Gospel Story Finder

My name is Eric, and I love to play basketball. According to Eddy, our team’s student manager, I’m the fifth grader most likely to make a shot. Mom says I play so well because I play so often. “Practice makes perfect,” she says. Today I discovered that I could use some practice at something besides basketball. …
At lunch, my friend Kurt and I were walking toward our usual table, when I saw Trevor sitting alone, picking green pepper bits off his pizza. All of a sudden, I had a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach, and it wasn’t entirely because of green peppers.
Trevor is a boy who comes to our ward sometimes. Yesterday Sister McQueiry, my Primary teacher, asked me to stay after class. She told me that the ward had set a goal to reach out to less-active members and that she needed my help. She knew that Trevor went to my school, and she asked me to invite him to Primary. I told her I would. When I saw Trevor, I knew I should talk to him right away, but I didn’t want to.
I mean, what would he think if I walked over there and just started talking? What would everyone else think? If he were an OK guy, why wasn’t anybody else sitting by him? Besides, this was only Monday, and I had all week to ask him to Primary. So I sat with Kurt at our usual table.
I must’ve felt a little guilty, though, because I ate my pizza, salad, corn, and chocolate cake a lot more slowly than usual. After about fifteen minutes, everyone else was out on the playground, but I was still eating my slice of pizza. The lunchroom was practically empty—except for Trevor and me.
I finally went over and sat by him. He was really quiet at first, but when I asked him about Boston, where his family had moved from, he started talking. I was so busy listening to him that I missed the entire lunch recess, and I barely remembered to ask him to church the next Sunday. I felt relieved to have my “Trevor assignment” over with.
I rushed home and played about ten games of one-on-one with Kurt before dinner. At family home evening, my sister, Kim, gave the lesson. It was all about the parable of the sheep and the goats in Matthew 25:31–46 [Matt. 25:31–46]. It compares the sheep to righteous people and the goats to wicked people. In verses 33–38 and 40, it says: “And he shall set the sheep on his right hand, but the goats on the left.
“Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you …
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
“Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
“When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? …
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, … Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”
As I listened to the parable, I thought about Trevor eating lunch all alone. Then I thought about Jesus. “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” Was I really ignoring Jesus when I ignored Trevor?
Kim ended her lesson, and Dad asked if anybody had any questions. I raised my hand.
“Eric?” asked Dad, a little surprised.
“I just wanted to know,” I started, not sure how to ask my question, “if you do something good, but it takes you a while to do it and you really didn’t want to do it, but you did it anyway, would you be a sheep or a goat?”
Dad gave me a look of real concern. “What are you talking about?” he finally asked. And so I told him about Trevor.
“It sounds to me as if you knew the right thing to do and you did it.” I felt relieved to hear Dad’s answer. “But,” he added, “your attitude could use a little work.”
“You’re a sheep,” Kim decided. “Pretty much, anyway.”
“Today you were kind because you knew it was right,” Mom added. “In time, I hope you will help others because you love them as Jesus does. But it will take time and practice.”
I wonder if you can be willing to practice love and service like you’re willing to practice basketball. I wonder if you can practice them while you practice basketball. I’ve decided to have lunch with Trevor tomorrow. He seems interesting. Besides, Trevor is even taller than I am. I wonder if he can hit the outside jumper.

It told of an experience this family had when they first arrived in the Salt Lake Valley. Food was scarce because most, if not all, of the family's provisions were used on the journey across the plains. Since they arrived in September, it was too late in the season to plant crops. Many of the early pioneers ate the bulbs of the sego lily as a source of food. However, on this particular day, there were no bulbs to be found. The family knelt to pray for guidance in finding something to fill their empty stomachs. They walked a short distance and saw a clump of greens that they had not noticed before. The children ran to the greens only to find sunflower-like bushes. Discouragement started to settle over the faces of the children, but their mother was given the impression to dig at the roots. To their surprise, the flower had a bulb-like tuber that looked edible.

Excited at the prospect of filling their bellies, they gathered all they could carry and returned home with happy and thankful hearts. First, they stopped to share with their neighbors, and it was only then that one of them exclaimed, "Jerusalem artichokes! Where did you find them?"

