Gospel Story Finder

It was June 12, 1895, the most important day of David Scott’s life he thought. It was his twelfth birthday and Mr. Ragan, an engineer, had promised to let him ride the train all the way to Benton, over sixty miles away. He had been in the cab of Mr. Ragan’s locomotive many times, but switching or creeping out of the rail yards wasn’t really riding on a train—not like today!
Tiptoeing downstairs, David slipped out the backdoor and into the misty chill of the morning air. If he could finish his chores early enough, maybe he could hitch a ride into town on one of the farm wagons going to market.
Hurrying to the woodpile, he carried two big armloads of kindling into the kitchen and placed them in the woodbox beside his mother’s black cookstove. As he entered the barn old Bessie, the black cow, bawled in complaint as he poured cracked corn into a pan to carry to the chicken yard. The barn cats tumbled about his feet, then followed him to the door, mewing. Like Bessie, they seemed surprised that he wasn’t milking first, but this was no ordinary morning.
By the time he finished the milking and had carried the pail of warm, sudsy milk to the springhouse, his mother had breakfast ready and a lunch packed for him. Racing down the lane, he heard Mr. Jule’s wagon coming over the steep hill. “Hop on, David,” Mr. Jule shouted as he saw the tall blond youth standing beside the roadside mailbox. After tossing his jacket and lunch into the back of the moving wagon, David leaped in, held on to the swaying side, and eased himself down, legs swinging as they traveled over the deep yellow ruts of the dirt road. I’ll make it in plenty of time, he thought happily.
At the depot he swung down from the wagon bed and thanked Mr. Jule for the ride.
“Are you ready for the big trip, David?” Mr. Ragan asked, leaping down from the cab of the steam-hissing locomotive. Such a giant of a man, David thought. He moves as easily as a cat.
“I sure am,” David answered, his face flushed with excitement. Then, stroking one of the big wheels, David asked, “Can I help you and Mr. Ellis check her over and oil her, Mr. Ragan?”
“Sure, I guess you can. My fireman will probably appreciate a little help—won’t you, Ellis?” Reaching up into the cab, Mr. Ellis handed down a large copper oilcan with a long spout. “But mind you do a good job,” he told David.
Grinning, the stationmaster said, “He ought to know how to do it, as many times as he’s watched. He heads straight here from school every afternoon. I don’t think that boy’s missed meeting the 4 P.M. train from Benton once in two years.” Turning, the stationmaster walked back into the depot with the engineer following.
Later as he perched on a box and leaned out the engineer’s window of the speeding train, David watched an approaching water tower. A moment ago it had only been a dark speck in the distance. He couldn’t believe they had already reached it. Such speed! It was almost like flying. If only I can be an engineer when I grow up, he thought, and by then trains will probably travel even faster.
Of course, it was a lot more complicated than David had thought when he first decided he’d be an engineer. You had to be pretty smart to know about all the levers and gauges and the air brakes that Mr. Ragan handled so easily. Then there were hand, flag, and lamp signals and the block signals and semaphores that tell the engineer to stop or to move ahead. These all had to be learned, besides the fixed signals along the track that told him the proper speed to maintain, the approach of a station crossing, and the whistle posts to let the engineer know when to start blowing a warning whistle. David sighed and wondered how long it had taken Mr. Ragan to learn everything.
“An engineer talks with his whistle,” Mr. Ragan had told him. “It’s like a code. Two long toots means to release brakes and one short toot means to stop. The whistle tells my crew exactly what to do—hop back on the train, protect front of train, or protect rear of train. Each series of short and long toots means something. And a number of short toots is an alarm for persons or livestock on the track.”
Eyes burning from the wind, David drew his head back inside and glanced across the cab at Mr. Ellis, the fireman. The gray-haired man seemed asleep, all scrunched down in his seat, swaying with the motion of the train. No, he looked sick! Tugging on Mr. Ragan’s jacket sleeve, David pointed at the slumped fireman.
“Can you shovel coal into that boiler, David?” Mr. Ragan shouted into his ear, above the deafening noise of the engine. “We’ve got to highball this train into Benton and get Ellis to a doctor. He looks mighty sick to me.”
Hastily David grabbed the shovel and began to toss coal into the cylindrical box of steel with its furnace at one end and smokebox at the other. “I wish we had Locomotive 999,” David mumbled, thinking of the engine that had broken all records by traveling 100 miles per hour two years before. Sweat streamed down his face as he stopped to toss more coal onto the searing fire. He had to keep it blazing to keep plenty of steam up for Mr. Ragan.
Numb with fatigue when the train finally came to a stop, David watched as the men lifted Mr. Ellis down from the locomotive and laid him on the Benton station platform. His face looked so pale that David wondered if he were still alive.
“Just leave him there a minute, boys,” the young doctor said, kneeling beside Mr. Ellis and taking a bottle from his open bag. Pouring some liquid onto a wad of cotton, he passed it back and forth under the nose of the unconscious man. Coughing, Mr. Ellis turned his head away and opened his eyes.
“How is he, doctor?” Mr. Ragan asked after a few moments. “Will he be all right?”
“Yes, I think he’ll be fine. There’s a nasty lump on the side of his head though. He must have hit it while he was firing the boiler. May be a concussion. It’s a good thing you got him here so fast. I’ll want to keep an eye on him today so you’ll have to send for another fireman for your trip back.”
“I have one,” Mr. Ragan said, smiling at David. “That is, if this young man thinks he can still handle that shovel half as well as he did coming in. What do you say, David?”
“Sure. Sure, I can, sir. Soon as I get her oiled,” David answered proudly, teeth gleaming through a layer of coal dust.
“Wait a minute,” protested Mr. Ellis, as the men started to help him into a wagon. “That boy’s a born railroader if I ever saw one, but he needs to borrow my red bandanna handkerchief to keep the sweat from running down his backbone, and my cap, too. Firing’s hot work.”
Turning to the engineer, he said, “Ragan, I predict this lad will be through school and ready to fire for you about the time I’m ready to retire. With a couple of years of study, he’ll make a first-rate engineer and have a locomotive of his own.”
Then shaking the boy’s hand, the firemen smiled. “Thanks a lot, son,” he said. And the men all grinned as David awkwardly knotted the big handkerchief around his neck and placed the high-crowned billed cap on his head.

