But I hadn’t really paid too much attention to religion.
“I had very few values or goals at that time,” he continued, “and I really didn’t care.” He leaned forward and intently confided in me. “Kjersten, your mother set the most shining example of righteous living I had ever seen.” As he said this, a warm feeling swept over me.
My dad told me details concerning their marriage, my birth, and our family that I had never before heard. He told me the story of his conversion to the Church and how because they were first married civilly, they had to wait a year before they could be sealed in the temple. He also shared with me some of the adventures he and Mom went through in that first year of marriage. For the first time, pieces to a few little puzzles fell into place. I finally understood why my parents’ marriage and sealing dates are different and why they say that the first year of their marriage was the hardest they ever had.
As he related these things to me, his eyes would sometimes flicker with sadness and other times crinkle with laughter. I don’t remember exactly how much I understood back then, but I distinctly remember the feelings of surprise, confusion, and love that alternately came over me.
This experience really made an impact on me. I realized what a miracle families are, and it gave me a greater understanding of God’s plan. I also gained a greater faith in the gospel and an appreciation for the effects it can have on people’s lives. We discussed many things on that mountain, but there is one thing I will not forget. I have never felt so much gratitude and thankfulness in my heart as I did when my father told me of his strong love for God, the gospel, my mother, and our family. I realized the numerous ways the gospel had touched his life, as well as mine.
My father and I became very close that day. For the first time, I saw him as a real person with feelings and emotions and not just some ruling body who had to give me permission to have fun. I also think my dad learned more about me too. I will never forget that special talk with my dad and the feelings of love and understanding we shared.

“Dinner will be ready in a half hour,” Brad’s mother called as he left the house.
“Okay, Mom. I’ll be back.”
Walking down a sidewalk bordered with red and pink petunias, Brad looked over his shoulder at the home he had just left, still impressed by the building of white brick and by the green majesty of trees that shaded it.
Facing forward again, Brad slid his fingers into the pockets of tight denim pants, thinking about the contrast between this house on a wide street in a medium-sized California city and the home he and his parents had lived in until two months earlier.
His father, John Brannigan, had been determined to get his family out of the third-floor railroad flat on a Brooklyn street where poverty forced him to take his bride, but his son was 15 before John Brannigan, working days and going to school nights, received his degree that resulted in a job with an electronics firm and eventually earned for him the position with his company’s California office.
The three-bedroom home they bought was so different from the dreary flat Brad had grown up in, the quietness of the suburban neighborhood such a contrast to the day-and-night uproar of the Brooklyn street, that Brad had no more than begun his adjustment to the change.
“Not that I don’t enjoy the scenery and the climate,” thought Brad, “and I envy Mom her delight in our home.” He thought, too, that he understood his father’s pride in his ability to provide so well for his wife and son. Brad wondered, with a sharp twinge of guilt, whether his parents were aware of his unsettled discontent.
Mostly he missed the camaraderie of friends in Brooklyn he’d known all his life, who understood him in a way he was sure no one in this western community ever would.
Even as he brooded over his lack of companionship, he heard a cheerful, “Hi, Brad. How’s the boy?”
He hadn’t noticed Jeff Collier’s approach, so the stocky senior had greeted him and walked on before Brad could respond. Frowning, he looked after the retreating figure.
“How’s the boy?” he mimicked in a sarcastic undertone. “A lot he cares.” At the same time, he was surprised that the other boy even knew his name. Brad had been a student at Caulfield High for barely a month. In that time he had spoken to no more than half a dozen fellow seniors, but he recognized the class president. That Jeff Collier also recognized him disturbed Brad. Walking on, he decided he must have been pointed out to Jeff as “the dude with the weird accent.”
Brad entered a corner drugstore and an agony of homesickness surged through him. No place else in the California town reminded him of his own faraway city, but pausing beside the magazine rack he looked at publications that were duplicates of those on display in the drugstore in Brooklyn. An identical odor that combined the perfume of cosmetics with the antiseptic smell of medicines deepened his nostalgia.
Seated on a stool covered in shiny orange vinyl, Brad studied, with little interest, his reflection in the mirror behind the counter—a lean, tanned face, a thatch of licorice black hair worn loose over green eyes accented by arched, black brows.
The boy behind the counter asked, “What’ll it be?”
“Fresh limeade. Heavy on the fresh.”
Placing a frosted glass in front of Brad, the boy leaned his weight on folded arms.
“I know you,” he said. “You’re in my chemistry class. Have you finished the outside experiment yet?”
With slow deliberation Brad pulled the glass close, removed paper from a straw. Even though classes in his new school were hard for Brad, he was doing well in everything but chemistry. He felt sure the boy who still waited for an answer knew this, that he was taunting him. Grimly Brad drew tart liquid through the straw, thinking, “The guys in school must joke about how tough they think the students in my Brooklyn school were. Bet they think I didn’t learn a thing.”
His voice bitter with resentment, Brad said, “I suppose you breezed right through the experiment.”