I have become a product of that, because when my mother’s family arrived here in Salt Lake City, they were sent out to Tooele to settle. Then later they were sent up into Idaho, where a sawmill and a gristmill were needing to be built. My father’s family had settled in Farmington, Utah, part of this colonization that I’m referring to—the colonization that made people stronger and gave them opportunities. Rather than being lost in a big city, they were asked to move to a smaller community where they could develop their ability and where there would be more schools and a need for more schoolteachers and where people with talent would develop their ability. Out of all of this, my family were asked to leave Farmington and Tooele, to sell their green acres, and go out into southern Idaho, where there was nothing at that time but sagebrush.
In a little settlement of that kind, my mother and father fell in love. By the time they were 20 years old and ready to be married, where would they be married? In the Logan Utah Temple. How would they get there? By buggy. How long would it take? Well, five or six or seven days. Highways and good roads? Of course not. They went by roads made by wagons going over the sagebrush and through the bushes and over the rocks. Where would they be married? Where would they be sealed? Only one place—the temple. They went by buggy.

She studied at Marni’s School of Performing Arts until the age of 14, then won a spot in the pre-professional program at the National College of Dance in Newcastle, which was two hours away from home. For the next three years, Bianca lived in Newcastle five days a week, an experience that prepared her to move to New York City, USA on her own.
Although she still never danced on a Sunday, at age 17, Bianca was accepted into New York’s prestigious Ballet Academy East, where she had the exciting opportunity to study the Balanchine ballet method.
It wasn’t always fun. “There were times in New York, away from all my friends and family, I felt I had no one,” Bianca remembers. “Crying one night . . . I remember praying to my Heavenly Father and asking Him for [a hug]. I will never forget the warmth that flooded my chest. Although it made me cry more, they were definitely happy tears, and I did not feel alone anymore.”

My time is nearly up, but I must tell you about a young man whom we met–we were given his name before going over there but we did not know if we were going to be able to make contact with him. But on our first night in his area he made contact with us, and we made arrangements the following evening to go to his home. He met us on a corner and led us there. His wife could speak a little English; and Brother Jarvis, our tour director, could speak Russian and this man knew some Russian. We got along quite well.

On the basis of a little Church history book written in about 1965, this man had drawn close to the Church. He had found it in one of the English sections of the library there. And oh, how he loved the Church! He had gathered around him ten people who felt the same way, and they were meeting every week. None had been baptized; it was against the laws of the land to baptize in that country. But oh, how he wanted to be baptized! His information from this little history book was meager and outdated; he once asked, “Would you please take my love back to President McKay?” The material was so obsolete that he thought President McKay was still the President of the Church.

We would return to his area after five weeks of touring, so we left him with a copy of the Book of Mormon and a copy of A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, and his wife was going to translate them. When we came back, that little group of so-called Mormons was not ten strong but had grown to twenty-five in number. And a young man who had been helping us on our bus became so interested by our young people that he insisted on leaving this young man his name so that he could affiliate with this group of so-called Mormons and join in praying for the day when they might be baptized into this Church. Young people, do not ever take your Church membership for granted. It is vital; it is important.