President Lee often told another story of when his mother had saved him from serious injury: Louisa had been making soap one day and had a large pan of lye on a high shelf so that the younger children would not get into it. She asked Harold to help her get the pan down. Suddenly the pan slipped from their grip, and the burning lye spilled over Harold’s face, head, and arms. Louisa grabbed Harold so that he couldn’t run away, then kicked off the lid from a barrel of pickles that she had just made. Scooping up the vinegar in her hand, she washed the lye off her son. The vinegar helped neutralize the lye, thus saving Harold from being badly scarred.

It was family home evening, and everybody had a part to do. Mom was conducting. Dad was giving the lesson. The kids were in charge of prayer, music, and activity—except for Thomas. This week it was Thomas’s turn to bear his testimony, and he was feeling kind of embarrassed.
Thomas had shared his testimony before, but it had been a long time, and he couldn’t quite remember what he was supposed to say. So when the opening song was over and the prayer had been said, Thomas frowned.
“It’s your turn,” Mom reminded him.
Thomas looked out the window at their evergreen tree, wishing somehow it could tell him what to do.
Dad sat down next to Thomas and asked him what was wrong.
“I don’t know what a testimony is,” Thomas said quietly.
“Well, I can help you,” Dad said. “It’s telling us some of the things you know are true or things you believe. You could talk about how you like reading scriptures. That always helps you feel the Spirit.”
But Thomas wasn’t feeling ready. Everyone was looking at him, waiting for him to do something. He shook his head. “I can’t. I don’t know what it is.”
Dad patted Thomas’s arm. “It’s OK. You can do it another time.”
Later that evening Thomas sat in bed holding his Book of Mormon. Dad was right—reading the scriptures always did make him feel better. He tried to read a chapter a day, but the chapters were starting to get really long. He opened his scriptures to 1 Nephi 17.
“That’s a long one!” Thomas whispered. He said a little prayer to Heavenly Father asking for help. Then he was amazed at how quickly the time passed.
Just before Thomas turned out his light, Dad came in to say good night.
“Guess what, Dad?”
“What’s that, buddy?”
“I haven’t read my scriptures for a whole week because the chapters were getting too long. But tonight I wanted to, so I said a prayer, and Heavenly Father helped me. I read the whole thing, and it felt like only five minutes. Prayer is a good thing.”
“Thomas, do you know what you just said?” Dad asked with a smile. “You shared your testimony!”
“Really?” Thomas asked. “What do you mean?”
“When you talked about prayer and how it helped you—that’s a testimony of prayer.”
Thomas’s mouth dropped open in surprise. He thought about all the times people had taught him about testimony. He realized he had shared a testimony!
Thomas felt so good he felt like laughing. He gave Dad a hug.
“Wow, I did it!” Thomas said. “Dad, can I bear my testimony next week in family home evening? I know it’s not my turn, but I want to talk about prayer.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Dad said.
As Dad left the room, Thomas thought about all that had happened that day. He was grateful for family, scriptures, prayer, and many other things. Right then, he was most grateful for a testimony. He knew how to share one and what it meant.

