Gospel Story Finder

Fourth, faith. It has always been a source of happiness to my wife and me when one of our children has shown faith by asking for a blessing of health or of comfort and counsel. The occasions have been numerous, but the one that comes to mind is when one of our children was suffering from a bad earache and was very upset. I remember that after I had given her a blessing she settled down and went to sleep and experienced no further pain. It is a wonderful thing that when the Lord restored the fulness of the gospel, he made it possible for fathers to bless their families in so many ways.

“Conner, it’s time to get up,” Mom said, gently shaking him.
Conner moved slowly at first. Then he remembered.
“Today’s Sunday!” he shouted as he jumped out of bed. He raced to put on his Sunday clothes and hurried down to breakfast.
What is he doing today that is so special? Mom wondered.
Conner did have something special to do. He had waited all week for Sunday to come.
Last week in his Primary class, Sister Plummer had said, “When I was about 10, I discovered something that helped me be more reverent. If you would like to know my secret, listen for the words always remember in sacrament meeting next week, and then always remember what comes after those words.”
Conner had decided he would listen. He wanted to know Sister Plummer’s secret.
At church, he heard Bishop Sheppard say, “Remember to come to the ward party.” Conner knew that wasn’t Sister Plummer’s “always remember.”
He listened as the congregation began to sing the sacrament hymn. He wondered if Sister Plummer’s special words might be in the hymn. He pointed at each word in the hymnbook and found himself singing along. But he didn’t find the special words.
Conner bowed his head and listened carefully as one of the priests said the sacrament prayer. Toward the end of the prayer, he heard “always remember.” He knew Sister Plummer’s secret! He knew who he was always to remember. But can I “always remember” Jesus? he wondered.
Conner folded his arms and sat reverently. When a deacon stumbled as he passed the sacrament, Conner wanted to poke his little sister and say, “Sara, did you see that?”
But he didn’t because he remembered.
After the sacrament, the first speaker was Sister Swanson. She smiled a lot and was easy to listen to. He had no trouble remembering while she was speaking.
“Good morning, brothers and sisters!” Brother Swanson said. He was a big man with a jolly voice. But the words Brother Swanson spoke were almost as large as he was. Conner didn’t understand everything he said and soon lost interest. His fingers began to fumble around in his pockets. He found a rubber band and started to twist it. Suddenly he remembered. The rubber band went back into his pocket, and he looked up at Brother Swanson and listened for words he knew.
A girl in front of Conner was chewing gum and blew a little bubble. It made a tiny pop. Conner watched as she began blowing another. It grew bigger and bigger and bigger.
Then Conner remembered. When the big bubble popped, he didn’t see the girl’s face covered in pink gum. So he didn’t laugh like some people around him did.
Not long after the bubbles, the Johnsons’ baby rolled under the bench and pulled playfully at Conner’s leg.
Conner wanted to play with her, but he stopped himself just in time. He had remembered.
“Sorry, Conner,” Sister Johnson whispered as she struggled to get the wiggly baby girl back on the bench.
Conner didn’t hear or see them leave the chapel. His big blue eyes were watching Brother Swanson’s eyes fill with tears. His ears were hearing the speaker’s voice soften to a near whisper as he spoke of his love for the Savior. Conner felt warm and tingly inside.
After the meeting, Mom said, “Conner, you were so reverent today. How did you do it?”
Conner smiled. “Every time I thought about something else, I always remembered Someone.”
“Who did you always remember?” Mom asked.
“I always remembered Jesus,” Conner said, “and it felt good!”