Now, I wish to move to a different matter. I spoke of this same thing many years ago. I repeat it because those who heard it then have long since forgotten, and those who did not hear it need to hear it. It concerns President Joseph F. Smith, who served as President of the Church from 1901 to 1918, altogether 17 years.
Joseph F. Smith was the son of Hyrum Smith, who was the brother of the Prophet Joseph and was martyred with him in Carthage. Joseph F. was born at Far West, Missouri, on November 13, 1838. He came out of Missouri as an infant. As a lad not yet six years of age, he heard a knock on the window of his mother’s home in Nauvoo. It was a man who had hurriedly ridden from Carthage and who told Sister Smith that her husband had been killed that afternoon.
When he was 9, he drove an ox team with his mother across the plains to this valley. At the age of 15 he was called on a mission to Hawaii. He made his way to San Francisco and there worked in a shingle mill to earn enough money to buy passage to the islands.
Hawaii was not a tourist center then. It was populated by the native Hawaiians, who were, for the most part, poor but generous with what they had. He learned to speak their language and to love them. While serving there he experienced a remarkable dream. I quote from his narrative concerning this. Said he:
“I was very much oppressed [when I was] on a mission. I was almost naked and entirely friendless, except [for] the friendship of a poor, benighted … people. I felt as if I was so debased in my condition of poverty, lack of intelligence and knowledge, just a boy, that I hardly dared look a … man in the face.
“While in that condition I dreamed [one night] that I was on a journey, and I was impressed that I ought to hurry—hurry with all my might, for fear I might be too late. I rushed on my way as fast as I possibly could, and I was only conscious of having just a little bundle, a handkerchief with a small bundle wrapped in it. I did not realize … what it was, when I was hurrying as fast as I could; but finally I came to a wonderful mansion. … I thought I knew that was my destination. As I passed towards it, as fast as I could, I saw a notice [which read B-A-T-H], ‘Bath.’ I turned aside quickly and went into the bath and washed myself clean. I opened up this little bundle that I had, and there was [some] white, clean [clothing], a thing I had not seen for a long time, because the people I was with did not think very much of making things exceedingly clean. But my [clothing was] clean, and I put [it] on. Then I rushed to what appeared to be a great opening, or door. I knocked and the door opened, and the man who stood there was the Prophet Joseph Smith. He looked at me a little reprovingly, and the first words he said: ‘Joseph, you are late.’ Yet I took confidence and [replied]:
“‘Yes, but I am clean—I am clean!’
“He clasped my hand and drew me in, then closed the great door. I felt his hand just as tangible as I ever felt the hand of man. I knew him, and when I entered I saw my father, and Brigham [Young] and Heber [C. Kimball], and Willard [Richards], and other good men that I had known, standing in a row. I looked as if it were across this valley, and it seemed to be filled with a vast multitude of people, but on the stage were all the people that I had known. My mother was there, and she sat with a child in her lap; and I could name over as many as I remember of their names, who sat there, who seemed to be among the chosen, among the exalted. …
“[When I had this dream,] I was alone on a mat, away up in the mountains of Hawaii—no one was with me. But in this vision I pressed my hand up against the Prophet, and I saw a smile cross his countenance. …
“When I awoke that morning I was a man, although only [still] a boy. There was not anything in the world that I feared [after that]. I could meet any man or woman or child and look them in the face, feeling in my soul that I was a man every whit. That vision, that manifestation and witness that I enjoyed at that time has made me what I am, if I am anything that is good, or clean, or upright before the Lord, if there is anything good in me. That has helped me out in every trial and through every difficulty” (Gospel Doctrine, 5th ed. [1939], 542–43).
The core of that meaningful dream is found in the reproof given by Joseph Smith to young Joseph F. Said the Prophet, “Joseph, you are late.”
Replied Joseph F., “Yes, but I am clean—I am clean!”
The result of that dream was that a boy was changed into a man. His declaration “I am clean” gave him self-assurance and courage in facing anyone or any situation. He received the strength that comes from a clear conscience fortified by the approbation of the Prophet Joseph.

Stacey White, a mother of four in Indiana, USA, was longing for an opportunity to help a neighbor, friend, or even a stranger during the week she studied Matthew 25:35–40, where the Savior teaches that serving “the least of these” is, in fact, serving Him (verse 40).
“Because I am a busy stay-at-home mom of four young children, I sometimes feel frustrated that I’m not able to be of service as often as I would like,” Sister White explained. “I am so busy taking care of my own family’s needs that I have little time for anything extra.”
Sister White noted that as she continued to study, cross-reference, and ponder these scriptures, praying for opportunities to serve, “the week seemed to take on a higher level of stress than what normally comes with motherhood”—certainly not what she had hoped for.
“There were school projects to help with, more than the usual messes to clean up, sibling fights to referee, and a mountain of laundry that seemed to regenerate itself. The to-do list seemed to never come close to being completed. My prayer seemed to go unanswered as I longed for the free time and energy to serve someone other than my husband and children.”
But then, partway through the week, Sister White came to a realization: just because she didn’t have the opportunity to serve outside her home did not mean that the Lord had let her prayer go unanswered, and it didn’t mean that she hadn’t been serving in meaningful ways.
“The Lord was answering my prayer by giving me those opportunities within my own family,” she says. “At times I feel that the service within my own family somehow doesn’t count, that in order to be classified as service, it must be outside the home, rendered to someone other than a family member. But with my new understanding, while I was making beds, doing laundry, chauffeuring kids, and doing all my daily duties as a mother, I did them more joyfully. My tasks didn’t seem quite so mundane, and I realized I was making a difference for my family.”