My first contact with President N. Eldon Tanner was in Canada more than twenty years ago. We had called a thirty-minute meeting for 7:00 p.m., prior to the other meetings, just to meet with the stake presidents. I remember well that night when seven o’clock arrived—two of us were there. I was there and a man I had never met before, a President Tanner. I will never forget the remark and the lesson that I learned as I looked at my watch, saw that it was seven o’clock and asked this man I had never met before, “President Tanner, what do you suggest we do?”

He looked at me and replied, “You’re here; I’m here; it’s seven o’clock. Let’s start.”

Wade remembers making the mistake of asking his brother for advice on what to wear the first day of junior high. “If you really want to make an impression,” his brother told him, “wear a suit and tie.” Wade believed him, donned the suggested attire, and set out for school. When he realized his mistake, he wanted to go home and kick his brother.
Even with such an embarrassing start, Wade managed to have a decent year. He realized that what you wear is not half as important to other people as it is to you. Most people hardly notice.

Many years ago, I went on a double date. My friend Beth was on a date with a young man named Shawn (these are not their real names!). As we approached Beth’s house, she said, “Keoni, just slow down, I’ll jump out. You don’t need to stop.”
It took me a moment to process what she was saying, I didn’t know Beth was the adventurous type that liked jumping out of moving cars! After a puzzled moment, I brought the car to a complete stop in front of her house.
As I came to stop, Beth opened her door, said a quick goodbye, and bolted into her house.
Shawn sat in the car, perplexed, wondering out loud, “What just happened!?!?”
Obviously, Beth was feeling anxious about the end of the date and Shawn and Beth had not communicated to determine a mutually understood way for the date to end.
The end of any date, good or bad, can create anxiety as the goodbye may include the expectation of some kind of physical interaction. Any physical expression of affection or romantic interest, such as holding hands, an embrace, or a kiss should be preceded by clear communication and affirmative consent.
Affirmative consent must be informed, voluntary, and active, meaning that, through the demonstration of clear words or actions, a person has indicated permission to engage in mutually agreed-upon physical interaction.
The absence of a “no” does not mean “yes” and consent on one occasion does not mean consent can be assumed from that time forth.
Shawn and Beth would have benefitted greatly from more communication and a better understanding of how to seek and give consent. Imagine this scenario unfolding a bit differently.
Shawn could have noticed Beth was looking uncomfortable. For goodness sake, she was ready to jump out of a moving car to avoid the end of this date!
Shawn should have realized she had some concern about how the date would end and initiated a conversation to understand how she was feeling. Sensing that, he could have said, “Beth, would it be ok if I walked you to the door and kissed you goodnight?”
Beth might have replied, “You can walk me to the door, but let’s leave it at that. I don’t want more than that.”
And Shawn could have replied saying, “I understand, I am happy to just walk you to the door.”
That might sound difficult, but I promise this conversation is far less awkward than what I observed!
In this scenario, Shawn is demonstrating respect for Beth by seeking to understand both her body language and verbal communications. He then ensures proper boundaries for his behavior. After communicating his interest, he honors her choice not to reciprocate.
Perhaps some of you empathize with Beth. To that point, I want to be clear, you do not owe anyone any amount of physical affection for taking you out on a date.
Seeking affirmative consent is a natural outcome of good communication and Christ-like treatment of others. Affirmative consent protects each of us from a variety of harmful outcomes.

