Gospel Story Finder

Two years later Joseph F. Smith and his widowed mother were to set off across the plains of America with many other Mormon pioneers, and there, during the time on the plains, he learned many lessons in faith from his mother. Two are briefly sketched:
The first involved the loss of their oxen while crossing the plains. President Smith has called this “one of the first practical and positive demonstrations of the efficacy of prayer I have ever witnessed.” The impression it made on his mind was to aid him all through his life.
Upon awakening one morning, the Smiths found their best team of oxen missing. Joseph F. and his uncle, Joseph Fielding, set out and searched an entire morning in vain. Filled with fatigue and discouragement, they returned to camp. There they found Mary Fielding Smith on her knees, pleading for God to help them in this search, since the loss of the oxen would mean further delay in reaching their destination.
Arising from prayer, this youthful pioneer mother told her brother and her son to have breakfast and she would bring back the livestock. She started toward the river, despite her brother’s trying to persuade her that further search was futile. Ignoring first her brother and then a herdsman from a Missouri wagon train who tried to tell her that he had seen the oxen headed in the opposite direction that morning. Mary Smith continued her walk to the river. Then, turning at the bank, she motioned her brother and son to join her. As they did, they found the oxen fastened to a clump of willows, hidden from sight. Someone had apparently left them there, planning to return after the pioneer group had moved on.

At one time, Ben, Jr., and Brad, my two oldest boys, belonged to a Japanese Scout troop because our ward didn’t have a Scout troop. One day the Scoutmaster took the boys on a hike in the Zion Narrows in southern Utah. Their progress was slower than anticipated. Concerned that the park officials whom they had checked in with would be worried about them, the Scoutmaster asked my sons and a couple of other boys to hike ahead by themselves and let the park officials know that everyone was OK. The boys took a wrong turn into a dead-end canyon and didn’t know what to do. The other boys were not Latter-day Saints, but they turned to Ben and said, “Maybe you’re the one who ought to pray for us to help us get out of here.” After he offered a prayer, Ben said, “Let’s go,” and they turned and walked out without any problem. How grateful I was that my children had learned to pray, that they had faith in that prayer, and that our Father in Heaven would help them find their way safely out of the canyon.