The LDS youth of New Mexico know how difficult it is to detach themselves from a prickly cactus. They got some extra practice though, as they cleaned the temple site in preparation for the Albuquerque Temple groundbreaking. Armed with shovels, rakes, and gloves, youth from four stakes assembled on a hot Saturday morning to rid the property of sagebrush, garbage, and cholla, so the weeds could be mowed and the ground would be safe to walk on for those attending the groundbreaking.
“It was hard work, but it was totally worth it for the temple to come,” says Robyn Sampson, 15.
Before the temple plans were approved, the youth fasted and prayed for a solution to the problems the temple’s project manager faced when he presented the plans to city officials. Now they say they are fasting and praying for the temple builders. But the prayers and the cleanup are only part of the work the young people of Albuquerque are doing in preparation for the temple. They are also working to make certain their own lives are clean.
Despite the burrs on their socks and an occasional scare from a snake or lizard, the Albuquerque youth succeeded in clearing the future temple site of every spiny cactus and broken bottle in sight. It might seem strange, but the youth actually enjoyed pulling cactuses and loading trucks full of sagebrush.
“We’re just so happy we will have a temple here. We thought it would never happen,” says Rosalie Campbell, 12.
Amber Chee, 17, looks forward to doing baptisms for the dead and getting married in the Albuquerque Temple someday. “It was really fun coming here. I felt the Spirit,” she says.
Both Rosalie and Amber have been to the temple to do baptisms for the dead before, but opportunities for trips to out-of-state temples come only once a year for the Albuquerque youth. They have to travel for at least eight hours to get to a temple in Denver, Colorado, or Mesa, Arizona, so they can do baptisms for the dead.
“Temples were always a faraway thing,” says Neil Peterson. As 16-year-old Neil wipes his brow, he says he enjoys helping out with something so important, even if it’s hard work.
Michelle Williams, besides concentrating on the cactus plants, was also thinking about what it will mean to have a temple in her area and about why she was cleaning up the temple site. “It’s very symbolic,” she says. “You have to be clean yourself to go to the temple.”
Logan King just turned in his mission papers and is waiting for his call. He won’t be able to go to the Albuquerque Temple before his mission, but he realizes the importance of having a temple close by and being worthy to attend it. “We need to clean all the cactuses out of our lives before we can go to the temple,” he says.
Researching family history is another way the Albuquerque youth are preparing for the temple. Many of them are more excited about doing family history now since they will soon have a temple in their area. Albuquerque’s Family History Center missionaries, Sister Wilcox and Sister Hatfield, say the temple will really strengthen the youth. Sister Wilcox says with the large number of young people in the area, there’s a “big push for genealogy.”
Sarah Sego, 17, loves doing baptisms for the dead and can’t wait for the temple to be built so she can continue to do baptisms. “I know it’s the right thing to do, because all those people are waiting,” she says.
Sarah is also helping others to learn more about why she loves going to the temple so much. She tells her friends about the temple and even tactfully shared her testimony of temple work with her high school current events class.
Sarah is not alone in her missionary efforts. Many Church members are having more and more opportunities to explain the gospel to others because of the temple.
“I think the temple will make people notice us more,” says Lisa Willis, 14, who also says she’s been telling her friends all about the temple. “The best part [of building a temple] is having people ask about it.”
Albuquerque’s full-time missionaries were also at the cleanup working hard. They say members in the area feel the temple will bring many blessings to them and to all the people of Albuquerque.
“While tracting, we stopped by a house and a woman opened the door and said, ‘Hey, I heard you guys are building one of those temples.’ That allowed us to get in the door and talk to her about the Church,” says Elder Moyer, from California. Many of the missionaries had similar stories.
The temple will actually be built in a valley where it can still be seen from faraway. In fact, it’s the same valley the Mormon Battalion came through on its famous march from the Missouri River to California. Coincidentally, the number of youth at the cleanup was about the same as the number of men who were in the Mormon Battalion.
At the groundbreaking ceremony, many young people who had been at the cleanup also sang in the youth chorus. The strains of “High on the Mountain Top” and “Holy Temples on Mount Zion” rang out over the crowd of thousands which gathered to see the temple ground dedicated.
“We all joined together to celebrate our temple,” says Tyler Lindsey, 16. “I knew that it was right and the ground was holy. I don’t know if we sounded good, but the Spirit was there.”
The Spirit is there. The spirit of service, of missionary work, and of love can be felt strongly in Albuquerque. Whether pulling cactuses or doing baptisms for the dead, the youth of Albuquerque are carrying out the Lord’s work with His Spirit to help them. The youth don’t know all the ways the temple will continue to change their lives, but they are looking forward to that day in the year 2000 when they can visit the Lord’s house in their own city.

