Gospel Story Finder

As the only Latter-day Saint sixth grader in my school, I am faced with vulgar language, immodesty, and pressure to follow the crowd. But at the start of the year, I explained to my friends my standards and that I stick to them no matter what. They have learned through the months about my Church values. Your friends will help you if you explain your values and your standards to them. My friends’ attitudes, clothing, and language have changed for the better. I have learned that if they are truly your friends, they will help you think clean thoughts and will help you stay on the strait and narrow path.
Celia N., age 12, Virginia, USA

About the same time that Paul found out he was diabetic, his father, also a diabetic, started having serious health problems because he wasn’t taking care of himself. One day Paul was with him when he had a seizure, and Paul had to call 911 for help. Dan realized then that he had to set an example for his son.
Paul also helps his father stay in control. Together, and with the help and support of Mom and Jimmy, they know it’s a battle they can win. It makes it easier that Mom, Carol, is a great cook who fixes all the right things for them to eat, and that there is sugar-free ice cream to celebrate special occasions with.

Last winter when it was too cold to go out to recess, our class went into the third grade classroom to watch a video. I was excited until I found out that the video was a cartoon that our family doesn’t watch. The characters call each other mean names and use bad language. I went to the teacher and told her that I didn’t want to watch the video. She said I could color quietly at the back of the room, instead. Then I whispered to my best friend, and she agreed to play ticktacktoe with me until recess was over. I felt good that I followed Jesus Christ by not watching that video.

A few years later, I learned how essential sacrifice is to living the gospel. If we want the Lord to give us purpose and direction, we have to be willing to take that direction.
After school, things didn’t go according to plan with the company I was working for, so my wife and I had two choices: stay in the United States or return to Chile. We both clearly felt that we needed to return to Chile. It might seem normal to want to return home, but this was at a very difficult time. There weren’t a lot of jobs in Chile. I was having trouble selling our home. Financially and logistically, it was not the most intuitive thing to do; even our families thought we were being unwise.
What do you do when revelation comes into conflict with common sense? Although it was hard, my wife and I knew what to do. We reminded ourselves that the gospel had gotten us this far. Without the Lord, I wouldn’t have had the inspiration that helped me serve a mission, receive my education, and meet my wife. We just had to trust that whatever the reasons were, we were needed in Chile.
We left our house to our bishop so it could be rented until he could sell it, and we moved away. It was difficult, but we experienced so many blessings and miracles when we heeded the Lord’s call. The Lord knows where we are needed and where we can best serve His purposes, and He blesses us for our obedience.

I would like to explain to you exactly what took place following the unexpected death of President Harold B. Lee on December 26, 1973. I was in Phoenix, Arizona, to spend Christmas with my daughter and her family when a telephone call came to me from Arthur Haycock, secretary to President Lee. He said that President Lee was seriously ill, and he thought that I should plan to return home as soon as possible. A half hour later he called and said: “The Lord has spoken. President Lee has been called home.”

President Romney, who in my absence was directing the affairs of the Church, was at the hospital with President Spencer W. Kimball of the Council of the Twelve. Immediately upon President Lee’s death, President Romney turned to President Kimball and said, “You are in charge.” Not one minute passed between the time President Lee died and the Twelve took over to preside over the Church.

Following President Lee’s funeral, President Kimball called a meeting of the apostles for Sunday, December 30, at 3:00 P.M. in the Salt Lake Temple council room. President Romney and I had taken our respective places of seniority in the Council, so there were fourteen of us present. Following a song, and prayer by President Romney, President Kimball, in deep humility, expressed his feelings to us. He said that he had spent Friday in the temple talking to the Lord and had shed many tears as he prayed for guidance in assuming his new responsibilities and in choosing his counselors.

Dressed in our temple clothing, we held a prayer circle. President Kimball asked me to conduct it and Elder Thomas S. Monson to offer the prayer. Following this, President Kimball explained the purpose of the meeting and called on each member of the Quorum according to length of service as apostles starting with Elder Ezra Taft Benson, to express his feelings as to whether the First Presidency should be organized that day or whether we should carry on as the Council of the Twelve. Each said, “We should organize now,” and many complimentary things were spoken about President Kimball and his work with the Twelve.