I had always wanted a dog, a big dog that could be my friend and help me out when I needed it. Sometimes a kid like me needs some help because the other kids don’t always understand me. You see, they think I’m a little different because of my leg. I have one leg that’s shorter than the other one, and right now I have to wear a brace.
It’s real hard dragging a stiff old brace around with you all the time. Sometimes the kids call me Peg Leg or Hopalong. They think it sounds funny, but it sure doesn’t make me feel very good. And when we play at school, I’m always the last one chosen on a team—if I’m chosen at all. Sometimes I “get to be” the referee or the umpire, but that just means I’m supposed to stand around and watch the others play.
Dr. Monroe says I’ll get my brace off in a year or so after an operation and some therapy, but that doesn’t help me much right now.
Brother Lewis has a dog named Lady. Lady’s an Alaskan malamute, and she has five pups. Brother Lewis said that for fifteen dollars I could choose the pup I wanted.
Now, fifteen dollars might sound like a lot of money for a dog, but Lady’s pups aren’t just ordinary dogs. They all have pedigree papers, and Brother Lewis is going to sell the rest of them for a whole lot more than fifteen dollars.
When I first saw Lady’s pups, I knew which one I wanted. He was white and gray with lots of fur, and he was the biggest one. I decided I’d call him Major. I’d already saved over fifteen dollars, so I was just waiting for Major to grow a little bit so I could take him home with me.
I don’t have a lot of friends. That’s why I wanted Major. Pamela Roundy says she’s my friend, but she’s just a girl who lives down the street and is always hanging around. The thing that really bothers me about Pamela is her dog Lolo. Lolo’s just a mutt. Pamela doesn’t even know what kind of dog she is. She doesn’t have any papers, so she can’t be very special.
Lolo had pups a week before Lady did, and since Pamela knew I wanted a dog, she asked me if I wanted one of Lolo’s. She said I could have one free, so right away I figured that those pups weren’t any good.
On the day I was to pick up Major, I raced home from school as soon as the bell rang. Then I put my money in my pocket and went over to Brother Lewis’s house.
There was Major! He was bigger than his four sisters, and he sure was pretty. I paid Brother Lewis the money and started home. Major ran beside me for a while; then he took off and began sniffing at flowers, digging in the dirt, barking at everybody who passed, and chasing butterflies. He was fun to watch, but it made me sad that Major wanted to play with everything but me. I guess that’s what important dogs do.
When I got to Pamela’s place, she was out with Lolo and her four pups. They were as ugly as Lolo, and I told Pamela so, but she said looks didn’t matter. She said the thing that was really important was how good a friend your dog was.
Well, one of her ugly pups started following me and Major home. He wasn’t nearly as big and strong as Major, and I could tell by the way Major sniffed him and chewed his ear that he didn’t like that scrawny pup either. But that dumb dog of Lolo’s didn’t care; he just kept right on following us, flopping along and tripping over his own nose.
“Go home, dog!” I shouted at him, but he didn’t pay any attention to me. “Call your old dog back!” I yelled at Pamela. “I don’t want him hanging around me and Major. He’s probably got fleas, and he’ll teach Major bad habits.”
“There’s nothing wrong with him, Travis,” she said. She had a big grin on her face, and she thought it was pretty neat that that pup liked me.
“There sure is something wrong with him,” I called back. “He’s the ugliest dog in the world. And he doesn’t even have any papers.”
“I think he likes you, Travis.”
“I don’t want him to like me!” I shouted. “I have a dog—a good dog.” I picked that pup up and carried him back to Pamela and dropped him in her lap. “Here,” I said. “Keep him till we get home. I don’t want your mutt hanging around me.”
I could tell right away that Major was going to be a good dog. When he grew up and had big teeth, no one would bother me any more, even if I still had my brace on. And when the kids at school chose up teams, they’d have to pick me, or I’d get Major after them.
Every day after school I went home to play with Major and to teach him some tricks. But he didn’t want to play with me or learn tricks. In fact, a lot of times he wasn’t even home. He’d be off chasing around in the park or digging in Brother Bradley’s orchard. One day he dug up Mom’s petunias. Another time he chewed the finger off my baseball mitt. Mostly I had to just watch him. But he was still a good dog. He had papers to prove it.
Every day when I came home from school, that ugly pup of Pamela’s would be waiting for me. I’d cross to the other side of the street to miss him, but he’d come barking after me. He’d jump up on my leg and try to lick my hands. He ran circles around me and made a real nuisance of himself. Whenever I sat on my lawn to watch Major play, that old pup would be right there, nipping at my ears, jumping against my back, or pouncing on my fingers. Sometimes when I lay down, he’d poke his head under my shirt and try to crawl inside to get warm. Nothing I could do would keep him away. I yelled at him and pushed him aside, but that didn’t stop him. He just didn’t know when he wasn’t wanted.
After school one day I couldn’t find Major anywhere. I called him and looked behind the bushes where he liked to sleep. I even went over to Brother Bradley’s orchard, but he wasn’t there. I looked along the streets to see if he’d been run over, but I couldn’t find him anywhere.
That night when I said my prayers, I asked Heavenly Father to help me find him, because I needed a friend. I just didn’t know what I’d do without Major.
The next day was Saturday. All day long I looked for Major. Sister Miller, who lives two streets over from us, said that she saw a dog like Major running with another dog toward the Cherry Heights subdivision. I went there and looked, but I couldn’t find him.
I usually don’t cry. Even when Doctor Monroe took off the cast from my first operation, I didn’t cry. But when I couldn’t find Major, I didn’t know what to do, so I sat down behind the bushes where Major used to sleep, and I cried.
That’s when Pamela’s ugly pup came snooping around. “Get out of here, dog!” I yelled. “I sure don’t want you hanging around me.” I kicked at him, but he just thought I was playing, so he got real happy and started chewing on my shoe. I pushed him away, but that just made him friskier than ever. Finally, I crawled out of the bushes and went into the house. When I came outside a while later, that old dog was still there sitting on the step, waiting for me.
Every day for a week I came home from school and went out into the bushes and sat and thought and wished that I could get my brace taken off so I wouldn’t need a dog. And every day Lolo’s ugly pup came snooping around to see if I would play with him. Sometimes I did because I didn’t have anything better to do, but most of the time I just tried to get rid of him.
About two weeks after Major disappeared, I passed Pamela’s house, and she was sitting on the lawn, crying.
“What’s the matter?” I asked her.
She just sat there and sniffed for a while, and then she said, “Daddy said that when he comes home from work, he’s going to take Lolo’s pup to the vet and have him put to sleep. I can’t have two dogs because they eat too much. I gave all the others away, but no one took this one. Don’t you want him, Travis?”
Her eyes got real big, and she was excited all of a sudden. “He’s the one that really likes you, Travis, and you don’t have a dog now. Don’t you want him? Then he won’t have to be put to sleep.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want a dog like that. He’s just an old mutt.”
“But he’s a good friend.”
“But he’s sure ugly.”
“But he can be a real good friend. You don’t have to be pretty or have papers to be somebody’s friend. He can be a better friend than Major ever was.”
I shook my head again and started home. And guess who followed me—Pamela’s ugly pup. “Go home, dog!” I shouted. “I don’t want you hanging around. You aren’t good for anything.” He didn’t understand, though. He kept tagging along.
I went into the bushes to think, and that ugly pup came right into them behind me. He lay next to me and put his head in my lap. Then he looked up at me real sad-like. Usually he was happy, but this afternoon he must have known what Pamela’s dad was going to do to him. I tried not to look at his sad eyes, but I couldn’t help it. Finally I scratched his ears and said, “Nobody wants you hanging around, either, do they?” He thumped his tail on the ground a couple of times and licked my hand.
Just then Pamela started calling him, and I could tell by the way her voice was shaking that her dad had come home. I came out of the bushes, and the dog followed me. Pamela didn’t say anything to me. She just reached down for the pup. But he ran away from her and hid behind me.
“Is your dad here?” I asked. She nodded and wiped her eyes. “Is he still going to take the pup to the vet?” She swallowed and nodded. I reached down and picked up Lolo’s pup and held him close. I could tell he was my friend because he started to lick my neck and nibble on my ear. I wanted a friend real bad, and I’d asked Heavenly Father to help me find one. Now I knew He had.
“Pamela,” I said, “tell your dad that he doesn’t have to take him to the vet. I guess I’ll keep him.”
“You will?” she said with a grin. “He doesn’t have any papers, you know, and he’s just a mutt.”
I nodded my head without looking at her. “I know, but I don’t have any papers, either, and like you said, you don’t need papers to be friends. You just have to like each other. Well, he likes me and I guess I like him, so we’ll just stay together.”
And we did.