The boy straightened. “Don’t even know where to start. I thought maybe we could talk it over, and also I’d like to—”
“Fat chance, man!” Brad tossed a quarter onto the counter and stalked out of the drugstore, the metallic ring of the coin echoing in his head. Fighting the ache of hurt in his throat, he strode toward his home asking himself, “How long before these dudes stop being suspicious of my background?” Brad was sure his classmates suspected him of carrying a switchblade, that they thought his clothes outlandish, and the few times he had spoken in a classroom, he’d caught glances exchanged between several fellow students who appeared to be highly amused because his speech was so different from their own.
In his preoccupation Brad nearly collided with a girl who suddenly appeared around a corner. Mumbling, “Sorry,” he would have hurried on, but she spoke his name.
“Brad Brannigan! Do you always walk right past people you know?”
Recognizing Jill Fenton he wished he could know her. Since his first day in English literature class he had been very much aware of the tall girl with the ash-blonde hair, had admired the friendliness of a smile that seemed to include everyone.
“Even me,” thought Brad. “A doll like Jill wouldn’t cut anybody.” Convinced she spoke to him only because she pitied him, resenting that pity so intensely he could barely speak, Brad muttered, “Gotta go, Jill. See you around.”
As he brushed past her, Brad’s quick sideways glimpse of the girl’s face left him with the uneasy feeling that his abruptness had marred her bright mood. Steps faltering he paused, then turned, but she was walking rapidly away, and Brad told himself, “What makes me think a snub from a guy she couldn’t really give a hang about would bother a popular girl like Jill?”
Dismissing his uneasiness, Brad was soon in an area of the town where he had been several times because a building on the corner of Vine and First streets attracted him. Rich green lawns, trimmed shrubs, and brightly grouped flowers surrounded a large structure of tan brick topped by a tapered, heaven-pointing spire. Brad thought the building was probably a church, but he couldn’t understand why there should be so much activity inside it. Every time he had walked by, people seemed to be going in or coming out.
Leaning against a tree Brad thought about his own religious background. His parents were good, honest people who had explained to him as much about God and the plan of life as they understood themselves, and although aware of the many shadings between right and wrong, Brad still felt a yearning to understand the reason for his existence, and he sensed, from the expressions of purposeful contentment on the faces of both adults and children who went in and out of the building that they knew the reason for theirs.
With a shrug, assuring himself that contentment and self-assurance were moods that could hardly be influenced by anything that took place inside a structure of brick and wood, Brad started home again, hoping he would meet no more of his classmates, not sure he could cope with another condescending greeting, but as he turned to go up the walk toward his house, four girls, walking together, called, “Hi, Brad!” not seeming to notice his surly lack of response.
After a night made restless by loneliness and a wretched sense of displacement, Brad left for school, wondering wearily whether he could ever hurdle the barrier of his strangeness, ever feel himself a part of the California community.
He was so emotionally off-balance all day that when Jeff Collier caught up with him in the hall after the last period, he walked along, unresisting, as Jeff propelled him down the hall with a hand under his elbow.
“Brad, we require another warm body on the decorating committee for the Senior Hop,” Jeff said. “You’ll be glad to know you just volunteered.”
Brad, irritated, wondered why he should help with a dance he hadn’t even considered attending, but before he could voice his refusal, Jeff spoke again.
“I’ll let you know in a couple of days where and when we’ll meet. Okay?”
To his surprise Brad heard himself answer, “Okay,” and felt the muscles in his cheeks relax in a grin, a response to the cheerful smile Jeff gave him.
Still off guard, Brad stopped to wait for Jill Fenton when she called to him outside the school.
She looked up at him with a smile that was hesitant, Brad suspected, because of his abruptness with her the evening before, but she said, “Brad, I wondered whether you’d like to come to activity night tonight.”
“To what?”
Jill laughed. “Oh, it’s an auxiliary of the church a lot of us in this high school belong to. We’re Latter-day Saints.”
“That’s one I never heard of.”
“Some people call us Mormons,” Jill continued, and before Brad could say that he had, indeed, heard of that church, but nothing he’d care to repeat, she added, “We have a chapel on the corner of Vine and First streets. If you’ll be there at 7:30 tonight, I’ll meet you at the door.”
Never could Brad remember living through such an endless evening. He couldn’t eat his dinner; then he had to spend the next hour assuring his mother that no, he wasn’t sick and yes, everything was fine at school. By 7:15 he had definitely decided he wouldn’t go anywhere near the Mormon chapel, and at 7:20 he called, “I’m going out, Mom. I won’t be late,” as he raced out of the house. What if Jill had given up on him? What if he couldn’t find her when he got to the chapel? But as he stepped onto the wide porch, Jill came through the door.
“Oh, Brad, I’m glad you came, but we’ll have to hurry. Rehearsal has already started.”
He followed Jill through a red-carpeted foyer into what was, to his surprise, an enormous high-ceilinged room that looked like a gymnasium. Near a stage on one side of the oblong area at least 30 young people, who appeared to range in age from about 12 to 17 or 18, milled around. Among them were several adults, including a big man whose broad, animated face was edged by rust-shaded sideburns. He turned as Jill, with Brad behind her, walked up to him.