Then Elder Ezra Taft Benson proposed the name of Spencer W. Kimball to be the President of the Church. This was endorsed by Elder Mark E. Petersen and unanimously approved.

President Kimball then nominated his counselors: N. Eldon Tanner as first counselor, and Marion G. Romney as second, each of whom expressed a willingness to accept the position and devote his whole time and energy in serving in that capacity. They were unanimously approved. Then Elder Mark E. Petersen, second in seniority in the Twelve, nominated Ezra Taft Benson as President of the Quorum of the Twelve. This was unanimously approved.

At this point all the members present laid their hands upon the head of Spencer W. Kimball, and President Ezra Taft Benson was voice in blessing, ordaining, and setting apart Spencer W. Kimball as the twelfth President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Then, with President Kimball as voice, N. Eldon Tanner was set apart as first counselor and Marion G. Romney as second counselor in the First Presidency of the Church. In the same way President Kimball pronounced the blessing and setting apart of Ezra Taft Benson as President of the Quorum of the Twelve.

Weeks went by, and in our history class, with the same teacher, we began to study the ancient civilizations of America.
One night while doing my homework I felt the strongest desire to speak in class again about the Book of Mormon. I knelt in prayer and asked Heavenly Father to grant me an opportunity to do so. After praying, I felt I should again prepare a discourse on the Book of Mormon.
The next day as Mrs. Protschka began class I raised my hand. But before I could say anything, she looked at me and said, “Yes, Robert. Last night when I was preparing my lesson for today, I suddenly thought of you, and wondered if you wouldn’t have anything else to tell us about the Book of Mormon?”
This time I focused mainly in Christ’s visit to the ancient Americas. I quoted from a book which related the legend of the Great White God Quetzalcoatl. The similarity between Christ and this Indian God was obvious. Again, I told my friends and teacher that Christ had indeed visited the people in the Americas; he had indeed taught them the gospel.
At the conclusion of my speech, Mrs. Protschka wrote on the blackboard: “The Book of Mormon is the best theory of how the ancient civilizations of America came to be,” and asked us to write it down in our notebooks. What a triumph! I felt like jumping for joy. God hears and answers prayers. He is indeed a God of miracles. And he knows how to soften the hearts of men for his purposes.

The Holy Ghost can help us in every part of our lives. I learned this in a practical way when I was a college student at Brigham Young University–Hawaii.
At the time, I was working and taking a full schedule of classes. My wife and I also had a small baby to care for. With all these demands on my schedule, I didn’t have much time for studying. I prayed every day for the companionship of Holy Ghost. I needed guidance to help me make the most of my time. I needed assistance understanding the material as well as remembering it later during exams.
One day during class, a professor was writing sets of advanced equations on the whiteboard to illustrate a point. These complex equations didn’t relate to that class, but he wanted to talk about them briefly. After a few minutes the professor erased the board.
My next class was computer science, and we had an exam that day. Those exact equations from the board in my previous class were on the test! What’s truly remarkable is that we had never studied these before in our computer science class. All that memory came back to me from the other class I had attended, and I was able to answer the problem.
When the computer science professor graded the tests, he was so sure nobody answered that specific problem correctly that he automatically marked it wrong for every student. But when I got my paper back, I showed him that the answer I wrote on the paper was correct. It was wonderful.
The Holy Ghost helped me make the most of all my studying opportunities throughout college. I was able to achieve high grades and earn scholarships, which helped me pay for school.

Sean’s older sister, Amanda, is in fifth grade. She likes ice skating and practices at the same rink as the New York Rangers hockey team. There are no other members of the Church in Amanda’s grade, and she has many opportunities to set an example of what a Latter-day Saint child is like. She remembers one party at which several girls were choosing a video. They wanted to watch a PG-13 movie. Amanda said, “I’m not allowed to watch PG-13 movies.”
One of her friends said, “But your mom will never know.” Her friends went ahead and watched the movie, but Amanda didn’t. She left the room. Soon her friend Kaitlyn joined her, and the two of them found something else to do. Sean is glad that he has an older sister and brother who set a good example.