Almost twenty years ago I had the opportunity to serve as a bishop. We had several young married couples in our ward. I recall one summer in particular when two young couples moved in. They had both been recently married in the temple, they were both working and going to school, and they were both poor as church mice. They accepted callings to serve and strengthened our ward.

During tithing settlement that year, the first of these young couples came to see me. When I asked, “Are you full tithe payers?” the couple responded, “Well, this has been a difficult year. Between rent, food, gasoline for the car, and tuition for school—we are sorry, but it just wasn’t possible to pay our tithing this year.”

Oh, how my heart broke for them. Earlier in the year they had knelt at the altar in the temple. They had entered into sacred covenants and had been promised all the blessings of eternity. Now, just eight months later, they were lacking the faith to live worthy of those promised blessings. What a tragedy! We made plans to meet again after the first of the year.

A week or so later, the second couple came in for tithing settlement. Again I asked the question “Are you full tithe payers?”

Oh, how my heart swelled with joy at their response: “Yes, Bishop, we are full tithe payers.”

I looked at them and smiled. There they were, seated together, hand in hand, worthy of all the blessings that had been promised to them in the house of the Lord eight months previously.

Then I thought, how did they do it? This couple also had to pay rent, buy food, buy gasoline, and pay tuition. They were still poor as church mice. When I examined their annual donation sheet, I saw that they had paid tithing nearly every week. The amounts were usually quite small, but they were consistent. I was impressed with how their humble donations added up to a magnificent miracle as the Lord provided for their family and they remained worthy of their temple blessings. Even now, many years later, I am in awe of their faith.

The doctors said she wouldn’t live, but Iris JoAnn Alvarado is thriving. Her faith, and the faith of her family, has preserved her life many times. When her mother was about to give birth to JoAnnie, the stake patriarch came to their home. He felt impressed to give Sister Alvarado a blessing. She didn’t understand then why she needed a blessing, but she did after JoAnnie was born. The baby weighed only a little more than four pounds, and the doctors discovered that throughout the pregnancy she had not received much oxygen and that the last three months she had probably not received enough nourishment. The Alvarados were told that she would die and that if she didn’t, she would have severe brain damage from the lack of oxygen.
But JoAnnie’s family prayed for her, and their prayers were answered. She lived. At four months she was standing; at eight months she could walk. When she started talking, it was in short sentences, and the words were very clear—there was obviously nothing wrong with her brain. Today, at 10 years of age, she continues to excel, getting straight A’s in all her school classes.

Illustrations by Stuart Hill
High school. A necessary evil, I guess. Well, it’s not really evil, but the homework is. Especially in history. In my U.S. history class we’d learned about the Pilgrims and Puritans, the Founding Fathers, and the expansion from the original colonies. It all sounded familiar.
But when we got to the part about Manifest Destiny and the role Mormons played in the settlement of the West, I couldn’t believe what I was reading. I knew that there were some controversial events and even controversial figures in Church history, but it seemed like the authors of my textbook were presenting the most negative interpretation possible rather than a factual overview.
“Mom, is this really true?” I asked.
I pointed to the page I was on, and my mom read the first paragraph and then stopped. “Wow,” she said. “Where did they come up with that information?”
The book had no footnotes, so we started checking some of the statements. It took hours, but we checked in the Doctrine and Covenants, cross-checked manuals online at LDS.org, and found original documents at JosephSmithPapers.org. It was so cool to see the handwritten petition for redress, which Joseph Smith personally delivered to President Martin Van Buren (President of the United States) and to learn more about what really forced the Saints to leave Missouri and settle in Nauvoo. We also searched for a few of the quotes and found more original documents online at the Illinois and Missouri State Historical Societies. They showed what the textbook had taken out of context.
My high school has over 1,600 students, and I’m one of only two Mormons. I didn’t want what we were reading to be the only thing the kids in my class ever learned about the Church. (I also checked and found out that this U.S. history book was first published in 1981, which means thousands of high school students had been taught false information.)
I’m not the type to draw attention to myself, but because I’d found out that so much of what was in our textbook was wrong, I decided to ask my teacher if he would let me make a presentation to my class. My mom helped me type up the corrections, but when I showed my teacher the pages of information, he just glanced at them and said, “When authors have to cover 80 years of history in a couple of paragraphs, they aren’t going to be able to include all the details.”
I was really disappointed. I knew I could talk with my friends and point out specific errors, but there was no way for me to help the 25 other kids in my class—not to mention the kids in my teacher’s other classes—understand the truth about Mormons. I didn’t know what to do.
A week later my teacher changed his mind. He’d actually read the information I’d given him and realized that the authors hadn’t just skipped parts of Church history or shown one side of it; they’d actually made up things that weren’t even based on the truth. He wanted our class to know what was real, and he even wanted to publish what I’d given him so all the teachers in our school district could use it as a resource!
Like the scriptures say, even a little candle, when set on a hill, can give a lot of light (see Matthew 5:14–16).