“If I weren’t Mormon” seemed to be my favorite phrase this month. If I weren’t a Mormon I wouldn’t be getting up at 5:30 in the morning enduring 6° C. and less temperatures just to go to seminary. If I weren ’t a Mormon I’d be more accepted at school, and I’d have fun going to “all weekend” parties with friends, and I wouldn’t have to endure all those jokes about my religious beliefs. If I weren’t a Mormon life would be so much easier.
When I finally reached school that morning I was irritable, depressed, and tired. I wouldn’t be like this if I weren’t a Mormon, I thought. I missed the bus because Dad likes long family prayers. And Mom couldn’t drive me to school because she had to go to some Relief Society meeting.
I was late for class so I took a shortcut through the back of the library where I saw my old boyfriend with his beautiful new girlfriend. We had stopped seeing each other because I wasn’t willing to compromise my standards. Seeing those two together was more than I could handle. I ran into a nearby empty room and cried.
I finally arrived at my class just before I was marked absent. The daily notice sheet was read out loud reminding us of the upcoming long weekend and the camp planned at The Entrance, a coastal holiday town about five hours north of Sydney, Australia. That’s just what I needed. I wondered if Dad and Mom would let me go? No, they wouldn’t because I have to go to church Sunday and I have to go to family home evening Monday.
I was so bored in my mathematics class that I calculated how much more pocket money I’d have and all the things I could buy if I didn’t have to pay tithing.
The next morning the alarm went off at 5:30 as usual. Time to go to seminary again. Why should I have to go? Why get up at 5:30 every morning? Then I heard Mom’s happy voice telling me that if I didn’t get up I’d be late.
The topic that morning was, “What has Joseph Smith done for you?” I could answer that easily. If it weren’t for Joseph Smith I wouldn’t be a Mormon.
“Will you read Doctrine and Covenants, section 122, verses seven and eight, please?” my teacher asked.
Wearily, I took out my scriptures and started reading. At first I was not really listening, but then something made me start to pay attention to the words.
“And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very gates of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.” [D&C 122:7–8]
I choked out the last verse as my eyes filled with tears. “The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he?”
A few days later I was standing on the balcony of the Opera House, overlooking Sydney harbor. I couldn’t remember why I had felt so restricted because of my religion. My problems seemed pretty small and insignificant compared to those of Jesus Christ and Joseph Smith. I felt selfish as I asked myself, “Art thou greater than he?”
The lights of the city seemed to be almost as bright as the stars above. “I’m so proud of my country,” I said to myself. “It’s so full of unique beauty, people, and culture. I thank God for our beautiful plants, animals, and freedom. And I’in proud to be a part of the ever-growing and only true church in the world.”
My favorite phrase still is, “If I weren’t a Mormon,” but in a different way. If I weren’t a Mormon I wouldn’t have such a wonderful family, such great friends, and such a clear understanding of the purpose of life.
By the way, I calculated how much tithing I have paid, and when I look at how much God has given me, there’s no comparison.

Shortly after I had started working in the safety office, Janine and I were attending a concert in the Hart building and I was truly enjoying the experience, but during a break in the performance, my mind started to wander a little about what would happen if we needed to evacuate this performance. So after looking around to find the nearest exit—which is often not the same one you came, in by the way—I turned to Janine and proceeded to explain to her that: “If we have to evacuate, we will use that exit door right over there, and if someone becomes unresponsive, I want you to go down these stairs right here and call 911 and grab the AED that is right above the phone.”
I hadn’t even had a chance to tell her about my whole plan when she looked back at me with a confused look on her face and asked, “What are you talking about!?” I quickly realized that having a plan is a good idea, but immediately sharing it with someone—especially in the middle of a concert—may not be the best idea. So we went back to enjoying the rest of the concert and sure enough, we didn’t even have to use my quickly conceived emergency plan. (Hopefully all of you listened to the announcement just before devotional started today and found your nearest exit.) I often think about that experience and wonder why it seemed so important to me in that moment to have an emergency plan and I have decided that, if not necessarily a normal thing to think about, having an emergency plan is always a good idea, no matter what situation I find myself in.