I thought other youth would be interested in hearing about the Punta Arenas Branch, southernmost branch of the Church in the world, I believe. When Isaiah said, “… utter it even to the end of the earth,” he must have been referring to Punta Arenas, Chile! We’re on the Straights of Magellan, facing Tierra del Fuego. The wildlife and beauty of the Patagonia is outstanding: sharp green mountains, grazed by guanacos; blue waters filled with trout and salmon; and birdlife ranging from parrots to ostriches, ducks, swans, flamingos, and an occasional penguin.
Our branch is at the tender age of four years and has a membership of two hundred Saints. Jaime, our MIA president, and Carlos, an MIA officer, both youth, have been working all year to save enough money to cover their traveling expenses to the international youth conference to be held in Arica, Chile, at the northern end of the country. It’s been a long, hard job, involving window cleaning, cakes sales, and cleaning houses, but they have finally made it. That’s what it means to be a Latter-day Saint down here.
Elder Gary WeldChile Mission

The baby was crying, our three other young children needed to be put to bed, and I was exhausted.
As I tried to wrap my mind around the impossible task before me, all I could hear in my mind were the last words of my husband (who was currently serving as our bishop) as he walked out the door that evening: “I’ll be at the pool with the priests. Tim is teaching the boys how to scuba dive.”
“Really?” I thought to myself. “I’m here juggling four children, and you’re off learning to scuba dive? How is this fair?”
Later that evening when Bruce walked in the door, he met one tired wife.
“How did your evening go?” he asked.
In tears, I told him how hard it had been to put four children, including a fussy baby, to bed knowing that he was off learning how to scuba dive. I could understand him leaving if someone in the ward was facing a crisis, yes. But scuba diving? Not so much.
Bruce sat down beside me. “I’m sorry it was hard for you. I didn’t go for the scuba diving. I didn’t even know if I would get into the pool. I went for two young men.”
He told me he had felt strongly he should attend this event because two priests who hadn’t attended church or activities for a long time were going to be there. He shared that he had been able to talk to them that evening, strengthening his relationship with them and helping them integrate with the others.
My heart softened, and I was reminded that him being called to serve as a bishop while also being a husband and father required a sacrifice from both of us.

Elizabeth Fetzer Bates, a piano teacher and the mother of six children, become totally blind in 1951. She accepted her blindness as a challenge and decided that she would learn to do everything that she could. She said, “I wrote ‘Pioneer Children’ because we are all pioneers—we’ve never been in today before.”
In 1969, she wrote “Book of Mormon Stories” because she loves the Book of Mormon and is grateful for America. She thinks that children like this song because it is simple and true.
Sister Bates still teaches piano lessons, and she believes that everyone should write a song. “Heavenly Father has created so many lovely things that we should sing as we walk along! We can always be happy if we remember to be grateful.”

It’s a typically humid day in Jogjakarta, Indonesia, and sweat drips from Agung’s brow as he awaits his opponent’s serve. The badminton match is close, and the 15-year-old feels driven to win.
After a furious exchange, his opponent puts the shuttlecock hopelessly out of Agung’s reach. Unwilling to give up the point in such a close match, Agung dives for the shuttlecock but comes up short—and bleeding from sliding across the cement court.
It’s easy to see that he loves competitive badminton. But Agung doesn’t dream of becoming a professional badminton player. He’s not going to have to choose between serving the shuttlecock in the Olympics and serving a mission. By his own admission, he’s not particularly good at the sport.
So why does this small teen with the big smile try so hard? Hope.
“I believe I can get better,” he says.
“If I had no hope of getting any better and ever winning, it would be very easy to give up,” Agung says.
Agung knows he will probably never be a professional athlete, but he knows that as long as he keeps trying, there is hope he can improve.
He has learned that the great power of hope is this: “As long as you never give up, there is hope,” he says.

My brother Henry and I were taking care of our neighbors’ pet chinchilla while they were away on vacation. We liked to feed him raisins and banana chips. One day while we were feeding him, he got out of his cage. We were having a hard time finding him. My brother finally found him under the couch, but every time we tried to grab him he ran away and hid again. I said a prayer and asked Heavenly Father to help us catch the chinchilla. We worked together and finally caught him. I am grateful that I can ask Heavenly Father for help when I need it.Emmett Lytle, age 5, with help from his mom, Middlebury, Connecticut

In closing I'll share one more personal experience. When I was a young boy, my father took me fishing. I think I wasn't much older than my ten year old daughter, Celeste, but we went up to a place called Oddgers Creek where he had described to me, he had gone fishing with his father as a young man. And so we had planned for this day, and we packed our gear, and we got everything aligned. And we went to this place and it was everything that I had imagined. We spent most of the morning fishing, enjoying our time together, drinking root beer, and just doing everything a little boy would think is the best thing to do.