Isaac Stern, the world-famous musician-violinist, was asked by a television talk show host at what point in his life he determined to devote his energies toward a career as a concert violinist. Mr. Stern told of having given his first concert in San Francisco at a young age. Music critics were extremely impressed and predicted a fine future for the promising young talent. With this encouragement, Isaac Stern began preparations for another concert a year later in New York City. The critics were not so kind to him there. It would require a tremendous amount of work, they judged, if Isaac Stern were to achieve success as a soloist.
Dejected and discouraged, the young Mr. Stern boarded one of New York City’s double-decker buses and rode it up and down Manhattan a number of times. He was, in his words, “crying inside” as he tried to decide where he was going from there. Were his critics correct? Had he gone as far as he was capable of going? Should he now seek a profession as just another member of an orchestra?
After his fourth bus ride through the city, he returned to his apartment where his mother was waiting. He had made his decision. “I am going to work, mother—work at my music until it works for me.” Today Isaac Stern is acclaimed as one of the finest violinists in the world. Work is a principle with a blessing. Work builds us physically and spiritually. It increases both our strength of body and our strength of character.

Allow me to share a little of my own experience with you.
I was raised in the gospel by loving parents, but, like Amulek, something was missing. I went to church on Sundays to keep up appearances, but I wasn’t attracted to spiritual truth. My interests were elsewhere: I lived for the present and didn’t think about the future. In fact, throughout my youth, especially my late teens, I was spectacularly selfish. I loved to laugh, but often at the expense of others. What ability to communicate I did have was often employed in self-aggrandizement and entertaining my friends, who thought and behaved as I did.
But then something changed. Amid a crescendo of parties and pub-crawls, I began to feel despondent: something hollow and unfulfilled gnawed at me. To my surprise, I felt like I should pray. I’d blessed food and took my turn in church and family settings, but this was the first time I’d prayed in earnest as an adult and meant it. It felt natural and reflexive. I don’t remember stopping praying that night, but I do remember waking up. Everything had changed. The gift of the Holy Ghost that I’d received as an eight year old was now switched on, and I was very much aware—aware of who I was as a child of God, and with a first-hand knowledge of the Savior’s power to redeem and bless our lives. I had real identity and purpose.