Jill’s hand on his arm moved Brad forward.
“Brother Hill, this is Bradley Brannigan, the new boy in school I told you about. Won’t he be perfect for the Indian chief?”
“Hey, yeah, he sure will!” The man’s examination of Brad was candid and jovial. “Perfect. How about it, Brannigan? You ready to be in our show?”
“Your what?” Brad was confused, not only by the request, but by the bustle around him and the chatter that was suddenly drowned out by a reverberating chord on the piano which seemed to be a signal for most of the young people to run onto the stage where they lined up, arms linked.
As one of the group began to rehearse the others in what appeared to be a somewhat complex dance routine, Jill said, “Brad, our church has all kinds of interesting activities for the boys and girls our age. One of the things we’re doing in this ward right now is a musical show.”
Brad’s bewilderment must have shown in his face because Jill, smiling, explained to him that a ward was an area division of the Latter-day Saint church and that the show now in rehearsal was a dance-drama-musical production put on by the young people of the ward with token help from qualified adults.
“Paul Ensign and Jeff Collier wrote the words and music for this show,” Jill went on, “but we didn’t have anyone who seemed to be right for the part of the Indian chief. Paul said he saw you in the drugstore yesterday and thought how good you’d be, but he couldn’t get you to talk to him, so he asked me to invite you here tonight.”
Intrigued by what Jill told him, but unable even to imagine himself taking part in such a production, actually performing in front of an audience, Brad said, “Oh, I couldn’t do a thing like that, Jill, and anyway I’m not a member of your church, so—”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter at all,“ she said quickly. “You live close, and we desperately need your tall, dark, and handsome presence.”
“Flattery,” said Mr. Hill who had come up to them, “should get you everywhere, Jill. Come on, young fellow, let’s see what you can do.”
Brad, walking forward when Jill did, was amazed to find his feet carrying him onto the stage where he was thrust out in front of the grouped boys and girls. He wasn’t given a chance to say he wouldn’t be an Indian chief. Dazed, he accepted the script thrust into his hands, read lines each time Paul Ensign told him to, and when the play’s finale was reached, he was one of the performers who lined up to sing, with loud enthusiasm, “Home, Home on the Range.”
He left the chapel, part of a large group, and when they reached his house, those who were still together chorused, “Goodnight, Brad!” and “See you tomorrow.”
A glow that had been lit inside him during the evening burned around Brad’s heart and was renewed every time he remembered, during the night, how casually, yet how completely, the friendly, cheerful group had accepted him as one of them.
Entering the school building next morning, Brad was filled with anxiety and anticipation. Would the wondrous sense of belonging, which had so warmed him the night before, carry into the school day, or must he continue to keep himself apart—continue to remain different and alone?
He didn’t have long to wonder. He was barely inside his first classroom when a vivacious brunette who had played the part of an Indian princess the night before smiled at him from her seat across the room, and Jeff Collier lifted a hand in greeting when he walked in.
In his own seat Brad opened his English literature textbook to the poetry assigned for the day. A poem by Edwin Markham caught his attention. He read words that seemed to hold up a mirror reflecting his own recent actions—words about a rebel who, flaunting withdrawal from others, drew a circle around himself to shut out those who would befriend him.
Jill Fenton came in and touched Brad’s shoulder as she walked past him to her own seat. Lowering his head to hide tears, Brad read the poem’s final line that told of friends who, with their love, drew a circle around the rebel’s circle and took him in.

In Basingstoke, Rebecca Barnsley used social media to promote her ward’s harvest appeal event. On the day, they had a drop-off area at their chapel with the missionaries handing out flyers at the chapel gates. Several members of the local community turned up to donate food. Rebecca said, “It was a huge success and we delivered two carloads of food to the Basingstoke Food Bank.” One of those donating said, “I have a friend who has used the foodbank, they are so important, and I wanted to give and be kind. It’s so important to be kind.”

Perhaps less visible than the Prophet’s father, but equally important in shaping and influencing his life, was his mother, Lucy Mack Smith. Although this strong woman gave occasional leadership, her primary role appeared to be support to the family. She gave birth to eleven children and endured faithfully as all but four preceded her in death. During her life, she watched six of her immediate family and one grandson die as a result of ruthless mob violence and persecution.
Lucy prepared herself early in her marriage to raise a prophet. On one occasion she became seriously ill, and the doctors said she would die. Lucy records that she “made a solemn covenant with God that if He would let me live I would endeavor to serve him according to the best of my abilities.” After a voice assured her that she would live, she told her mother, “The Lord will let me live, if I am faithful to the promise which I made to him, to be a comfort to my mother, my husband, and my children” (Lucy Mack Smith, History of Joseph Smith, ed. Preston Nibley [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1958], pp. 34–35).