Later in the afternoon my father told me he wanted to explore the creek and go up further. He said, "Now I'll be back and don't you worry, I'm just going to be really close." As he left, I watched him walk up the creek and depart into the brush. And pretty soon in little boy time, I felt like a long period of time had passed. I began to be concerned. I wondered where my father was. I was wondering what he was doing, and if he had indeed made it to where he was going, and if he would return shortly. Pretty soon my mind started to reflect upon this and I believe I was making myself more anxious that I needed to be. But my parents had taught me in situations like this that you kneel and you pray, and so I opened up the truck door, got down on the floorboards and kneeled and said a prayer. In my prayer I asked Heavenly Father to please protect my father that he could return home, return back to me and be safe and that we could be joined together again and enjoy the rest of our day. I continued this way for what seemed like hours, but in reality was probably only five or six minutes. And soon, I looked up and out of the aspen trees came my father with his fishing pole. He hadn't caught anything, by the way. But he had explored the creek a little bit and had come back and in this period of time, I was worried that something had happened to him. As I watched him come out of the trees, I was so excited and so pleased and so anxious to go and greet him and to be with him and to have this anxiety relieved. And I threw my arms around him around his waist and told him I loved him and then we went and got the root beer out of the creek and we went on with our day.

At that moment I knew and experienced maybe a fraction of what it would be like for us to be reunited with our Father in Heaven. He knows us. He knows our weaknesses. He knows our strengths. And His desire for us to return to Him is very powerful and eternal.

About a year ago I was on assignment in Beirut, Lebanon. While there, I learned about a 12-year-old girl, Sarah. Her parents and two older siblings had converted to the Church in Romania but were then required to return to their homeland when Sarah was just 7 years of age. In their homeland there was no Church presence, no organized units, no Sunday School or Young Women program. After five years this family learned of a branch in Beirut and, just before I arrived, sent their 12-year-old daughter, Sarah, accompanied by older siblings, to be baptized. While there, I gave a devotional on the plan of salvation. With some frequency Sarah raised her hand and answered the questions.
After the meeting, and knowing of her almost nonexistent Church exposure, I approached her and asked, “Sarah, how did you know the answers to those questions?” She immediately replied, “My mother taught me.” They did not have the Church in their community, but they did have the gospel in their home. Her mother was her prime gospel teacher.

The house was a raging inferno.

“It’s no use,” the fire chief muttered, watching the flames leap high into the air. “Pull back!” he shouted. The fire crew moved back from the searing heat.

“Help!” a girl suddenly cried out from a second floor window.

“Oh no,” the fire chief mourned.

The girl’s parents, who had just returned from a movie, were quickly ushered over to the fire chief.

“Help me!” the girl shouted.

“Please save our daughter,” the mother pleaded.

“I can’t ask any of my men to go into that tinder box now—it’d be suicide.”

Randy stepped from the crowd. “Don’t worry, I’ll save your daughter.”

Before anyone could stop him, he ran toward the house, paying only slight attention to the crowd’s horrified gasp as he rushed into the flames.

It’s a good thing I’m wearing this action jacket, he thought as he kicked the door down. Inside, the stairs were still intact, although fire was licking through several of the steps. He covered his face with the jacket and bounded up the stairs.

On the second floor landing, because the jacket was still over his face, he tripped over a tricycle in the hall, but quickly recovered and hurried to her room.

He opened the door and saw her. She was in one of his classes in high school. She had long hair and nice eyes, although for some reason he couldn’t make out any details of her face. Maybe it’s the smoke, he thought.

She threw her arms around him. “I knew you’d come,” she cried.

A loud crash shook the house.

“What was that?” she cried.