“Annie, we need a cabbage for Christmas dinner tomorrow,” Mother said. “Please go to the Olsens and trade these potatoes for one. Hurry now. Night’s coming.”
Eleven-year-old Annie sighed, dropping her knitting and picking up the burlap bag of potatoes. It was a tradition in Norway for families to have a cabbage for Christmas dinner, and Annie knew it would be delicious. But she didn’t want to leave the warm fire. “Can Gunnild come too?” she asked hopefully.
“No, she must feed the goats and help your father.”
Annie buttoned her sheepskin coat and hurried outside into the brisk air. The snow crunched under her feet and the sharp wind whipped her blonde braids as she scurried down the path.
A few minutes later she reached the Olsens’ cabin and rapped on the wooden door. Mrs. Olsen peeked out, her blue eyes wide with surprise.
“Why, Annie! What are you doing out in this bitter wind? Your cheeks are as bright as strawberries. Come in and warm yourself.”
Annie’s fingers and toes tingled as she stood by the crackling fire. “Mother asked me to trade these potatoes for a cabbage,” she said.
“Oh, child, I’m sorry. I have no more cabbages. We ate our last one yesterday.” Mrs. Olsen stirred the big black kettle hanging over the fire. “Would you like some porridge?”
“No, thank you,” Annie replied. “I can’t stay. Do you know where I can get a cabbage?”
“The Petersens may have one. Jens had a good crop this year. But if you go there, you must hurry. It feels like there’s a storm brewing.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Olsen,” Annie said as she hurried outside. Tucking the bag under her arm, she plunged her hands deep into her pockets and trudged forward. The icy wind slapped her face, and black clouds rumbled overhead.
After what seemed like hours, she reached the Petersens. Luckily, Mrs. Petersen had an extra cabbage to trade for Annie’s potatoes. Waving good-bye, Annie headed home. Tiny snowflakes fluttered around her, covering the path with a goose-feathery whiteness.
Annie thought of her family’s warm cabin. She could almost smell the savory lutefisk (dried codfish) and potatoes cooking. Perhaps her mother was also making riskrem (rice pudding) and hiding an almond inside. Maybe Annie would be the lucky one to find it.
The snow began to fall faster. Thick flakes coated her eyelashes and buried the path. Annie stared at the landscape ahead of her, struggling to find the trail. “Is that our cabin?” she thought, noticing a dark shape in the swirling snow. But it was only a thicket of trees. Annie was confused. “Where am I?” she wondered. “Why do the mountains look like giants?” She felt like she was in a dream.
Huge snowdrifts seemed like a warm, white feather bed, urging her to stop and sleep. At first she resisted by thinking about home. She plodded forward on what felt like wooden-post legs, clutching her cabbage. But finally her weary legs collapsed, and she lay down, wrapping herself in a soft blanket of snow.
Back at home, Annie’s father stared out into the whirling whiteness. Where was Annie? He bundled up in his heavy coat and grabbed his lantern. He hurried down the trail, shouting into the wind, “Annie, Annie!”
Next to a giant spruce tree he noticed a strange mound. He rushed forward, swinging his lantern. In the dim light, he saw a pale figure in the snow. Was it Annie? He rushed to her, gathering her in his arms and wrapping his fur coat around her.
“Please, God,” he prayed, “let her live.”
A faint breath stirred Annie’s lips as she whimpered, “Papa.”
“Annie, you’re alive! It’s a miracle!” he cried. “God has preserved your life for a special purpose.”

Lacey was busy making things for her miniature dollhouse. She’d already made button plates, a yogurt-lid table, and a popcorn bowl out of a bottle cap and Styrofoam. She was just starting on the paper-clip hangers when her little brother, Zach, burst through the door with a bath towel around his neck like a cape.
“Zach!” Lacey cried as he bumped into her desk, sending the button plates flying.
“I’m not Zach. I’m Awesome Boy!” Zach shouted. He stomped around her room and knocked into the walls, pretending to fly. “And you’re a giant mutant monster that’s attacking the city!”
“I am not a mutant monster!” Lacey shouted back. As she looked at the buttons scattered all over the floor, she felt a hot, angry feeling rising in her stomach. She felt like yelling.
Instead she stomped out of the room. “Mom!” she called. “Zach’s bugging me again!”
Mom was on the phone in the kitchen and held up her hand. “One minute,” she mouthed. Mom walked into the other room to finish her phone call.
Lacey sighed and flopped into a kitchen chair. Why is Zach so annoying? Lacey fumed. She was ten, and Zach was only seven. He thought it was funny to see her mad. Worse, it seemed like Zach looked for ways to bother her. He grabbed her dolls, copied everything she said in a silly voice, and searched through her drawers. Each thing made her madder and madder. She didn’t like feeling that way.
Lacey looked down at the paper-clip hanger she was still holding. Kylee, Lacey’s older sister, had showed her how to make miniature things. Kylee was away at college now, and Lacey missed her. Why couldn’t Kylee still be around instead of Zach?
Lacey looked down at her arm where the mosquito bite had been, and suddenly she understood something. She could control her own actions. She couldn’t stop Zach from doing what he wanted, but she could choose not to be bothered by it anymore! And Heavenly Father could help her.
Heavenly Father, she prayed silently, please help me not to get mad when Zach teases me. Please help me to just love him.
As she prayed, she felt the hot anger in her stomach start to go away. A warm feeling filled its place.
“Never mind,” she mouthed to Mom as she walked back to find Zach. Maybe her miniature dollhouse would make the perfect city to defend from a giant mutant monster. And maybe Awesome Boy could use a superhero friend—Awesome Girl!