She gave continual encouragement, support, and strength to her son Joseph the Prophet. His mother was the first person with whom young Joseph shared some of his momentous experiences of the Sacred Grove. Years later, he shared with her the joy and relief he felt when the Lord allowed others to view the sacred plates of gold. Lucy wrote that “Joseph threw himself down beside me, and exclaimed, … ‘You do not know how happy I am: the Lord has now caused the plates to be shown to three more besides myself. They have seen an angel, … and they will have to bear witness to the truth of what I have said, for now they know for themselves, that I do not go about to deceive the people, and I feel as if I was relieved of a burden which was almost too heavy for me to bear’” (Lucy Mack Smith, History of Joseph Smith, p. 152).
The Prophet’s mother shared also in his sorrows, sufferings, and persecutions. One time a mob took Joseph and his brother Hyrum prisoner and threatened to shoot them. The two brothers were confined under a cloth cover in a wagon. Their courageous mother risked her life and forced her way through the hostile mob to comfort her sons. Joseph and Hyrum could not see their mother and could only extend a hand from under the confining cover. As Lucy’s hand and the hands of her sons touched, the wagon drove off, literally tearing the sorrowing mother from her two sons.
Her determination to testify to the restoration of the gospel may have led her to dictate her well-known History of Joseph Smith. This was a major undertaking in her day. The book’s importance to the Church today is immeasurable! It contains many details of the Prophet Joseph’s life that might never have been known otherwise. It stands as a monument to the devotion of Lucy Mack Smith and her family.
Like great parents of all ages, Lucy turned to prayer for divine help to sustain her family. During the march from Ohio to Missouri known as Zion’s Camp, Joseph and Hyrum were seriously ill with cholera, and their lives were almost taken. At one point, “Hyrum sprang to his feet and exclaimed, ‘Joseph, we shall return to our families. I have had an open vision, in which I saw mother kneeling under an apple tree; and she is even now asking God, in tears, to spare our lives. … The Spirit testifies, that her prayers … will be answered’” (Lucy Mack Smith, History of Joseph Smith, p. 229).
In the exercise of agency and in the divine providence of God, Lucy’s sons Joseph and Hyrum ultimately sealed their testimonies with their blood. As the grieving mother looked upon their lifeless remains, she cried, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken this family!” As a kind blessing to a faithful mother, the Lord softened her grief and granted to her the peace that only God can bestow. A voice spoke to her soul: “I have taken them to myself, that they might have rest” (Lucy Mack Smith, History of Joseph Smith, p. 324).

As I left the missionary training center in Provo, Utah, USA, I had a very long flight ahead of me, with three layovers before I would finally arrive in my mission in Recife, Brazil. When I landed in Rio de Janeiro for the last leg of my journey, I missed my flight. It was rebooked, but I was left with a 14-hour wait in a country I had never been in before, and I couldn’t say much in Portuguese.
Hours passed as I sat there feeling lonely, forgotten, and tired from all the flights. As I began to cry, a voice said to me, “Elder, pray!” I prayed for help harder than I ever had before. As I said “Amen,” I heard a man sitting directly behind me speaking English. I turned and tapped his shoulder. The man was a returned missionary from South Africa who was fluent in both English and Portuguese. We got something to eat together, and he helped me communicate with my mission president. He helped strengthen my testimony that God will never forget His children! I felt His love that day, and I can truly testify that He hears our prayers.
Sione T., Oregon, USA

Gift of health. In October we heard the shocking news that our beloved stake president had suffered a heart attack and was in a coma. As the weeks passed, members of our stake prayed earnestly for him. The doctors were very concerned, but then he came out of his coma and drastically improved. He lives in my ward, and one Sunday before Christmas I walked into the chapel and was surprised to see him sitting on the stand. After the speakers gave their talks, the stake president came to the pulpit and told us that he could feel the strength of our prayers. As I looked at him, tears streaming down my cheeks, I realized his return to health was a great Christmas present for all of us.Katie B., Washington

Though only moments remained in Franklin High’s last preseason scrimmage, several players were still fighting for their basketball survival. Final cuts were tomorrow, and the intense action on the court reflected the athletes’ anxiety. It was now or never to make that one last good impression.
Jeff Anderson, on the other hand, was as confident as they come. A slim six-foot-one senior with aspirations of a college scholarship, Jeff had made the varsity team three years running. He had even been named an all-star twice. The competition was a little tougher this year, the team had a new coach, and Jeff hadn’t exactly found the top of his game yet, but that was nothing to worry about. His position was sure.
When the buzzer finally sounded, the exhausted contenders headed for the showers. On the way off the court, Jeff found himself next to Mark, a freshman who had been giving his all to make the varsity squad. Poor Mark probably didn’t have a chance, Jeff thought.
“Think you’ll make the cut?” Jeff asked him anyway.
“I don’t know,” Mark replied cautiously. “I hope so.”
“Well, since this is your first year, don’t take it so hard if you don’t land a spot. Good luck, though.”
“Thanks,” Mark said as the two split to go to their separate lockers. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”
The next day when Jeff reported to practice, the final team roster was posted outside the coach’s door. Jeff almost didn’t bother to read it, but curiosity made him stop.
Mark had made the cut, as had a few other underclassmen. But when Jeff got to the end of the list, a terrible realization hit him like a right hook to the jaw—his own name was missing.