“The staircase caving in,” he said calmly.

“How will we ever get out?”

He thought for a second then said, “I have a plan.”

Running to what was left of the hall, he grabbed the tricycle and hurried back to the room. He pulled an adjustable wrench from his jacket pocket and undid the front wheel. Then he kicked out the rubber from the wheel, leaving just the metal rim.

“Anyone else in the house?”

“No—my brother is spending the night at our uncle’s house.”

He hurried to the window and kicked out the screen and looked out. Just as he had noticed earlier—a telephone cable ran from the street pole to within a foot of the window. He leaned out, placing the rim of the wheel over the cable, then asked her to hand him the rest of the tricycle, which he refastened upside down onto the wheel again, the forked brace holding the wheel rim in place on the cable.

It was ready. He motioned for her to climb next to him on the window ledge. Putting one arm around her waist and holding onto the handle bar with the other, he jumped out into space.

They rolled gently down the telephone cable like a miniature cable car, leaving the house just before it broke apart. The crowd below roared its approval.

“Oh, Randy, you’re wonderful,” she sighed, hugging him.

A minute later they were on the ground, surrounded by a TV news crew and several newspaper reporters.

A newsman from the TV station stepped forward, microphone in hand, and asked the question on everyone’s mind.

“Hey, kid, whataya think you’re doing?”

That’s not the right question, Randy thought.

He looked again at the reporter. Somehow he had changed into a store clerk.

…

As he walked home, he began to think.

The house was a raging inferno.

“Help!” Michelle cried out from a second-floor window …

Now, another account, again recorded by his son John, that reflects his dedication to his own properly considered priorities rather than the priorities of others. Whenever you feel peer pressure, think of this experience of Elder Talmage.

“In later years, James’ long hours of work, unrelieved by periods of recreation, were cause for real concern among family, friends, and associates. President Heber J. Grant, [the President of the Church] for one, repeatedly urged Dr. Talmage to take up some form of sport, if only for its therapeutic value. Himself an enthusiastic golfer, President Grant tried to get his friend to try that sport, confident (as are all golfers) that if anyone were once thoroughly exposed to golf he would be captivated by its subtle but powerful attractions.

“As President Grant’s urgings increased in frequency and intensity, so did Dr. Talmage’s demurrers on the grounds of lack of interest and lack of ability to master a complicated skill so late in life. President Grant was certain the skill could be mastered and that interest would automatically follow. Finally a compromise was reached, and a test agreed upon: James would give the game of golf an honest trial, and work at it until he was able to hit a drive which President Grant would rate as satisfactory, ‘a real golf shot.’

“‘If you hit just one really good drive, nature will do the rest,’ President Grant assured his pupil-to-be. ‘You won’t be able to resist the game after that.”

“It was agreed that James would make his own choice after he had acquired the skill to hit the specific shot. If he felt the fascination of the game, as President Grant was certain he would, he would take up golf and play with reasonable regularity. If, after giving the game a fair trial, James still felt no interest, President Grant would cease his efforts to get Dr. Talmage to play.

“On an appointed day, the two, accompanied by a number of the others of the General Authorities who played golf and who had joined the friendly argument on the side of President Grant, proceeded to Nibley Park [a Salt Lake City golf course] for James’ first session in what was expected to be a series of lessons.

“James removed his coat and was shown how to grip the club and take his stance at the ball. The coordinated movements involved in making a golf stroke were carefully explained and then demonstrated by President Grant and by others. Finally, it came James’ turn to try it himself.“What followed astonished all those who watched, and probably James himself. Instead of missing the ball completely, or weakly pushing it a few feet along the grass, James somehow managed to strike the ball cleanly and with substantial force. It took off in a fine arc and with only a minimum amount of slice. Some who saw it described it later as ‘a truly magnificent drive,’ which was probably a considerable exaggeration. However, there was consensus that the ball went close to 200 yards and stayed in the fairway. It was a drive that would have gladdened the heart of any golfer short of the expert class, and it bordered on the phenomenal for a novice.“The spectators were momentarily struck dumb, then burst into enthusiastic applause.