But where does man’s research go from there? He seems to analyze the physical nature very well, but he is lost as to his ultimate destiny. There is, of course, danger in such a course, researched wholly from a scientific or biological viewpoint. And I say danger advisedly, to the extent that the real purpose of man’s creation and his identity as an external being is lost. I say this because I once heard a professor say to me that he had difficulty in maintaining his testimony because he knew too much, indicating that he had some conflict between his intellectual genius and his spiritual nature. Perhaps this is what J. Golden Kimball referred to when he said, “They are educated beyond their intelligence.”

Fortunately, I know that that professor weathered the storm in his soul. He is now a patriarch and could not function in that office without a strong spiritual conviction. But we must always remember the possibility of being caught up so much in the academic to the point where it might obliterate the reality of God.

Years ago, while serving as a stake president, I submitted a recommendation for a brother to serve as an ordinance worker in the temple. After explaining what a wonderful ordinance worker he would be, I inadvertently pressed “Do not endorse,” which submitted the recommendation. After unsuccessfully trying to recall the message, I called the temple president and said, “I have made a horrible mistake.” Without hesitation, this good temple president said, “President Eyre, there is nothing that you have done that can’t be forgiven and ultimately corrected.” What a great truth. Indeed, Jesus Christ is “mighty to save.”

In October 2004 the Young Women and Young Men organizations in our stake had an event called “Modesty in Dress,” based on the pamphlet For the Strength of Youth. It consisted of a fashion show divided into three parts: casual wear, sportswear, and formal wear. We asked each of the young men and young women to select three changes of clothing, and we helped them choose which clothes were suitable. We invited their leaders and parents to this activity. We emphasized scriptural verses about the body being a temple (see 1 Cor. 6:19–20) and the counsel of our prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley. The activity had a positive effect; the young people in our stake are more concerned now about grooming and dressing in an appropriate way.
Teresa de Jesús Contreras de Ramírez, Mexico

Jonathon grumbled as he climbed into the car next to his brother, Mike. He wanted to stay home and play the new game he had been given for his birthday last week. But his mother had insisted that they all go to the meetinghouse and help with the ward’s cleanup day.
“Why do we have to go?” Jonathon had asked his mother as he helped her load their vacuum into the car.
“It will be fun,” she said, smiling. “Besides, all of us use the meetinghouse. It’s only right that we help clean it from time to time.”
Jonathon stared out the window and watched the houses and trees pass by as they drove to the church. As his mother pulled the car into the church’s parking lot, Jonathon was surprised to see Brother Lawson park his car next to theirs.
“What is Brother Lawson doing here?” Jonathon wondered.
Brother Lawson had been very sick lately with a type of cancer called leukemia. He had been in the hospital for a long time. Jonathon remembered his parents encouraging Mike and him to pray for Brother Lawson during their personal and family prayers. Brother Lawson hadn’t been home from the hospital for very long.
Jonathon had always liked Brother Lawson. He was older than Jonathon’s grandfathers, but he went out of his way to talk to Jonathon and ask him about school and his sports team. One time he even came to one of Jonathon’s games.
As Jonathon climbed out of the car, Brother Lawson waved and said, “Hi, Jonathon.” Brother Lawson walked around to the back of his car and took a vacuum out of the trunk. Walking slowly, he pushed the vacuum into the church.
“Jonathon,” his mother called, “can you give me a hand with this?” She was struggling to pull their vacuum from the back of the car.
“Sure, Mom,” Jonathon said. He helped her pull the vacuum out and quickly pushed it across the parking lot.
All that evening Jonathon and Mike worked beside Brother Lawson. Several times Jonathon became tired and stopped to rest, but he noticed that Brother Lawson continued to work. And he was smiling! “It’s nice to be able to help, isn’t it,” Brother Lawson said.
Jonathon felt something change inside him. “If Brother Lawson can be happy while he’s helping, so can I,” he thought. He started working even harder.
“Thank you for coming with me,” his mother said later as they were heading home.
“You’re welcome,” Jonathon said. “I’m sorry I complained about coming. I didn’t know you could learn so much from vacuuming.”

My journey started when I was introduced to the Church in 2015 by my son (who is a Graduate student in Texas), while he was visiting Kolkata. It was then, that I had received my first Book of Mormon in Bengali and had the opportunity to visit the Relief Society President of our Kolkata Branch. Soon enough, I started taking lessons through Skype from the Elders belonging to the New Delhi Mission. On 18th June 2016, my daughter and I became the then newest members of our Kolkata Branch. My son was present then to baptize us.