My father was born in the Chaco region in northeastern Argentina, where the sun is hot and people work the soil, growing cotton and other crops. Neighbors have known each other for generations, and traditions are followed to the letter. My father’s family lived in Villa Ángela, where they had a comfortable middle-class life.
Then, when my father was nine years old, his parents separated, and my father went with his mother and sisters to live in Buenos Aires. This was quite a difficult change for a young boy who couldn’t understand why he had to leave his hometown and his friends and didn’t know when he would see his father again. As the months of separation turned into years, my father’s memory of his own father faded. He didn’t even have a photograph of him.
Our family was introduced to the restored gospel and eventually joined the Church. When I was 15, I became quite interested in family history work. Seeking out my ancestors became a passion with me, and I was able to become well acquainted with my family on my mother’s side. But on my father’s side all of my attempts ended with one name: Grandpa Pablo Pedraza.
When my father told me the story of his childhood, I had a strong desire to find out more about Grandpa Pablo. We began to pray as a family to find out more about him so we could complete our family history. My father probed his memory, and he managed to recall the address of an elderly aunt. He wrote to her, but she passed away before we were able to get the information we were seeking. We didn’t give up but continued to pray.
One day on my father’s way to work the bus he was riding stopped at a traffic light beside a mail truck. My father could see several large packages in the truck, and one drew his attention. On its label was the name Pablo Pedraza, and it gave an address in my father’s childhood hometown.
Very excitedly my father wrote down the address. He knew his father had been an auto mechanic, and he thought the large box on the truck could easily have been for him. For several years we wrote to this address, expressing our hope that we had found our father and grandfather and our desire to meet with him. But we never received an answer.
Then one day my father was telling this story to a friend in our ward. The friend suggested, “Why don’t you just go there and find him?” Fear flooded our minds. Maybe Grandpa Pablo did not want us to find him, or maybe this was not his address.
But after praying about it, we felt we needed to travel to Chaco to look for Grandpa Pablo. Our whole family loaded into a van and traveled for 28 hours. Driving straight to the address on the package, we stopped in front of a pretty, well-kept house. A man of about 60 was out washing his car. My father gathered his courage and got out to introduce himself and verify that we were on the right street.
Our family watched expectantly through the van windows, and after several minutes we saw our father and the man exchange a big hug. Then they both began to motion for us to get out of the van. It was indeed Grandpa Pablo—the father my father had not seen for 40 years!
The meeting was not an easy one, but a spirit of love was there. We learned that because of the inadequate postal service in his small hometown, Grandpa Pablo had not received any of the letters we had sent him over the years. We also learned that he had tried to find my father for many years but that he had his own fears about meeting us. We met Grandpa’s wife and children and learned about their joys and sorrows. We learned that Grandpa Pablo was a good man who believed in God. He was a loving husband and father and a good neighbor. And we could see that he was as excited to get to know us as we were to finally find him.
Now we have photographs of Grandpa Pablo and vital information about him and some of his ancestors. He died one year ago, and we are preparing to go to the temple to do ordinance work for him and other family members. My father can hardly contain his joy that he will finally be able to be sealed to his parents. The work on our family history chart continues.
We have been promised that “the heart of the fathers [shall turn] to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers” (Mal. 4:6). Our family was greatly blessed to have the Lord lead us by the hand so that this promise could literally be fulfilled.