Those of us who have entered into the waters of baptism and received the gift of the Holy Ghost have covenanted that we are willing to take upon ourselves the name of Jesus Christ, or in other words, we declare ourselves to be disciples of the Lord. We renew that covenant each week as we partake of the sacrament, and we demonstrate that discipleship by the way that we live. Such discipleship was beautifully demonstrated in recent events in Mexico.
It had been a beautiful spring for the fruit-growing communities in northern Mexico. The fruit trees were in full bloom, and expectations were high for a bounteous harvest. Plans were already being made to pay off loans, replace needed equipment and aging orchards, and meet personal commitments such as school tuition for family members. Plans were even being made for family vacations. There was a general air of optimism. Then, on a Monday afternoon in late March, a winter storm moved in, and it began to snow. It snowed until about three o’clock in the morning. Then, as the clouds moved out, the temperature plummeted. Throughout the night and early morning, every effort was made to save at least a part of the fruit crop. It was all to no avail. It simply got too cold, and the crop was totally frozen. There would be no fruit to be harvested and sold this year. Tuesday dawned with the sickening and disheartening loss of all those wonderful plans, expectations, and dreams of just the day before.
I received an email regarding that terrible Tuesday morning from Sandra Hatch, the wife of John Hatch, then-first counselor in the presidency of the Colonia Juárez Chihuahua Temple. I quote portions of that email: “John got up early—about 6:30—to run up to the temple to see if we should cancel the session this morning. He came back saying that the parking lot and road were clear, so we decided to go ahead. We figured that maybe some of the workers who didn’t have orchards would come, and we could put all the workers into the session. … It was so inspiring to see the men come in, one after another. There they were, after no sleep at all, and figuring their crops were lost. … I was watching them during our preparation meeting, and they were having a hard time staying awake. But instead of figuring they had a good excuse to not come, they were there. And there were 38 people in the session (a full session)! It was an uplifting morning for us, and we thanked Heavenly Father for good people who do their duty, no matter what happens. I felt a special spirit there this morning. I am sure He was pleased to know that we love His house and felt that it was a good place to be on such a difficult morning.”
The story does not end there and in fact is still ongoing.
Most of those who lost their fruit crop had some land available on which to plant alternative crops for the season, such as chili peppers or beans. These crops could provide at least some cash flow sufficient to survive on until next year’s fruit crop. However, there was one good brother with a young family who did not have additional land and was facing a year with no revenue at all. Others in the community, seeing the dire situation of this brother and acting on their own initiative and expense, arranged for a piece of property, used their own equipment to prepare the land, and provided the chili plants for him to plant.
I know the men about whom I have just spoken. Knowing them, I was not surprised at what they did. But those who do not know them will probably be asking two questions, both beginning with the word why. Why would they come to the temple to perform their duties and to serve after having been up all night long, only to realize that they had lost the greater part of their revenue for the whole year? Why would they use what were now scarce and very precious resources to help another in desperate need when they themselves were now in such dire financial straits?
If you understand what it means to be a disciple of Jesus Christ, then you will know the answer to these two questions.
Making the covenant to be a disciple of Christ is the beginning of a lifelong process, and the path is not always easy. As we repent of our sins and strive to do what He would have us do and serve our fellowmen as He would serve them, we will inevitably become more like Him. Becoming like Him and being one with Him is the ultimate goal and objective—and essentially the very definition of true discipleship.
As the Savior asked His disciples when He visited the American continent, “Therefore, what manner of men ought ye to be?” And then, answering His own question, He said, “Verily I say unto you, even as I am” (3 Nephi 27:27).
Becoming as the Savior is not an easy task, especially in the world in which we live. We face obstacles and adversity virtually every day of our lives. There is a reason for this, and it is one of the primary purposes of mortality. As we read in Abraham 3:25, “And we will prove them herewith, to see if they will do all things whatsoever the Lord their God shall command them.”
These tests or trials vary in nature and intensity. But no one will leave this mortal existence without passing through them. Mostly, we picture trials as the loss of a crop or a job; the death of a loved one; illness; physical, mental, or emotional incapacitation; poverty; or loss of friends. However, even the attainment of seemingly worthwhile objectives can bring their own dangers of unhelpful pride, where we aspire more to the honors of men than the approbation of heaven. These may include worldly popularity, public recognition, physical prowess, artistic or athletic talent, prosperity, and riches. Regarding these latter trials, some of us may have feelings similar to those expressed by Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof: If riches are a curse, “may [God] smite me with it. And may I never recover!”
But these latter types of trials may be even more daunting and dangerous and more difficult to overcome than the former. Our discipleship will be developed and proven not by the type of trials that we are faced with but how we endure them. As we have been taught by President Henry B. Eyring: “So, the great test of life is to see whether we will hearken to and obey God’s commands in the midst of the storms of life. It is not to endure storms, but to choose the right while they rage. And the tragedy of life is to fail in that test and so fail to qualify to return in glory to our heavenly home” (“Spiritual Preparedness: Start Early and Be Steady,” Liahona and Ensign, Nov. 2005, 38).
I am the proud grandfather of 23 grandchildren. They never cease to amaze me with their grasp of eternal truths, even in their very early and tender years. As I was preparing for this talk, I asked each of them to send me a very brief definition of what it meant to them to be a disciple or a follower of Jesus Christ. I received wonderful answers from all of them. But I would like to share with you this response from eight-year-old Benjamin: “Being a disciple of Jesus Christ means being an example. It means being a missionary and preparing to be a missionary. It means to serve others. It means you read the scriptures and say your prayers. It means you keep the Sabbath day holy. It means you listen to the promptings of the Holy Ghost. It means going to church and going to the temple.”
I agree with Benjamin. Discipleship is all about doing and becoming. As we obey His commandments and serve our fellowmen, we become better disciples of Jesus Christ. Obedience and submission to His will bring the companionship of the Holy Ghost, along with those blessings of peace, joy, and security that always accompany this third member of the Godhead. And they can come in no other way. Ultimately, it is total submission to His will that helps us become as our Savior is. Again, becoming like Him and being one with Him is the ultimate goal and objective—and essentially the very definition of true discipleship.
Discipleship is what I saw being practiced in the Colonia Juárez Temple and in its nearby fields as brothers and sisters in the faith reaffirmed their commitments to God and to each other despite heartrending adversity.
I testify that as we obey His commandments, serve others, and submit our will to His will, we will, indeed, become His true disciples. I so testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Katie, a Primary-age girl, taught us as we saw her influence on her family. She attended Primary and was drawn to the teachings of the gospel. With growing faith and testimony, Katie left a note on her parents’ pillow. She wrote that the gospel truths had found a “home in her heart.” She shared her longing to be close to her Heavenly Father, to be obedient to His commandments, and to have their family sealed in the temple. The simple testimony of their sweet daughter touched her parents’ hearts in a powerful way. Katie and her family did receive sacred temple ordinances that bound their family together forever. Katie’s believing heart and example of faith helped bring eternal blessings to her family. Could her sincere testimony and desire to follow the Lord’s plan lead us to see more clearly what really matters most?