Jeff went white with shock. For five minutes he stood there dazed, frantically scanning the paper over and over. This can’t be happening, he thought. In desperation, he opened the door and asked the coach if there had been a mistake. There hadn’t.
“But why?” asked Jeff in disbelief. “I’m a senior and a two-time all-star. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
The coach sat down. “Yes, Jeff, it does,” he began, “but I have to go with my best players. This year there were a lot of younger guys who were better. I could have kept you on the team and let you sit on the bench, but didn’t think that would be fair to you. I’m sorry, Jeff.”
It’s still not fair, Jeff thought as he walked away. You just don’t cut an all-star. He could feel the anger and frustration swelling within him. Even if your younger guys were better, seniors should have priority. But right now it didn’t matter what he thought. That morning he had been a star basketball player and a member of a real team, but now he was nobody, and when people found out, his life would be over for sure.
That afternoon, Jeff’s mom was quick with her usual greeting.
“Hi, Jeff. How was your day?” she asked cheerfully, unaware of the day’s events.
“Bad,” Jeff retorted bluntly. Avoiding eye contact, he threw down his backpack and stomped into the kitchen. His mom followed.
“How bad?” she asked. “What happened?”
Silence. He didn’t want to talk, but he guessed it would have to come out sometime.
“It’s so stupid,” he finally confessed, banging his fist on the counter.
“What’s stupid?”
“The basketball team,” Jeff started. “The new coach thinks the sophomores and juniors are better than me and today he cut me from the team—just like that.”
Jeff’s mother knew how much basketball meant to him. “Oh, Jeff, I’m sorry, but it’s not the end …” she stopped abruptly, knowing this was not the time for a lecture.
“End, nothing,” he replied angrily. “My life is ruined.” And with that he tromped upstairs to his room and slammed the door.
By dinnertime, word of Jeff’s catastrophe had spread through the entire family, and as expected, everyone had questions and advice he didn’t want to hear.
“Are you still going to be on the basketball team?” Jeff’s ten-year-old brother, Doug, wanted to know. As younger brothers often do, Doug idolized Jeff and wanted to know every detail of his athletic affairs.
“No,” Jeff snapped, still mad at the world. “I got cut, okay? Now leave me alone.”
Jeff’s dad tried to offer some sympathy. “Well, I think the coach made a poor decision,” he said. “But even if we could make him take you back, you know he wouldn’t play you. Just don’t let it get you down. When I was a freshman in high school I wanted to be a star baseball player, but I didn’t make the cut either. I was angry and disappointed like you, but instead of letting it eat at me, I got involved in other things and still had a fun four years. Just look at this as a kind of intermission,” Dad continued. “With the right attitude, you could still have a great second half.”
“But Dad,” Jeff countered, “I’ve already made the team three years in a row. You hadn’t put as much into it as I have. You still had plenty of time to start over. I don’t.”
“There are still plenty of activities you could try,” his mom interjected. “Maybe you could audition for the drama club or join the school choir.”
“Ha ha,” Jeff said dryly. “You couldn’t get me into those things if you paid me. Besides, I’m an athlete.”
“How about baseball?” Doug suggested. “You could be the pitcher!” Any sport was fine for Doug.
“Baseball is different than basketball,” Jeff explained, brushing Doug aside. “Now could everyone please just let me eat in peace?”
The room immediately fell silent. Except for the occasional clink of knives and forks, no one spoke for several minutes. Finally, someone dared to try again.
“I hear there’s an opening for a sports reporter on the school paper,” suggested Cindy, a year younger than Jeff. “You’ve always been a good writer, and that might be right up your alley.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Jeff said, getting up from the table. He couldn’t stand it anymore. “If none of you mind, I’ll just run my own life.” He stomped from the room, and with a loud clatter he dropped his plate in the kitchen sink and disappeared. It looked to be a long basketball season for the Andersons.
Several days passed, and Jeff refused to cheer up for anyone. He avoided his family whenever possible, and at school he distanced himself from friends. At lunch he sat alone, far from anyone who might dare talk to him, until one day he had a surprise visitor.
“Hi, Jeff,” she said as she sat down across from him. Her name was Kristy Campbell, and Jeff knew her from a few classes they had taken together. She had also been in his sixth period study hall at the beginning of this year but had disappeared after only a few weeks.
“Lately you look like you could use a friend,” she announced, “so I’ve come to apply for the position. What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Jeff shot back. It was a nice gesture on her part, but it looked to him like she only wanted to be his psychiatrist, and the last thing he needed was one more self-styled shrink to analyze his plight.
“I heard about the basketball team,” Kristy revealed. “That’s really too bad.”
“Yeah, what else is new?” Jeff asked sarcastically. He wasn’t in the mood for this.
Kristy chuckled. “What are you doing with your spare time now that you’re not playing basketball?” she asked.
“Not a lot,” Jeff answered evasively, looking down at his tray.
Kristy didn’t give up. “Say, don’t you have a free hour sixth period?” she remembered.
“It’s my study hall hour,” he said. “Why do you want to know?”
“Well, since you’ve got a little time on your hands, I thought you might be able to come down to the gym sixth period and help me out with something.”