Kelly and the other fifth-graders had just come in from lunch when Mr. Aragon announced, “Our class is going to begin a special project tomorrow that I think you’ll find exciting. Are you all familiar with Victoria Benson School?”
Kelly nodded along with the rest of the students, but instead of feeling excited, she felt uneasy. Victoria Benson School was right next to their own school, Easton Elementary. The students at the two schools were approximately the same ages, but there was one big difference. Victoria Benson students all had mental disabilities.
“We’ll be visiting the school once a week,” Mr. Aragon continued. “You’ll be acting as tutors, helping the students one-on-one with the work they do in class.” As he explained some of the details of the special project, the students became more and more interested, until it seemed to Kelly that she was the only one who was still uneasy about the project.
She and her friends had sometimes watched the Victoria Benson students through the fence at recess. Some of their faces looked different around the eyes, and their speech was slow and slurred. They seemed awkward when they ran or threw a ball. As she knelt by her bed for prayer that night, she remembered the words to a Primary song her class had learned last year:
If you don’t walk as most people do,
Some people walk away from you,
But I won’t! I won’t!
If you don’t talk as most people do,
Some people talk and laugh at you,
But I won’t! I won’t!
I’ll walk with you. I’ll talk with you.
That’s how I’ll show my love for you.*
I know that Jesus loves the Victoria Benson students, Kelly thought as she turned out the light. Maybe I will, too.
When her class entered Victoria Benson School the next day, Kelly had the worst case of butterflies in her stomach she’d ever had. But the Primary song kept running through her mind: “I’ll walk with you. I’ll talk with you. That’s how I’ll show my love for you.”
Mr. Aragon led them into a sunny, brightly decorated classroom and introduced the class to Miss Donnelley, one of the teachers.
“We’re really glad to have you here,” Miss Donnelley said. “The students have been so excited this morning! They’re eager to meet you, so I’m going to assign you to areas and get you started right away.”
A few students were sent to the cafeteria to help four boys setting the tables for lunch. Several were sent to the math area of the classroom to help with counting objects, writing numbers, and matching shapes. Others were assigned to a writing table, where a few students were learning to print their names.
Maybe they’ll run out of assignments, Kelly thought, and I’ll be able to just watch today. But Miss Donnelley led her to what she called the dressing area and introduced her to Sandra, a girl with long dark hair. She gave Kelly a big smile.
“Sandra is learning to zip her jacket,” Miss Donnelley told Kelly. “I’d like you to help her.” Then the teacher left to give out another assignment.
By myself? Kelly thought. How do I do that?
Sandra was still smiling at her as Kelly took a deep breath, stuck her hands into her own jacket pockets, and introduced herself. “Hi.” She tried to put friendliness into her voice to hide her nervousness. “I’m supposed to help you zip your jacket.”
“Hi, Kewwy. I’m glad you’re helping me.”
Kelly smiled back. “Well, I guess we’d better get started. First you stick that straight metal part into the slot in the other part,” she began.
Sandra’s face took on a look of concentration. She held the two parts of the zipper in her hands and fumbled with them. Kelly waited a minute, then said, “Hold it at the top of the slot and then push it down.” Sandra tried again, but still couldn’t do it.
Kelly pulled her hands out of her pockets. “Look, Sandra—watch me. Do it like this.”
Sandra watched as Kelly zipped and unzipped her own jacket twice.
“Now you try again,” Kelly urged.
Sandra’s face looked even more determined as she tried again, but she just couldn’t fit the parts together. Now Kelly was the one frowning in concentration. What am I doing wrong? She wondered. Suddenly Kelly had an idea. Surprising them both, she reached out and grasped Sandra’s hands. “I’ll walk with—I mean, I’ll help you!”
With Kelly’s hands guiding hers, Sandra soon fit the parts together. As Sandra began breathing more quickly and nodding her head, Kelly let go and let her try it by herself. Kelly held her breath as Sandra fumbled a few times but finally fit the parts together. Kelly’s smile was as big as Sandra’s as Sandra slowly pulled the zipper all the way up.
“I did it! I did it!” Sandra grabbed Kelly in a big hug. Kelly was surprised, but she hugged right back. Then Sandra ran off to show Miss Donnelley, waving her hands in the air and still shouting, “I did it!”
As Kelly watched her go, she smiled and thought, I guess I did it, too!

The story is told of a small army unit that was assigned a very difficult mission far behind enemy lines. As they neared their objective, opposing units became aware of their presence. Superior forces quickly encircled them and began firing from all sides. As they found themselves surrounded and began to suffer withering fire, the members of this small army unit looked up to find their commander standing upon a rock, exhorting them. Looking at his men, the commander yelled: "Men, we've got them right where we want them. You can just fire in any direction!"

Dear Journal,
Today I watched general conference at the church. Sometimes I get bored because conference seems too long for my ten-year-old body. But today I decided to follow the advice of my Primary teacher. She told me that I’d get more out of the talks if I listened carefully and figured out how I could use what was said in my life. I tried very hard to do that, and I think I did pretty well.
When President Hunter gave the last talk, I listened especially hard. I can’t remember everything he said, but I know that he asked us to be more like Jesus Christ. I’m going to try.