It started just about like any other spring day in Louisville, Kentucky. Thinking back now, it did seem just a bit warmer, perhaps more humid than usual. Philip Matthews, a 15-year-old teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, felt that his hair was getting just a little bit too long. As he looked in the mirror he decided to visit the barber shop several blocks away.
His father asked if he would like a ride, and the two of them headed from their home to the barber. Phil sat back in his seat and relaxed, looking sleepily out of the window.
Suddenly he was wide awake. Doing his best to point the direction, he asked excitedly, “What’s that in the sky, Dad?” Brother Matthews, not able to see exactly what his son was pointing at, asked, “What?”
Then as Phil pointed excitedly, Brother Matthews saw it. It was a big mass of clouds. They were boiling and circling. It looked like a huge diesel engine with smoke pouring out of its pipe. Brother Matthews’ face turned white as he shouted, “It’s a tornado!” and he stopped the car suddenly.
The tornado crushed two houses and came right toward their car. Phil leaped out and shouted, “Hit the ditch!” But finding no ditch, he “decided my only hope was to run across the nearby schoolyard and enter the school building for protection.”
He doesn’t know how fast he was running, but as he crossed the yard, the wind nearly lifted him from the ground. “I just knew I had to reach the school.” Phil is a distance runner for his school, and perhaps his record-breaking running ability helped him get there in time.
As he approached the school, trees were falling and houses being smashed. Finally he made it to the building and tried to pull the doors outward, but they were locked. Now Phil knew that he must face the wind without protection. He doesn’t remember a time in his life when he was more frightened than he was as he stood in the terrible wind alone. Holding tightly to the door handles to keep from being blown away, he saw debris, shingles, and bricks spinning in the air about him. Small particles struck him in the face.
“I knew I needed special help. I know that the Lord heard my prayer of panic. As I stood there my mind centered on prayer. I asked the Lord to help me. Then it was like a miracle. When I prayed there seemed to come a great calm.”
A nearby tree crashed just missing him as it fell. The school to which he had come was demolished, only the area of the building where he stood went undamaged. The wind calmed somewhat, and Phil began to fear for his father. He ran back to the car, which was now in the churchyard.
“I was sure the car had been blown there,” Phil reported. “When I saw Dad get out of the car, I knew that he was all right. Then I just sort of went into shock. Dad came toward me, and as he got close I could see tears in his eyes as he looked at me. I sort of fell into his arms and we embraced. I repeated over and over ‘I was in it, Dad. I was out in it, Dad.’ Then we both looked around at the destruction that was around us. The chapel roof had been blown off and was behind our car.”
The terrible monster wind had taken its toll, but Phil and his father were spared. The two made their way home, taking detours to avoid fallen trees. They were greatly relieved when they found that the only damage to their home was two blown-off shingles. They entered the home and once again were reunited with their family.
There would be another day for a haircut.

My companion and I had just ended a long, unsuccessful day of knocking on doors in Buenos Aires, Argentina. As we sat waiting for the bus, I began to sink into a daze of self-pity. I’d served in the area for three months with no success. I felt that I had let the Lord down.
Just then I noticed a man in the distance hurrying toward us on a bicycle. He was yelling and waving. Hoping to avoid the seemingly angry man, we walked quickly toward our approaching bus. It was getting dark, and we were in a dangerous part of our area. We hoped to reach the bus before the frightening man reached us.
“I have a question for you,” yelled the man. The bus arrived just before he did, and we scrambled aboard. Then I heard the man’s question: “What happened to the gold plates after Joseph Smith translated them?” My mouth fell open. I wanted to jump from the bus as it drove away. Instead I yelled, “Where do you live?” and hurriedly scribbled his address.
We stopped by the man’s house the next day. His name was Favio. A month before, he told us, his friend had loaned him a copy of the Book of Mormon.
Weeks after he had found the Book of Mormon, Favio saw us at the bus stop. By then he knew the book was true. Over the next few weeks we taught Favio the basic principles of the gospel and encouraged him to continue reading. Every time we asked him if he would commit to living a new gospel principle, he would answer, “I’m afraid not to.” Shortly thereafter, he entered the waters of baptism.
Now every time I have a difficult day, instead of sinking into self-pity, I remember Favio—his question for two discouraged missionaries and his commitment to the Lord after he received an answer.