Except for the scriptures, I have never in my life read anything that has meant more to me than the July New Era, especially “Young Women Fireside 1980.” It truly brought tears to my eyes and strengthened my testimony of the gospel.
I am a 17-year-old girl who has been a member of the Church for just over two years. My parents are not members, and my family situation leaves a lot to be desired. During the past year I have spent time in the hospital because I was going to kill myself. I couldn’t handle things on my own anymore. With the help of the Church, I have been placed in a foster home and am doing great. I’ve come a long way in the past 4 1/2 months but still have a longer way to go. It really feels great to know that the Church is behind me 100 percent and that my brothers and sisters will always be there when I need them. When the Young Women fireside was broadcast, I was still very confused and didn’t go to it. I really wasn’t ready to hear it then. I’ve found that Heavenly Father only lets things occur when he knows we’re ready to handle them.
As I later read the talks in the New Era I felt as if every single speaker was talking to me personally, and I felt so full of the Spirit that I cried, as I am crying now. The youth of the Church don’t know how lucky they are to have the gospel in their lives and to have parents who love them very much. I’ve been on both sides of the street, and I know what it’s like. I know the Church is true with all that I am, and I thank my Heavenly Father every day for bringing it into my life.
Name Withheld

Second, your mission president is the Lord’s representative. Do not criticize or demean him, privately or publicly. If you will respect his authority, be obedient, humble, teachable, and follow the mission rules, you will be a successful missionary. For instance, one of the hardest rules to follow is to get up in the morning when your mission president directs. Many young men think the best time to sleep is in the morning. I’m grateful to my obedient senior companion, Elder William Grant Bangerter, who would set the alarm clock to get up early. When the alarm went off, it would jangle my nerves. In the winter it was dark, damp, and cold, and we never had any hot water for bathing or showering. He would cheerfully shower in that cold water; I would start to shiver as soon as he got out of the shower. I could not do anything but follow his example, but I have to confess that I was not quite as cheerful because my teeth were chattering.

Luz felt happy. The school year was ending, and so many exciting things were happening. Soon she would graduate from sixth grade. Next year, she’d be in secondary school!
It surprised her how much she had grown up. She was taller, and she wasn’t a little kid anymore. Those changes were exciting, but she also felt a little nervous.
She decided to talk about it with her parents.
“This is a wonderful time in your life, Luz,” Papá said. “It’s a time for you to learn, do your best, and reach goals that will help you become the person God knows you can be.”
“But life comes just one day at a time,” Mamá said. “You’ll grow and become that person with each small, good choice you make.”
That helped Luz feel better. She was glad that she didn’t have to grow up all at once.
One day at school, Luz’s friends told her they were going to have a graduation party. They were super excited. There would be dinner, music, lights, and even a dance!
But as Luz listened to her friends talk about the party, she started to feel uncomfortable. It didn’t sound like the kind of party where she’d be able to feel the Holy Ghost.
“You’re going to come, right, Luz?” one of her friends asked.
“You have to come!” another friend said. “I’ll tell my parents to talk to your parents. Then they’ll let you come.”
“Maybe.” Luz’s stomach was doing flip-flops. “I … I’ll let you know.”
Luz spent the rest of the weekend thinking about the party. She thought about it while she practiced the piano. She thought about it while she played with her baby brother. No matter what she did, it was on her mind.
Part of her just wanted to go to the party. But she still felt uneasy. The nervous feeling in her stomach wouldn’t go away.
“Are you OK, hija?” Mamá asked on Sunday afternoon. She combed her fingers through Luz’s long, dark hair.
“Well …,” Luz said.
“Are you still thinking about the party?”
“I don’t know what to do,” said Luz. “I want to go. But I know I won’t have a good feeling there.”
Mamá smiled. “I know you’ll make a good choice,” she said. “Think about it, make your choice, and tell Heavenly Father what you’ve decided. He’ll help you know if it’s right. You’ll feel it in your heart.”
Luz nodded. She took a deep breath and went to her room to pray.
“Heavenly Father,” Luz whispered. “My friends invited me to a party, but I don’t feel good about it. I’m going to tell them that I can’t come. Is this the right thing to do?”
A wave of warmth came over Luz. She didn’t feel confused anymore. She felt like she was full of light! She knew she was making the right choice.
When Luz walked out of her room, she gave Mamá a big hug.
“I decided not to go,” Luz told her.
“I’m proud of you,” said Mamá.
Papá gave Luz a hug too. “I have an idea,” he said. “Let’s have our own graduation party. We can have ice cream and celebrate as a family!”
Luz smiled. She loved ice cream! And she loved knowing that she could do the right thing, even when it was hard. With every small, good choice she made, she could grow up to be the person God knew she could become.