During this time, two people from the Church never gave up on me. Our home teachers invited me to church every Sunday, sometimes in person and other times by a phone call. They visited our home at least once and sometimes twice each month. They even knew when we needed something. I especially remember the time I ordered a garden shed that was delivered unassembled during my absence. Upon returning home, I found our home teachers had already assembled the shed.
I particularly admired our senior home teacher, Des Gorman, an Irish Canadian. He was a genuine person who truly cared for people. To me he represented the Church, and I felt the Church must be a good organization, even if I wasn’t attending.
Eventually we were blessed with a baby boy. Our home teachers reminded me that it is a priesthood practice to name and bless a baby at fast and testimony meeting. I did not want to participate, though I finally agreed to allow our baby to be blessed by others.
Brother Gorman stood in my place and was the mouthpiece for a beautiful blessing on our son, Ronan. As I listened I received a powerful witness from the Spirit. I had been proud. I had made some big mistakes. I had nearly lost my testimony of the truthfulness of the restored gospel. I still had my family, but I had almost lost the sweet peace the gospel brings. Many tears flowed while my wife, Brother Gorman, and the bishopric supported me as I repented.
From that time on I have been active in the Church. Our home teachers have continued to support me. Our baby boy is now a returned missionary, married in the temple, and raising a family of his own. I feel his life is a tribute to the man who gave him a name and a blessing.
I shall ever be grateful to two dedicated home teachers who took their assignment seriously. Although Brother Gorman has been deceased for some years, I know I won’t forget him or his patient consistency in inviting me back. He never gave up.
Today I seek to emulate his quiet and loving persistence in my own home teaching and other Church callings.

I guess it was inevitable. I was spending the evening visiting with friends when two women—Mormon missionaries—knocked at the door. They were friendly. I was uncomfortable. I almost had the feeling of being caught in a trap. I decided to give them an argument.
“Do you believe the Bible?” they began.
“Of course,” I replied, not really knowing what I did believe.
They began by reading Acts 7:55–56, trying to show that there are three separate Beings in the Godhead. Then they worked their way into the story of Joseph Smith’s First Vision. I knew there was an answer to their interpretation of the scriptures, and I knew I needed help to find it. After all, I reasoned, everyone knows that the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost are manifestations of the same person. Was it okay to bring someone to the discussions who knew the scriptures better than I did? The missionaries assured me that it was.
The next week, I arrived with a cousin who was active in my religion. I became a spectator in the discussion that followed. If I had been impartial, I would have given the victory to the Mormon missionaries. But, of course, I decided that my cousin just wasn’t knowledgeable enough. I would find someone more knowledgeable to confront them.
During the week, I contacted a friend who was studying to become a minister. He could give me the support I needed.
“How do I answer Acts 7:55–56?” I asked, after explaining my situation. To my utter astonishment, he replied, “I’m sorry. I can’t help you. I tend to separate the Godhead more than most members of our church.”
My next source of information was a minister who lived near me. He was a friend, and I had talked with him many times before. His answer to Acts 7:55–56 was less than satisfactory: “How do you know what a person might see while he’s being stoned to death!”
I decided to stop seeing the missionaries. I had heard enough. I told the two missionaries of my decision, whereupon they presented me with a Book of Mormon and decided there was nothing more they could do to interest me in the Church.

A few years ago several friends from institute and I planned a two-day backpacking trip. We were experienced campers, quite familiar with the areas we would be traveling in and well equipped for most situations. We would soon learn, however, that without the guidance of the Holy Ghost our gear and knowledge would have been next to useless.
A few days before our trip the sky was clear and the temperatures were moderate. Our destination was Mount Chocorua in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. While it is true that the mountains of our region do not boast summits as high as those found in other parts of the world, the elevation gain from trailhead to summit is often quite substantial, and New England is known for its highly unpredictable weather.
The day before our departure it started to rain. Normally this would not concern me; it often rained as we hiked. This time, however, I felt a growing sense of unease. I checked the forecast—light showers, nothing more. Still, I felt very uncomfortable as the evening progressed. The feeling grew as I prepared for bed, read my scriptures, and said my prayers.
Finally I went to my pack and pulled out my guide map of the White Mountain National Forest. As I located Mount Chocorua on the map, my sense of unease doubled. It was so intense I considered calling off the trip, but that didn’t feel right either. I found another mountain we had on our list to climb and immediately felt better. After a prayer I felt good about this new destination. My only concern was possibly disappointing my friend Glenn, who had put much effort into planning this trip.
The next morning it was still raining lightly. After we all arrived at our departure point, I voiced my concerns and told my friends of my prayers and feelings. To my relief, two others had had the same feelings, and Glenn was more than willing to change mountains. We then prayed and asked the Lord to watch over us in our travels and to help us make the right decisions. We all felt comfortable with our new plans and departed.
Although the rain continued, our drive and climb passed without incident. After dinner the rain stopped and the clouds broke, revealing a beautiful sunset. Our spirits lifted, and we went to bed.
At midnight we were awakened by an intense electrical storm that lasted most of the night. While the rain, wind, and lightning were heavy where we were, we felt no impending danger. The lightning was far worse to the east where, from my vantage point, it was striking a particular area nearly every second and continued to do so for at least an hour. Glad that I was not there, I drifted back to sleep. The remainder of the trip was wet but passed safely and was very enjoyable.
A few days later I attended an institute cookout. All those who had gone on the backpacking trip were there. When Glenn arrived he had a curious look on his face. He showed us a section of a guidebook for the White Mountains. It stated that while Mount Chocorua is not as elevated as its neighbors, its bald face and position make it dangerous as one of the mountains in North America most frequently struck by lightning. We also confirmed that the area we saw bombarded by lightning was the Chocorua area.
How grateful we were that we were warned by the Holy Ghost not to go there at that time.