Coach Ken Jenks has some good news and some bad news for the boys on his soccer team. As members of a recreation-league soccer team, they’ve had incredible success. The LDS boys, who have teamed up with nonmember friends, are some of the best soccer players in the area.
The coach starts with the good news. “Well, boys, we’ve got a great team, and the Southern California Soccer League championship is in the bag,” he says. Then his face clouds a bit, and he delivers the bad news. “But we’ll be playing three games, and one of them is on a Sunday. How do you feel about that?”
Five hands reluctantly but firmly go up. Eric Miller, 14, Jeff Jenks, 14, Justin Bonsey, 14, and twins Trent and Travis Weaver, 15, stand up and tell the group, “We can’t play on Sunday.” The boys, who are members of the Cypress First Ward, Cypress California Stake, aren’t happy about the idea of missing out on the biggest game of the season, but they are sure about their decision.
They’re following a precedent set five years earlier by a basketball team of mostly Primary-aged Mormon boys (some of whom now play on the soccer team) from the Cypress Stake. The team, the Cypress Bulldogs, chose to play basketball with the Orange County youth league because games were not held on Sunday.
The Bulldogs won every game and were set for the championship final game play-off. But unlike regular-season play, the championship game was scheduled on a Sunday. When the coach (who is also a member of the Church) found out about the Sunday game, he called the team together. He explained to them his belief that they shouldn’t play on Sunday, but he left the decision of whether or not they should play to the boys. He suggested that they take a vote to see if the team wanted to play on Sunday or not. The team voted unanimously to support their coach, meaning they would forfeit the game.
Richard Wynder, who is now 15, says, “Even though we had won every game during the whole season, nobody had second thoughts about not playing the championship game on Sunday. It was something we all felt we had to do.”
John Harris, one of the members of the basketball team who was not LDS, has since joined the Church because of the examples of his LDS teammates. Also, some of the other basketball teams from the area are now refusing to play on Sunday. This has also influenced several of the soccer teams and football teams who have taken the same stand.
One of the non-LDS coaches said, “I don’t want the league to schedule games on Sunday because some of my best players are Mormons.”
Although the controversy of the games on Sunday still continues in Orange County sports leagues, the boys’ stand is beginning to make a difference. Many local sports organizations are holding Sunday games less often.
So, as expected, the soccer team plays well on Saturday and wins easily. Then the Mormon boys wish their team the best and go to church on Sunday. The non-LDS members of the team play the championship game and lose. The team takes third place.
Eric shrugs his shoulders, “This game is a temporary thing. I really would have liked to play that championship game if it hadn’t been on Sunday, but I know that keeping the Sabbath will help me return to my Father in Heaven.”
Justin echoes Eric, “It was an individual decision for me, too. I know that it is right and so it didn’t bother me either. The next day some of the kids at school were a little upset, but I think they respected me for staying with my standards.”
And respect from peers, parents, coaches, and other players is a valuable by-product of the sacrifice these boys have made. But perhaps even more important than that is the fact that their example does not go unnoticed by the younger boys waiting for their turn to play the game—but not on Sunday.
Editor’s note: Because of the stand these and other LDS boys have made, regular-season soccer games are no longer held on Sunday in Orange County, California.

A good example of someone experiencing an abundant life as a result of looking outside themselves and focusing on the needs of others are my parents. Their second child and my older brother Ken was born deaf. Years ago it was common for young deaf children to begin their formal education when they were around 4 years old. As a result my parents would drive Sunday evenings for 2 1/2 /hours from their home in Mackay, Idaho and drop their young son off for the week at the State School for the Deaf and Blind in Gooding, Idaho. They would then pick him up that Friday afternoon and drive back home to Mackay for the short weekend and then repeat the process weekly.

It did not take long for my parents to realize that in their minds this was not the best way to raise a family so they made the decision to move from their home in Mackay and the area they loved and moved to Gooding. They put aside their personal interests and focused on what was best for their family. Little did they know that a few years later another daughter and son would later join the family that were also deaf. I do not ever recall my parents ever saying "Why us?" All I remember was my parents being actively involved in the lives of each of their children. They raised us in a gospel centered home and were great examples to us of serving others. They made the most of a difficult situation and proceeded to live their own version of an abundant life. They did this by always putting the needs and interests of their family and others ahead of their own. For the last several years they have served faithfully in their church callings, served a mission together in Nauvoo, served countless hours in the temple, and provided countless hours of service to their children and grandchildren. The key component in my opinion that allowed my parents to experience their abundant life is the fact that they forgot about themselves and instead have always looked for ways to serve others.

When I was six, our family went hiking in the mountains. On the way back, my older brother, Barrie, and I ran ahead. We were excited!
We loved seeing the rocks, flowers, birds, and small creatures. But soon we realized we were alone, and the trail was gone.
We didn’t know how to get back. Trees were all around us. I imagined lions hiding behind each one! Barrie said we should shout for help. We shouted for a long time, but no one heard us.
Finally, Barrie turned to me and said, “I think we should pray.”
I thought that was a great idea. As he prayed, I kept one eye open to watch out for lions. After we prayed, we felt calm.
Just then, we heard rustling in the trees. I was sure it was a lion! But before I got too scared, I saw who it was. It was Dad! We were grateful our prayer had been answered.
As we walked back to the trail, we told Dad about our prayer. He stopped and said, “We need to pray again to thank Heavenly Father for His help.”
With happy hearts, we bowed our heads, and I thanked Him for answering our prayer. This time, I made sure both eyes were closed!
Illustration by Kelly Kennedy

When you seek after the light by surrounding yourself with positive and great individuals, you provide yourself with more opportunities to learn and grow. I have been blessed to work with so many inspiring student athletes. They continue to teach me so much, but one player truly stands out.

Many years ago we recruited a young lady who had a special talent and gift for the game. She was raised a long way from Provo, Utah, and had never really been around many Latter-day Saint players. She was also someone who was so good that she had never really been held accountable to some of our athletic standards, such as fitness tests, work rate, and being on time—or even things such as what to wear to soccer clinics and service projects. She was her own person, had her own ideas, and marched to her own drum—which was fine, but at the same time, it was holding her back from reaching her highest potential.