“Like what?”
Kristy got up from the table. “It’s a surprise,” she said with a smile, “but it has to do with basketball, and you’re just the person I need. I’ll see you there.”
She turned and bolted for the door. By the time Jeff could say anything, she was yards away and out of earshot. Oh well, he thought, she’ll be disappointed when I’m not there.
By the end of fifth period, however, Jeff’s curiosity was piqued. What kind of favor could Kristy possibly need that involved basketball? And why him? His homework was light today, so maybe he would at least go see what it was. If it didn’t look interesting, he could always go back to the library and study.
When the bell sounded, he walked slowly down the hall, still imagining what might lie ahead. As he neared the gym, he heard basketballs bouncing. He racked his brain again for possible explanations. Nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to find.
When he entered the gym he saw several students dribbling or shooting basketballs, but they weren’t in any of his classes and they weren’t on the basketball team. They were members of Franklin High’s special education class, and all of them had some kind of mental disability. Some were physically handicapped as well.
Jeff instantly felt out of place and turned to make a quick exit, but an excited Kristy Campbell stood between him and the door.
“You came!” she nearly shouted. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Then she explained. “You see, I’ve been using my study period to help out with the special ed P.E. class, and today we’re playing basketball. I thought I could use a little help, and with your expertise, you’re the perfect person to be my assistant. Come and let me introduce you.”
This was awkward. Jeff had seen the special ed class in the halls and in their own corner of the cafeteria, but he had never felt comfortable enough to talk to them and didn’t feel like starting now. He didn’t know them, and they were, well, different.
“Attention everyone. This is Jeff Anderson,” Kristy announced to the group. “He was on the school basketball team last year and today he’s going to watch and give us a little advice.”
Great, Jeff thought. Now I’m stuck.
“And since he’s such a hotshot superstar,” Kristy continued, shooting Jeff a grin, “we should all be pros by the end of the period.”
As soon as Kristy finished, Jeff was immediately mobbed by his new fan club. One boy in particular was eager to get close to him.
“My name is Joseph,” he shouted above the clamor. He was Jeff’s age, and he shared Jeff’s love for basketball, but he also suffered from Down’s syndrome. Jeff didn’t know what to say.
“I went to five games last year and you played great,” Joseph said. “In the last game against Jefferson you scored 18 points and Franklin won, 55–40. Can you teach us to shoot baskets like you? Please?”
Jeff was flattered by Joseph’s compliments, but more than that, he was astounded at Joseph’s amazing memory of scores and statistics. He hadn’t thought anyone like Joseph could be capable of such a feat, but now he realized that he was wrong. More than that, he was intrigued.
“Sure, I can show you,” Jeff finally agreed, his face now sporting a visible grin. The small crowd erupted in cheers, and Jeff began to notice that for them this was an exciting day.
From there Kristy basically ran the show, naming the drills and organizing the students. Jeff, meanwhile, demonstrated each move and offered pointers and assistance wherever he could. All the participants loved his attention, and no one was the least bit annoyed with his suggestions. If only everyone could respond this well to coaching, he thought.
At one point during a shooting exercise, Joseph became discouraged because he couldn’t get the ball in the basket. He had tried several times from the same spot and hadn’t come close to hitting anything.
“I give up!” he shouted in disgust. “I’m never going to make it from here.”
“Hey, relax,” Jeff broke in. “Let’s try it again. Bend your knees a little bit, and push off with your feet when you shoot. Focus on the front of the rim and try to shoot the ball just over the rim.” He gave the ball back to Joseph, who followed his instructions carefully. The shot still didn’t fall, but this time it went high enough and far enough and banked off the rim.
“The most important thing to remember is to never give up,” Jeff told Joseph. Then almost as a joke he added, “And if that doesn’t work, try a different shot.”
“Thanks,” Joseph said. “You’re awesome. That’s good advice.”
“You bet,” Jeff replied without thinking. But as he passed the ball on, it suddenly hit him. These students were the embodiment of perseverance and improvisation. If anybody needed that advice, he did.
When the bell rang, the regular instructor returned and Kristy asked the students to gather up all the equipment. While they were busy, she ran to grab Jeff before he left the gym.
“Thanks a lot, Jeff,” she said. “I know you didn’t have to stay or even show up in the first place.”
“You really didn’t need me here,” Jeff pointed out. “You could have done all this yourself.”
“Maybe,” she answered, “but they needed you. You gave them your attention, along with a shot of inspiration, and they won’t soon forget that. Besides, I think you needed them.”
Jeff didn’t admit it, but he knew exactly what Kristy meant. Just being there to actively help her students had forced him out of his shell. It had even been fun. What’s more, Joseph’s astute observation had made him realize that he shouldn’t let anything keep him down for too long—not even getting cut from the basketball team.
“We don’t play basketball every time,” Kristy continued, “but we could sure use you again if you have the time. Our next class is Wednesday, same period.”
Jeff hesitated. Although the hour had gone well, he wasn’t sure he wanted to make a habit out of it. “Well …” he started.
“Hey, Jeff!” a voice suddenly bellowed from behind. It was Joseph, on his way out the door with the rest of the class. “Are you coming back Wednesday?”