You may have heard a report from Osaka, Japan, about the Kansai International Airport’s world record—something almost unbelievable. After 30 years of operation and processing hundreds of millions of pieces of cargo, carry-ons, and cases, this airport has not lost one item of luggage.
Not one single piece!
How is such a thing possible?
Tsuyoshi Habuta, the airport chief of baggage operations, believes losing luggage should never happen “because luggage is precious to passengers.” That attitude permeates through his entire staff. The airport’s success, he says, is all part of a commitment to “thoroughness and an attention to detail.”
The Japanese people have developed a reputation for such attention to detail. They have a principle, kaizen, that encapsulates a mindset of constantly searching for and implementing minor improvements. This practice requires a quiet discipline of always looking for small ways to make processes better. They take pride in the fact that these improvements almost always come from those doing the everyday work.
Over the years, the staff at Kansai Airport has developed a process that makes the goal of not losing passengers’ bags a reality. They train employees rigorously and constantly ensure that every bag is counted, tracked, and cared for. They make meticulous and multiple manual checks that complement a sophisticated automated system.
Fragile items such as musical instruments are often hand-delivered to passengers. Staff members do small things such as placing bags on conveyor belts with handles facing outward for easier retrieval by passengers.
When you hand off your luggage at Kansai Airport, you get a sense that they are saying to you, “We have your precious belongings. We are responsible for them now. We will return them to you.”

Why are we taking all this good stuff to other people?
Because it’s a wonderful way to celebrate Christmas. Jesus spent His whole life giving, and it’s very important that we learn to give too.
Are we giving to that man, Daddy?
Shhhhh. No, sweetheart, we don’t know that man.
Did Jesus only give to people He knew?
Well, I think maybe He sort of knew everybody.
Does He know that man?
Yes He does.
Sir, I hope you’ll accept this little gift from our family. Merry Christmas.
Thank you. Merry Christmas to you.
Giving feels good, doesn’t it, Dad?
Yes it does.

Not far removed from the pioneer era, Joseph also learned early the value of working hard and paying his own way. As a child, he hired out to work in a tomato cannery in Roy during the fall months, spending much of the year herding cattle and staying up all night to irrigate the family farm. With his dog and horse, he became an expert cowboy at an early age, riding without a saddle and racing his friends on an old pony. Joseph survived many falls from his pony to graduate from a one-room school at thirteen. He learned his letters well and, when a young child, served as secretary of his ward Primary.

“Bonnie Skinner, the bishop’s daughter, was in one of my classes at school,” Tracie says. “She kept inviting me to church dances. One night I finally went. I stayed overnight at her house, and the next day her family invited me to church. I felt the Spirit there, and I felt loved. The people here are really friendly, and that helped a lot. I met the missionaries and started the discussions. I knew I should pray about what they were teaching me. When I did, a peace came over me. I knew I needed to be baptized.”

When I was five, my family traveled from Tonga to New Zealand to be sealed in the temple. First, we sailed from Tonga to Fiji. The Church members traveling with us sang the entire way. A storm came. The waves were bigger than the ship we were on! As the storm got bigger, we sang louder. Finally the storm passed.
When we got to Fiji safely, we had to ride a bus to the airport. Then we got on a plane to New Zealand.
After the plane landed in New Zealand, we had another two-hour bus ride. It was a cool morning with low clouds. Everyone on the bus was talking. It was loud! Then the temple came into view, and suddenly, the bus was totally quiet. Everybody rushed to that side of the bus to see it. I thought the bus was going to tip over!
Dad lifted me up against the bus window so I could get a good view of the temple. The temple seemed to float in the clouds. It looked heavenly.
Even though that happened many years ago, I can still feel that same special spirit today. We knew we were looking at the house of God. Before, we had only seen it in pictures. We were amazed. I remember thinking, Is God in there? And just as quickly, I thought, This is God’s house. Of course He is. We may not see Him in the temple, but we know we can feel His Spirit there.