We did not see eye to eye on many things early on. It actually came to a point at which I had to make the decision to ask her to leave the team. She was good enough to play at other universities, and I told her I would help her find a place. However, I also mentioned that if this was where she really wanted to be and if she was willing to embrace her opportunity here and make some changes, then she would have the opportunity to join us again the following semester. After a short time she told me that she really wanted to come back and learn from all those around her.

It was not an easy journey for her, and there were many times when she knew it would be easier somewhere else. But through the struggles, the fight, the dedication, and the choices, she was able to develop, mature, and grow. She made the decision to stay and surround herself with great friends, teammates, professors, ward members, and the environment at BYU, and it ultimately led to an opportunity to change her life and her future.

One of the most rewarding and proud moments of my coaching career was to give Jenavieve Phillips a big hug on the field after her last game as a Cougar and congratulate her on an amazing journey. During her senior year she helped lead our team to a number fourteen ranking before we were knocked out of the tournament by the University of Portland, the defending national champion at that time.

What a blessing and unbelievable inspiration Jenavieve was to me, my staff, her teammates, and all those who knew her. She went on to graduate from BYU, serve a mission, and bless the lives of all those she came in contact with. She lived her life to the fullest, fulfilled her mission on this earth, and was taken home to her Heavenly Father after a car accident in 2012.

Early during my freshman year of high school, I accepted my seminary teacher’s challenge to read the Book of Mormon cover to cover. Now, a month before my 15th birthday, I knelt by my bed and took Moroni’s challenge to heart:
“I would exhort you that when ye shall read these things, if it be wisdom in God that ye should read them, that ye would remember how merciful the Lord hath been unto the children of men, from the creation of Adam even down until the time that ye shall receive these things, and ponder it in your hearts” (Moroni 10:3).
I began to ponder how the Lord had been merciful to me that school year and counted the many ways my life had been blessed. I had earned better grades than ever. I had developed skills in both football and track, and next year’s seasons looked promising. I had made some exceptional friends who showed me through their example the way I should try to live my life.
I pondered on all I had read about that year in the Book of Mormon—the courage of Nephi, the conversion of Alma, the faith of Helaman’s 2,000 warriors, the sorrow of Mormon as his people destroyed themselves through sin. I asked myself if I believed what I had read and concluded that I did believe and that applying what I read had helped me to have a successful freshman year.
Then I put the final part of Moroni’s promise to the test:
“And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true” (Moroni 10:4).
I prayed. In my prayer I told Heavenly Father that I had finished the Book of Mormon and that I believed it was true. I hesitated a moment and then asked the question that had weighed on my mind for weeks, “Is this book true?”
Barely after I finished expressing those words, I felt a surge of warmth and love spread through my body, beginning at my head and washing through to my toes. It was the same feeling I felt when I decided I wanted to become a missionary, when I received the gift of the Holy Ghost, and when I heard prophets testify of Christ in general conference.
Not every year of high school went as smoothly for me, but my testimony of the Book of Mormon and the experience of getting a direct answer to my prayer helped me to overcome challenges and provided a foundation of faith for the rest of my life.
The Book of Mormon is true. God answers our prayers. I pray that that testimony will always be mine.

On the morning of the last day of school before the Christmas holidays, I had the strangest thought pop into my head. I was tying bows around bunches of gourmet candy canes to give to my friends when my mind said, “You should give one of these to Megan*.”
What a crazy idea! Megan, a very popular girl in my English class, was terribly mean. In addition to the rude things she said to me, she and her friends were always giggling and pointing in my direction. She made me feel horrible. Why should I give Christmas candy to someone like that?
Today was always the best day of the whole year at Valley Middle School. Like the last day of school in June, schoolwork would be pushed aside in favor of movies and games. But what made it even better than that was the candy we exchanged with our friends. As we went from class to class, our stacks of goodies grew and we found out who liked us enough to put us on their gift list. You could tell who the really popular kids were by their enormous piles of candy. Someone like Megan would have to bring an extra bag to carry everything. She certainly didn’t need anything from me.
I was confident I would have a respectable pile of sweets myself. I was nowhere near being part of the popular crowd, but it was a big school, and I had a large group of friends. However, because I was one of the few Latter-day Saints in the school, I really stood out. Anyone who stands out too much in middle school becomes a target for teasing, so, unfortunately, I had as many tormentors as I had friends.
It is sometimes really tough to know how to deal with people who pick on you. I had long ago decided that the best way was just to ignore them. But sometimes this just didn’t seem to work. Earlier that school year, two girls in my science class had hurt me so much with their cruel words that I finally burst and fired similar cruel words right back at them. This landed me in detention, and I spent a miserable afternoon picking up trash. Worse than the actual punishment was how horrible I felt inside. I knew my actions weren’t Christlike, and that hurt me more than anyone’s awful words ever could. After that, I stuck like glue to my old policy of keeping silent and expressionless, hoping people would get bored with me. But Megan still hadn’t given up trying to have fun at my expense, and I had been wondering recently if there were something more I could do besides just turning the other cheek.
Looking down at the candy canes in my backpack, I realized that the Spirit had just given me a solution to my dilemma. I thought of Matthew 5:44, in the Sermon on the Mount, where Christ says, “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you.”
“Well,” I thought, “it’s worth a try.” Even though the thought of doing such an unusual thing scared me, I told myself it couldn’t make the situation any worse.
I almost chickened out. It was the very end of the class period before I had the guts to approach Megan. When I called her name, she turned and looked very surprised that I was speaking to her.
“Here, this is for you.” I held out the candy.
She looked at me very suspiciously. I could tell she was trying to figure out what the trick was. I knew she thought I was trying to do something mean because she knew she’d never done anything nice to me. So I smiled and said, “Merry Christmas,” hoping she would trust me just a little bit.
She took the candy. When I turned to walk away, and it was clear that there were no strings attached, she said, “Thank you.”
I wish I could say Megan and I became friends after that. We didn’t. But she left me alone the rest of the school year, and her eyes lost that hard, malicious glint when she looked at me.
I like to hope I gave her more than just candy that Christmas. I hope that’s what happened, but maybe it didn’t. Maybe she never thought about it again. But I was changed for life after that simple exchange. I was filled with the joy of having done what Jesus would have done. The gift I gave her paled in comparison to the gift I received—a taste of charity, the pure love of Christ, a feeling sweeter than all the Christmas candy in the school.