Instantly all Jeff’s excuses seemed to vanish. “Sure,” he answered. “You can count on it.”
Joseph grinned and waved good-bye. Jeff waved back and then turned to look at Kristy. “Thanks,” she said as she hoisted the equipment bag over her shoulder. “You’re a real hero.”
On the walk home that afternoon, Jeff thought about the day’s developments. He wasn’t any closer to regaining his spot on the varsity basketball squad, but now he had a new team, and for the first time in weeks, he felt important. He had only coached Kristy’s students in small ways, but they had managed to teach him a lot more. He still had a lot to give, no matter what uniform he was wearing.
As for Kristy’s class, Jeff would see them Wednesday, and maybe more Wednesdays if Kristy asked. In the meantime, he might even check into that reporting job with the paper. If he couldn’t play the games, at least he could write about them. The second half was about to begin.

It was dusk as my mother and I drove to my grandparents’ home. I stared out the window, lost in my own thoughts.
“Pretty sunset,” my mother commented.
“Mmmm,” I mumbled in agreement, seeing the glorious sunset for the first time.
“Do you know what Davy says?” she asked me. I turned toward her, suddenly interested. Eloise, my mother’s best friend, had died two years earlier after battling cancer. She left behind four children. The youngest was seven-year-old Davy.
“He says sunsets make him think about his mother,” she said, choking back tears. “He says it’s just like she’s smiling at him.”
I turned my attention to the evening sky. Davy’s words brought me a new perspective. The sunset was now more than a swirl of reds and yellows making intricate and beautiful patterns in the sky. It was a reminder of Eloise and others who had passed on and their love for those they had left behind.
As we drove on in silence, I watched the sunset fade into night. I was suddenly more aware of the beauty of the trees, the stars, the moon, and the clouds. I am thankful to Heavenly Father for the beautiful gifts he gives us every day. And I am thankful for a wise young boy who can see Heavenly Father’s love in something as simple as a sunset.

Illustrations by Alessia Girasole
“It’s scripture time!” Lila said.
Lila loved reading to her little sister, Ánika, and her baby brother, Svetan. Soon Lila would be getting baptized! To be ready, she wanted to read the scriptures every day.
Lila opened the scripture storybook to the first page. Ánika and Svetan snuggled close so they could see the pictures.
“Listen carefully because I’m going to ask you questions after,” Lila said. Then she started reading the first chapter.
“Before we were born, we lived in heaven,” Lila read. “We didn’t have bodies yet. We were spirits.”
Lila, Ánika, and Svetan looked at the pictures of people dressed in white.
“Ready for your first question?” Lila turned to Ánika. “Where did you come from before you were born?”
Ánika clapped her hands. “Heaven!”
“That’s right,” said Lila. “And where did Svetan come from?”
“He came from heaven too,” Ánika said. Svetan giggled and put his fist in his mouth. Lila and Ánika laughed. Svetan was the cutest one-year-old in Argentina!
“Our whole family came from heaven,” Lila said. “Jesus did too. He came to help us so we can live with Heavenly Father again.” Lila pointed to the picture of Jesus on the page.
After she finished reading, Lila kept thinking about what it must have been like to live with Jesus in heaven. She wanted to be like Him. She wanted to always choose the right!
The next day at school, Lila’s tummy rumbled as she waited in line for breakfast. She could almost taste the empanadas as Señora Ruiz slid them onto her plate. They smelled so good!
Then Señora Ruiz poured Lila a cup of milk. Uh oh, Lila thought. The milk looked darker than usual. Sometimes her school added coffee or tea to the drinks.
“Is there any coffee or tea in the milk today?” Lila asked.
Señora Ruiz waved her hand. “A little coffee,” she said. “You won’t even taste it.”
Lila thought for a moment. She remembered how she wanted to be like Jesus and choose the right. She knew drinking coffee was something the prophets said not to do.
“No, thanks. I won’t have milk today,” Lila said. She gave Señora Ruiz a smile. Then she sat down to eat.
That night, Lila helped Papi wash dishes in the kitchen. She was still thinking about the scripture story. She was thinking about the milk too.
“Papi?”
“Yes?” Papi said.
“Why did Heavenly Father want us to have bodies?”
Papi thought while he rinsed another plate. “Well, He gave us bodies so we could become like Him,” he said. “Your body is a home for your spirit. That’s what we mean when we say our bodies are temples.”
Lila nodded. She sang a song about that in Primary sometimes! “So that’s why Heavenly Father wants us to take care of our bodies?”
“Exactly,” Papi said.
“Today at school, they put some coffee in the milk,” Lila said. “I didn’t drink it, though. I’m trying to take care of my temple.”
“I’m proud of you,” Papi said. He dried his hands on a towel and gave Lila a hug.
Lila hugged Papi tight. She was happy to take care of the body Heavenly Father had given her.
The family in this story lives in Argentina. Turn to page 10 to learn more about their country.

“Nothing in this world, not even a T-bone steak, could taste as good as it will feel to wear a missionary name badge. Nothing tastes that good.”