Years ago, Elder James O. Mason of the Seventy shared this story with me: “The birth of our sixth child was an unforgettable experience. As I gazed on this beautiful, new daughter in the nursery just moments after her birth, I distinctly heard a voice declare, ‘There will yet be another, and it will be a boy.’ Unwisely, I rushed back to the bedside of my absolutely exhausted wife and told her the good news. It was very bad timing on my part.”5 Year after year the Masons anticipated the arrival of their seventh child. Three, four, five, six, seven years passed. Finally, after eight years, their seventh child was born—a little boy.

There is every reason to believe that the morning of the First Vision was as glorious and idyllic as the hymn “Joseph Smith’s First Prayer”2 makes it out to be. But in relishing such a picture, we must not lose sight of what it took to get to that morning. The path to Palmyra—the general location of this sacred, singular moment—was anything but a path of sweetness and light for this boy prophet and his family.

The Prophet’s parents, Joseph Smith Sr. and Lucy Mack Smith, married in Tunbridge, Vermont, USA, in 1796. After six years of fairly successful farming, the Smiths moved to nearby Randolph to try their hand at storekeeping.3

The line of goods Joseph Sr. acquired with the help of Boston-based creditors moved quickly to eager new customers—not for cash but for promises of payment once harvests came in at the end of the growing season. As he waited for promised payments to pay off his creditors, he jumped into a new investment opportunity.

In those days Chinese markets were clamoring for crystallized ginseng root. Though Joseph Sr. had a hard-cash offer from a middleman for $3,000 for the ginseng root he had collected and prepared for shipment, he decided on the riskier but potentially more lucrative strategy of taking the product to New York himself and contracting with a ship’s captain to sell his goods in China on consignment. By eliminating the middleman, he stood to make as much as $4,500—an immense sum in those days.4

As bad luck or sinister planning would have it, Joseph Sr.’s shipment ended up on the same boat carrying the son of the middleman with whom he had declined to do business. Taking advantage of the situation, this son sold the Smith ginseng in China “at a high price” and kept the proceeds while spinning tales that the venture had been a bust, producing only a chest full of tea as reward.5

Meanwhile, just as this swindle was unfolding, the payments for a large inventory of merchandise had fallen due at the Smith store. In the face of demanding creditors, the Smiths hit a desperation point. To pay their debts, Lucy gave up a wedding gift of $1,000 that she had saved for years, and Joseph accepted $800 for the family farm in Tunbridge.6 The farm was the one thing that would have at least guaranteed a modicum of economic stability and long-term physical security in the often harsh world of the early American frontier. Now, penniless and landless, the Smiths would be forced to move eight times in 14 years, constantly looking for a way to provide for their family.

At least one of those moves was triggered by the financial difficulty of accumulated medical bills incurred from the 1813 typhoid fever epidemic that struck all the children of the Smith family with great and debilitating force. A few weeks after Joseph’s fever had passed, he experienced tremendous pain in his shoulder. A local doctor misdiagnosed the pain as a consequence of a sprain. Two weeks later, when the pain had escalated to excruciating levels, the doctor returned and discovered a pool of infection linked to Joseph’s extended fever.7

A lancing of the sore area drew out a quart of infected matter, but the procedure was incomplete, and new infection moved to Joseph’s lower left leg. For this, a surgeon was summoned. He made an eight-inch (20 cm) incision from the knee to the ankle, which eased the pain somewhat. But the infection, unfortunately, shot into the bone.8

At this point the family sought the latest medical advice from leading authorities at Dartmouth Medical College. Lucy insisted that the most logical and customary procedure, amputation, not be used. Instead, the Smiths would try a new and painful procedure—one without promise of success. Doctors would open Joseph’s leg and bore two holes in each side of the bone. Then they would chip off three large pieces of the bone to remove all the infected area.9