Soon after our daughter’s birth, my husband’s job prevented him from attending church most Sundays. With a new baby, five young sons, and my husband no longer available to help me, I was having a difficult time getting to church.
Many Sundays we arrived late, and sometimes we didn’t get there until sacrament meeting was over and Primary and Sunday School had begun. I spent most of my time walking the halls with my fussy and tired baby.
After several weeks, I was exhausted. We were going to church more out of habit than for anything else. I began to ask myself, Why even bother? It seemed that the only results I was getting were stiff muscles and a headache.
I began to pray for guidance. I asked my Father in Heaven why I should go to church when it was so difficult. I knew attending church was right, but I needed to know why it was important for me personally. When I didn’t receive an answer right away, I continued to ask.
When Easter Sunday came, I again spent the time during church walking the halls of our meetinghouse with my baby and whispering a prayer in my heart: Why should I bother to come? Why is it important for me to continue this struggle?
During Primary class time, I walked past the classrooms and looked inside. Every Primary class was having a lesson about the Savior’s death and Resurrection. I was amazed at the reverence and awe I saw in the children’s faces. Every one of them, mine included, was caught up in the story of our Savior’s greatest gift to us.
Suddenly it was clear why I needed to continue in my struggle to bring my children to church. Maybe I wasn’t getting as much as I wanted from my attendance, but my children were benefiting from their attendance more than I had imagined.
Occasionally we still have a difficult time getting to church. But when we do, I stop and remember the expressions I saw on my children’s faces that Easter morning. I know church is where we belong, and I often thank the Lord for showing me why.

A few months ago, Emilio, one of the deacons in our ward, suddenly became very ill. The doctors were unable to diagnose what he had. Both he and his mother were scared because he was getting weaker and going downhill fast. His mother took him to the hospital several times but did not succeed in getting any answers.
Emilio’s mother brought him to the meetinghouse for a priesthood blessing. One of the members of the elders quorum and I, his bishop, had the privilege of blessing him, and he slept well for the first time in nights.
However, a few days later I learned that Emilio had experienced a relapse and was back in the hospital. Another brother and I quickly went to the hospital, where we were able to go into his room and visit with him. Thinking that Emilio would probably be discouraged by the downturn in his condition, I was especially uplifted by what happened next.
We talked about Jesus Christ, and I explained that the Savior has the power to surmount anything, according to His will. Emilio’s reply deeply touched our hearts: “Bishop, this is just another trial. I have faith that it will be over soon because I have faith in Jesus Christ.” We placed our hands on his head and again gave him a blessing.
After that night Emilio made an unbelievable and complete recovery. He was able to return to his daily activities and to church without difficulty.
Emilio had exercised the faith necessary for the Savior to perform the same kind of miracle He performed when He was here on earth. To me, Emilio is an example of those of whom the Lord said, “To some it is given to have faith to be healed” (D&C 46:19).

“I actually struggled for months to know the right time. I pondered and prayed every night. A few months later, my bishop asked if I had my patriarchal blessing. I said no, and he said, ‘OK! Let’s do an interview after church today!’ After talking with my bishop, I felt ready to receive my patriarchal blessing. I realize now that my bishop’s question was an answer to those prayers I felt weren’t being answered.”
Makaya S., Texas, USA, received blessing at 15

Margaret Judd Clawson (pictured at age 18)

“The night before we left, … Henry Ridgeley, came to bid me farewell,” wrote Margaret. “Under our trysting tree we each vowed eternal constancy—for four years, at least.”

Eternal constancy gets hard when there are several nice young men in your company. Soon Margaret, who was 17, was eying another boy.

“He used to say such lovely things to me—told me that I was beautiful and intelligent, and even went so far as to say that I was amiable, something I had never been accused of before. He told me that I was the only woman he ever loved and that we were just suited to each other. I began to believe him, and when he proposed, what could I say but ‘yes.’ Well, the course of true love did run smooth, at least until we got into the Valley. Then we had the usual lovers’ quarrel but not the usual making up. In a short time he let me know that another girl appreciated him, if I did not.”1