That thought gave Neil Bridenstine constant motivation to stick to a demanding weight-loss program. He had one goal in mind: serving a mission.
Just before his 19th birthday, Neil, then weighing about 400 pounds, learned he’d have to lose more than 120 pounds to drop to the recommended maximum weight for a missionary his height. The weight requirement from the Missionary Department helps ensure that young men and women will be able to live the physically challenging lifestyle of a missionary.
At first Neil felt the weight requirement would be impossible for him to meet. After all, his previous attempts to lose weight had been unsuccessful.
“I was a little discouraged when they said I needed to lose 120 pounds. I was feeling pretty down, and I thought, ‘Well, I’m not going on a mission then.’”
After a month of feeling discouraged, Neil came to an important realization. His current weight was unhealthy, and he did need to make a drastic change.
“Being 400 pounds, I was at the end of the rope. I needed to lose the weight anyway.”
To lose weight, Neil enrolled for six months at a full-time weight-loss center in St. George, Utah. Once he got there, he began to realize that his goal of a mission might not be impossible after all. “I went there with the wrong frame of mind, that I was going just to lose some weight, but then I turned around and said: ‘I’m going to do this so I can go on a mission.’”
Because Neil needed to lose so much weight in a short period of time, he needed to be monitored and advised by professionals during the entire process. Neil, along with his parents and doctor, decided that a health center was the safest option. There he was supervised and learned the basics of healthy living so that he could maintain his weight when he returned home and while on his mission.
The center’s weight loss regimen put Neil on a 1,200-calorie-per-day diet. His meals were carefully balanced to make sure he got all the nutrients he needed. “My diet was straight out of the Word of Wisdom—whole foods, whole grains, fresh vegetables, fruit, and meat, but very sparingly.”
On weekdays, Neil’s day began at 6:30 a.m. with a three-hour hike. “We would hike between four and six miles, depending on our hiking ability. My first hike I went about two miles in three hours. That was as far as I could go.”
But during his stay Neil built up his physical endurance. He spent part of each day in the gym doing strength training, aerobics, stretching, and cardiovascular exercises. In the evening, he attended lectures on how to maintain a healthy diet and lifestyle. Over the course of six months, Neil hiked a total of 600 miles and lost an average of five pounds a week.
As Neil’s body slowly began to change, he underwent a rapid change of heart. “Being there tested my faith because if I didn’t go to church on Sunday, my parents weren’t there to baby me, and my roommates didn’t care. I very quickly felt tested to see if I was there for the right reasons. It really made me understand that I did want to go on a mission and that I would deeply regret it if I didn’t.”
Several counselors at the health center who are members of the Church befriended Neil. He attended a young single adult ward with them, and through their example, his testimony grew. He also used the free time between workouts and lectures to study the gospel. He read Preach My Gospel, other Church books, and the Book of Mormon, with the goal of sharing his testimony with others.
“That’s what I was really trying to do—to really know the Book of Mormon, more than just reading the words to say I read it.”
Neil’s gospel study, coupled with his intense weight-loss program, paid off. “I was losing weight physically, but I was gaining so much spiritually—spiritual knowledge through the Book of Mormon and Preach My Gospel.”
The spiritual strength he was gaining carried him through difficult periods in his training. “Some nights there were times when I would cry myself to sleep because I dreaded waking up and going on a six-mile hike, or I dreaded having to eat another piece of tofu. But I said my prayers every night. Some mornings I would go on a hike, and it would feel like someone was pushing me. I was amazed that I was able to do what I did.”
Not only was Neil preparing physically and spiritually for his mission; he was also getting a lot of practice in missionary work. Most of the guests at the health center were not members of the Church, so Neil found opportunities to introduce them to the gospel and share his testimony.
“I gave out 12 copies of the Book of Mormon, told the Joseph Smith story a handful of times, and bore my testimony literally hundreds of times. When I was hiking I would try to pick a guest for that week and bear my testimony about the Church. It was the best missionary preparation ever because I got to do real missionary work.”
Now Neil has the opportunity to put all that practice to the test as a missionary in the Armenia Yerevan Mission. Almost six months to the day after Neil began his weight-loss program, he weighed in on the doctor’s scales at 280 pounds.
“It was a lot of work, and it was difficult, but it paid off. To get the doctor to sign off, to get the missionary papers in, and to get my mission call—the whole thing, every minute of misery I thought I was in, was well worth it.”
Neil says he is grateful for the weight requirement because of everything the experience taught him. But he gives the credit to Heavenly Father for helping him accomplish his goal.
“I can honestly say that I’ve been very blessed, spiritually and physically, to be able to do what I’ve done. The physical results are out of this world. Those came from heavenly help, and I can take very little credit for that. I know that there’s a reason I was supposed to go on a mission.”
Elder Bridenstine is now discovering what that reason is. And his weight loss not only got him there, it also taught him an important lesson he now uses as a missionary.
“Anything is possible with the Lord on your side. If you’re doing what you’re asked and living righteously, the Lord will bless you.”
Whether those blessings come in pounds lost or in souls found.