“‘Congratulations,’ said President Grant, rushing forward, beaming, with outstretched hand. ‘That was a fine shot you will remember for the rest of your life.’

“‘You mean that was a fully satisfactory golf shot?’ James asked, cautiously.

“‘It certainly was!’ said President Grant.

“‘Then I have fulfilled my part of the agreement?’

“‘You have — and don’t you feel the thrill of excitement?
Now you’ll be playing regularly. As a matter of fact, we can go into the clubhouse now and I will help you select a set of clubs.’

“‘Thank you,’ said James, putting on his coat. ‘If I have carried out my part of the agreement, then I shall call on you to live up to yours. You promised that if I hit a satisfactory drive and did not feel the spontaneous desire to play, you would stop urging me to do so. Now I should like to get back to the office, where I have a great deal of work waiting.’

“So far as is known, James never again struck a golf ball, or made the attempt” (The Talmage Story, pp. 226-28).

Clarette watched impatiently at the window for her father’s car. The delicious smell of roast lamb floating in from the kitchen assured her that dinnertime was near and that Papa would soon be home.
Clarette wasn’t thinking of food, though, but of the very important question she must ask her father. She had just returned from the home of her friend, Briget, where Sister Macy and Sister Wright, the LDS missionaries from America, were teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ. Clarette’s parents were content with their religious beliefs and weren’t interested in learning more, but they allowed Clarette to hear the Mormon missionaries. They felt that she should learn for herself about Heavenly Father.
As the sister missionaries explained each gospel idea, Clarette listened carefully. Never had Heavenly Father and Jesus seemed so real to her. Things she had read in the Bible became clearer to her, and she was anxious to learn more.
Finally the headlights of Papa’s car announced his arrival. Clarette ran to open the door for him. After a hug and a kiss, Clarette began, “Papa, I want to be baptized.”
“Why, my dear, you were baptized when you were a baby,” her father replied as he hung up his overcoat.
“But, Papa. I want to be baptized the way Jesus was. I want to be a Mormon.”
Her father looked at her searchingly, then said, “Twelve is much too young to make such a big decision. You may go to the Mormon church if you like, but you may not join any church until you are older. Now let’s have dinner.”
Clarette knew further pleading wouldn’t help. Her mama and papa were reasonable parents, but when they believed something firmly, it was almost impossible to change their minds.
For the next few weeks Clarette continued to hear the missionary discussions at Briget’s home. Her parents drove her to the LDS chapel on Sundays and picked her up after meetings, but the subject of baptism was closed.
As Christmas neared, Clarette felt closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus than she ever had before. She knew that the gospel of Jesus Christ was true, and every day she prayed that her father would change his mind.
One evening Clarette’s father asked her what she would like for Christmas. Mustering all the courage she could, Clarette looked into her father’s eyes and said, “Papa, the only thing I want for Christmas is to be baptized. I don’t want anything else.”
She was afraid that her father would be angry with her for bringing up the forbidden subject, but instead he looked back into her eyes. “Clarette, my dear, if it is that important to you, I will give my permission.”
Three days later, on Christmas Eve, Clarette was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

For Fu Pak Wai, an idea blossomed into a business that answered a prayer.
Fu Pak Wai says, “We can’t see everything ahead of us. We just move forward step by step.”
For many years, Fu Pak Wai worked in computer animation in Hong Kong. He enjoyed the work, but it demanded a lot of time.
“When I returned home from work each evening,” he says, “my son was already in bed.”
As he thought about his family and future, Brother Fu attended one of the Church’s “Starting and Growing My Business” self-reliance groups. For 12 weeks, group members discussed how to start, grow, finance, and improve a business. They also talked about how to find and keep customers.
Armed with new knowledge, Brother Fu got an idea, which blossomed into a business that answered a prayer.
In his spare time, Brother Fu started selling bicycle accessories and second-hand bicycles online. Then he took online courses to learn how to repair bicycles. Finally, he found a small building to rent that would accommodate a bike shop.
“I still had my full-time job while I was selling bicycle accessories and fixing bikes part-time,” he says. “After doing that for a year, I quit my full-time job.”
Now Brother Fu has more time for his family.
“It was an answer to prayer,” he says. “And now I get to see my son in the morning before he goes to school and in the afternoon after school. It’s the best.”
Starting his own business has also given him more time to serve his community and God’s kingdom, doing missionary work and helping others become self-reliant.
“As I developed my business,” Brother Fu recalls, “I also developed a stronger testimony of keeping the Sabbath day holy and living the law of tithing. I don’t know how everything will work out. We can’t see everything ahead of us. We just move forward step by step, and God will prepare the way.”