Once you turn 16, group dating is a great way to build friendships. You’ll want to keep in mind a few things. Follow the example below to see what outcomes your decisions may have.
Start
You worked up the nerve to ask someone out. Great job. Your date asks, “Who else is coming?” You answer:
John and Suzy. (Go to #2.)
No one. (Go to #3.)
Good answer. Group dating is important in your teenage years. What do you have planned for the date?
Go to a movie. (Go to #4.)
Go on a hike. (Go to #5.)
It’s time to rethink this one (see For the Strength of Youth [2011], 4). Your date says she won’t go without a group. What do you do?
Make it a group date instead. (Go to #2.)
Stay home.
A nice idea, but maybe not the best option. You enjoyed the show, but you sat next to each other for two hours without saying a word. What do you do next?
Go home; you’re tired. (Go to #6.)
Make a dessert. (Go to #7.)
Sounds fun! And it will give you lots of opportunities to get to know one another. Did you tell your date what the plan is?
Of course! (Go to #8.)
Whoops! (Go to #9.)
You take your date home, and she thanks you for the nice time. It’s too bad you didn’t really get to know her better instead of just watching a movie.
The group gets ice cream at someone’s home. The dessert is good, and you enjoy talking with everyone. It’s almost curfew. What do you do?
Take your date home. (Go to #10.)
Stay a little longer—you’re having fun. (Go to #11.)
You enjoyed the hike and really got to know everyone in the group. What now?
Make a dessert. (Go to #7.)
Take your date home. (Go to #10.)
Your date wasn’t prepared for hiking, so you wait inside the door for a few minutes while she changes. You’re a little late in meeting up with the group, so the hike ends up shorter than you’d planned, but it’s still fun. What now?
Make a dessert. (Go to #7.)
Take your date home. (Go to #10.)
Your date says she had a great time, thanks you for the evening, and says, “We should do that again sometime!” You smile all the way home.
When you return home after curfew, you and your date both get grounded. Even though you had fun, your date’s dad won’t let you go out again.

The Holy Ghost also warns us against the dangers and evils in this life. Dorothea Speth, now wife of Spencer J. Condie, records an unforgettable experience that occurred on February 13, 1945, in Dresden, Germany. This was the night that Dresden was firebombed, and Sister Condie’s parent’s home was hit. As the firestorm was raging through the streets, her parents decided to take the four daughters and head for the Elbe River, which was down a wide street about four blocks from their home. She says:

For safety, we did not all walk together. My father took one of my older sisters and my twin sister and began to lead the way. My mother, my oldest sister, and I were to follow as closely as possible. As my father started walking, he headed towards a narrow side street instead of choosing the wide street which led directly to our goal, to the river. Mother stopped, not wanting to follow down the narrow, burning street and began calling Dad to try to persuade him to turn around and take the more direct route along our street, which seemed so much safer and quicker. But due to the firestorm, Dad could not hear her plea, and he continued walking along the narrow side street.
With each passing second, the distance between us increased, but Mom was still not willing to abandon her plan. Then I heard my older sister plead with her, “Mom, let’s follow Dad; he holds the Priesthood!” With this reminder, we started to move quickly, trying to catch up with Dad, who led us safely in a roundabout way down to the river.

After they reached safety, a neighbor lady came to tell them that she and her husband had taken the wide street to the river.
Her husband, tall and slender, walked very quickly leading the way, but she, somewhat short and heavy, could not follow so quickly, and lagged behind. Suddenly she saw her husband burnt alive in front of her eyes. Unknown to anyone, liquid phosphorous from one of the bombs had covered the street. It could not be seen but was immediately ignited whenever anyone stepped on it. There was nothing she could do to save her husband, she could only turn around and save herself. [Dorothea Speth Condie, “Let’s Follow Dad—He Holds the Priesthood,” in Behind the Iron Curtain: Recollections of Latter-day Saints in East Germany, 1945–1989, coll. and trans. Garold N. Davis and Norma S. Davis (Provo: BYU Studies, 1996), 33–34]

As a holder of the priesthood, Sister Condie’s father had listened to the Holy Ghost and had saved his family from a fiery death.