For many years I had a problem with a certain word—no. I couldn’t say it. Whenever anybody needed me for something—anything—I was there. And although I enjoy helping others, I’ve occasionally missed out on what seemed to be significant opportunities for my personal growth because I simply couldn’t say that one word. But one summer, what seemed to be one of my biggest mental impairments turned out to be the greatest blessing of my life.
I had recently graduated from high school and planned to attend college away from home the coming fall. It would be my first time living away from family, and I was excited for the new experience. I had a well-paying job at a local grocery store, a brand new car, and I was saving a lot of money. My life was in order.
One afternoon I approached my supervisor to tell her that I needed to transfer to a store closer to where I’d be attending college. But before I could get the words out she was telling me about a position opening the following week that she wanted me to fill.
It would have been easy for me to say no. I was starting college in a month, and there were several other capable people who could do the job. But I didn’t; I couldn’t.
I felt frustrated. Like most teenagers, all I wanted was to move away and enjoy college life. But suddenly I found myself staying home and postponing college—because I couldn’t say no to a supervisor.
I began my new duties, and, after a short time, settled into the new routine. As part of my responsibilities, I supervised a small group of people, including two high school students, Chris and Randa. After working with them for a while, I decided I liked Randa and asked her on a date. One of my co-workers found out about it and said, “You know she’s Mormon, right?”
Yes, I knew she was Mormon, but that meant little to me. At the time I was slightly misguided, thinking Mormons didn’t use electricity and drove horse-drawn buggies.
As for myself, I had no religion. My parents grew up in different faiths, but neither practiced into adulthood. I was raised in a loving home, but spirituality was not part of my upbringing. However, I had always been interested in religion. In high school I had friends whom I would often ask about God, Jesus Christ, and religious principles and values. A faith-filled life was something I had always wanted, but something seemed to hold me back.
Randa and her family regularly asked me to listen to missionary lessons, but I kept putting it off. It seemed too mysterious.
Randa eventually moved out of state to attend college, and we continued our relationship long-distance. One day she called and said, “I was just talking to my mom, and she said she wants you to listen to the missionaries.” This I knew, of course. But this time it was different.
Randa’s parents hadn’t wanted us to date because I wasn’t a Church member, but Randa’s mother said if I would take time to learn about the Church they’d accept our relationship. So I agreed.
The first few discussions were useless for me because I was simply going through the motions to get on the parents’ good side. I didn’t read the Book of Mormon or pray and was somewhat antagonistic toward the elders.
But the third discussion brought a change. I decided to read from the Book of Mormon, not so much for myself, but because I didn’t want to disappoint the missionaries again. Something surprising happened—I liked it.
In the next lesson I learned about the plan of salvation, the Word of Wisdom, the law of chastity, and how families can be forever. The principles being taught were ones I had always believed. Some religions teach that we shouldn’t drink alcohol or have sexual relations before marriage, but they do nothing to back it up. Some religions teach that when we die we will be angels in heaven and servants to God but have no recollection of our experiences and associations on earth. I couldn’t accept that. But here was a church that backed up what it taught. Here was a church teaching the same core values and beliefs I had always held.
Our next meeting was the clincher. Rather than teach a lesson, the missionaries showed On the Way Home, a film relating a story of a family who had a daughter die in an accident and later found peace through the knowledge that their family could be together forever through the gospel of Jesus Christ.
As I watched the movie I felt as if my entire body were being filled with some unknown power—some sort of light, peace, and bliss—and I started to cry. I thought, “This is a Church movie; what are you doing?” It was then I knew what I needed to do.
I was baptized August 20, 1998. I met with the missionaries because I wanted to please my girlfriend’s mother. I was baptized because I wanted to please my Heavenly Father and my Savior.
I have come to learn that the Lord knows us much better than we know ourselves. Throughout my younger years the Lord blessed me with desires for righteousness, though I wasn’t born a believer. Instilled within every human soul is the Light of Christ, “which lighteth every man that cometh into the world” (John 1:9).
If we listen to the quiet voice inside that prompts us along the road of righteousness, we will be led to a life of happiness now and throughout eternity. We won’t always know why we are making certain choices, and that’s OK. We just need to obey.
I once had an idiosyncrasy that constrained me from saying no to people who needed me. It was annoying. Though I wanted to attend college (and eventually did), what if I had said no to my supervisor the day she asked me to fill a new position at work?
Sometimes what we see as our greatest impairments may actually be our greatest blessings. It was for me.

A cool thing happened today. Mom said maybe I should pray about my question, so I went to my room and asked Heavenly Father to help me understand why boys get the priesthood and girls don’t. I can’t even explain what happened next. I felt warm all over. I think Heavenly Father was trying to tell me that He loves me just as much as He loves Travis or Luke or my brothers—or anyone. I felt so happy! And when I get old enough to have a Church calling, I’ll be using priesthood power too.

Children provide some of the best examples of how to administer Christ’s love. After spending a long, hot day at an amusement park with my three nieces (ages six, ten, and eleven), my brother, my husband, and I found ourselves in line for a much-anticipated water ride. As the kids were most excited about this ride—and we did not want to disappoint—we all hopped into the end of the line for what was projected to be a ninety-minute wait.

After fifteen minutes of attempting to keep ourselves and the kids entertained, it was clear that we had lost their attention and that they were bored. Instead of turning to complaining, the kids instinctively turned their attention to the other people in line. It did not take long for my three nieces to make friends with three teenagers who were standing in line right in front of us. Soon all six of them were laughing, talking, and joking together. Even after what had turned into more than two hours of standing in line, the kids never complained because they were focused on someone else.

Without having spent time talking with the teens, we would never have learned that the woman accompanying them was not their mother. The teenagers were with their aunt, who had taken the kids away for a weekend after their mother’s funeral. All three teenagers were now learning what it was like to be orphans.

Gratefully, that day three little girls in a long line at an amusement park showed me how to truly minister to and uplift those around me. How many people who are figuratively in line next to you have “hands [that] hang down” or “feeble knees” that need strengthening? You never know what hardships or difficulties others are experiencing, and you never know the impact your interactions will have on them. Turning your focus to other people can have a healing effect that helps lift burdens and mend broken hearts. But sometimes doing good requires taking off your headphones, putting down your smartphone, and interacting with a huge smile.

For my second example I turn to the release of a stake president in Star Valley, Wyoming—even the late E. Francis Winters. He had served faithfully for the lengthy term of twenty-three years. Though modest by nature and circumstance, he had been a perpetual pillar of strength to everyone in the valley. On the day of the stake conference, the building was filled to overflowing. Each heart seemed to be saying a silent thank-you to this noble leader who had given so unselfishly of his life for the benefit of others.
As I stood to speak following the reorganization of the stake presidency, I was prompted to do something I had not done before, nor have I done so since. I stated how long Francis Winters had presided in the stake; then I asked all whom he had blessed or confirmed as children to stand and remain standing. Then I asked all those persons whom President Winters had ordained, set apart, personally counseled, or blessed to please stand. The outcome was electrifying. Every person in the audience rose to his feet. Tears flowed freely—tears which communicated better than could words the gratitude of tender hearts. I turned to President and Sister Winters and said, “We are witnesses today of the prompting of the Spirit. This vast throng reflects not only individual feelings but also the gratitude of God for a life well lived.” No person who was in the congregation that day will forget how he felt when he witnessed the language of the Spirit of the Lord.

Illustration by Taia Morley
In fourth grade, I was in the best class ever. Everything about that class was perfect—except Kylie (name has been changed). She was mean to almost everyone, including me. I saw her pushing others in the hallway, and she even pushed me a few times. I would come home crying because I could not understand why she would bully me.
Nobody was her friend. She had her own table at lunch because no one would sit close to her. I told my mom about Kylie, and she gave me some life-changing words of wisdom: “Maybe she just needs a friend.”
This came as a shock to me. How could I possibly be nice to someone who wouldn’t give a second thought to calling me an insulting name? Reluctantly, though, I decided to be nicer to Kylie and try to understand her. As I got to know her better, I found that she was actually nice. I soon learned that her life was much worse than I could have imagined. She had a tough home to live in, and she would avoid any conversation with the word “family.”
One day during lunch, I was sitting with my friends. Since Kylie was mean to others, there were some girls who were not nice to her in return. They started making fun of Kylie, talking loud enough that she could hear them. They said things like, “Come sit with us—NEVER!” “What’s that smell? Oh, it’s Kylie!” and “Stay away from us!” I sat there listening.
Then I heard a small voice in my head: “Do something.” I stood up and felt over a dozen pairs of eyes turn to me. “Stop!” I said. “Why would you say things like that to anyone? Just be nice to her!” Everyone fell silent. As I sat down, I looked at Kylie. She turned around and gave me a look of pure gratitude.
In sixth grade my 12th birthday was coming up, and I wanted to have a party with a few friends. When my mom asked if I wanted to invite anyone else, I heard the same small voice in my head: “Invite Kylie.”
“I want to invite Kylie,” I told my mom.
“Really?”
I nodded. After the birthday party, my friends and I, including Kylie, were bonded to such an extent that we got together every Friday for the last three months of school. Kylie came each time. We became best friends.
Now I am in eighth grade and have moved to another state, but I frequently communicate with Kylie, who is still one of my best friends. Sometimes my other friends ask how we became so close.
“In fourth grade she was a bully, and we pretty much hated each other,” I say.
“Well, then how did you become such good friends?”
“I looked for the good in her. Everyone has some good in them, and I reached out to find hers.”

It was December 31, 1974. I know the exact date because it was the day I was baptized and received the gift of the Holy Ghost. I had been baptized early in the morning and was in my front yard, playing in a tree by the road, when a neighbor girl walked by. Now, this neighbor girl and I did not need to have a DTR, because we understood exactly where we stood with each other. We hated each other. She called me names, and I threw rocks at her. On this particular day, as I sat in the tree, she walked by, and I didn’t have any rocks with me, but I did have some nasty things to yell. And I yelled them. But something funny happened as soon as I did. The Holy Ghost whispered to me that I had just committed a sin. At the time, I didn’t recognize it as the Holy Ghost. I just felt a sick feeling in my stomach and guilt swept over me. The distinct thought came to my 8-year-old mind that I had just been baptized and cleansed from my sins, and I was supposed to go the rest of my life without sinning, and I didn’t even make it one day.
I’ve spent a lot of time, as I suppose some of you may have, wishing I could just be baptized again and start over fresh and clean. However, I have come to realize that even if I had another shot at baptism, I wouldn’t make it very long before I was wishing I could do it again.

Amanda can make gelatin. She is the “little mom” of the family and helps out with the three younger girls. In stores, people often stop and stare at the seven children, and Amanda likes to lag behind and answer questions. As her eighth birthday approached, she counted down the days until she could be baptized. Due to unusual circumstances, the water in the font at the stake center was freezing, but she didn’t mind the cold. Her father did, though! “I had to do it,” she said. “I wanted to be baptized so much!” Dad just hopes the next baptism comes in the summer.