All of this was to be done without the advantages of today’s general anesthesia. As a consequence, the family was urged to give Joseph alcohol or to tie him to the bed so he would not jerk away in pain during the delicate procedure. At the tender age of seven, Joseph refused both options. Instead, he made two requests—that his father hold him and that his mother leave the room.10

Detail from If Father Will Hold Me, by Liz Lemon Swindle
When Joseph’s cries became so great that his mother could not be kept away, twice she entered the room over his pleading objections. What she saw seared an indelible memory. There was Joseph lying in a blood-drenched bed, “pale as a corpse, [with] large drops of sweat … rolling down his face, whilst upon every feature was depicted the utmost agony.”11 Fortunately, the operation was a success, but Joseph would spend the next three years on crutches.

After this ordeal, the family hoped that a new start in Norwich, Vermont, would finally bring the stability and prosperity they so urgently sought. But once again their hopes were dashed. In their first year of trying to make a go of farming on rented land, their crops failed. Their crops failed again the second year. In year three, 1816, Joseph Smith Sr. determined to give it one more try, convinced that things simply had to get better.12

Half a world away in 1815, Mount Tambora in Indonesia had erupted and spewed tons of ash into the earth’s atmosphere, disrupting normal weather cycles. From June to August of 1816—dubbed the “year without a summer”—four killing frosts hit New England, ruining summer crops yet again.13

With famine setting in and thousands leaving Vermont in mass exodus, Joseph Sr. took his most fateful step yet. He decided to leave the roughly 20-mile (32 km) radius of family, friends, and farmland he had known most of his adult life and headed 300 miles (482 km) southwest to the town of Palmyra in upper New York. There, it was reported, land was fertile and long-term credit was readily available. Out of necessity Joseph Sr. left in advance, leaving behind Lucy and the eight children to pack up their household goods and follow him.14

It was winter as Lucy and her brave little band loaded everything they owned into a sleigh and later into a wagon. After paying off several creditors, Lucy had little money left for the trip. By trip’s end she was giving away clothing and medicine to pay innkeepers. She recalled arriving in Palmyra with “barely two cents in cash.”15

Along the way the man hired to drive the sleigh forced young Joseph off to make room for two pretty daughters of the Gates family, whom they had encountered traveling in the same direction. Joseph—still not fully healed—was forced to limp “through the snow 40 miles [64 km] per day for several days,” experiencing what he called “the most excruciating weariness & pain.”16

When Joseph’s devoted older brothers, Hyrum and Alvin, pleaded with the man to relent, he knocked them to the ground with a violent thump from the handled end of a whip. In Utica, when it became clear that Lucy was out of cash, the man abandoned the family—but not until after a failed attempt to steal their wagon, during which he tossed their belongings to the ground.17 Somehow the family pressed on until all arrived safely in Palmyra, tearfully collapsing into the arms of Joseph Smith Sr.

Perhaps the most heart-wrenching detail of this journey, though, is found in an underappreciated postscript Joseph later added to the original account of his family’s journey: “On our way from Utica I was left to ride on the last sleigh in the company, but when that came up I was knocked down by the driver, one of Gate’s sons, & left to wallow in my blood until a stranger came along, picked me up, & carried me to the Town of Palmyra.”18 The significance of this should not be missed.

Just before my ordination to the office of a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood, an important event transpired in our family. Early one evening Dad received a telephone call. At the conclusion of the call, he privately visited with my mother. She immediately began to tidy up the house, a sure sign we were going to have visitors. In a short while three well-dressed gentlemen knocked at our front door. Before we could tell who the callers were, mother whisked us to the rear of the house and shut the doors to the living room. After a few minutes of discussion with the men, Dad came and asked Mother to join them in the living room. Mom’s departure allowed me the opportunity to go into the kitchen and sit on the floor with my ear next to the living room door to hear what was being said in the next room. It was soon apparent that my dad was receiving a call to serve as the bishop of our ward. What a shock to a prospective deacon!

In 1878 President John Taylor called Saints to settle in the southern part of the state of Colorado in the United States. Early in the 1900s, Pa moved our family to that desolate land.
Our new farm was littered with rocks. Before we could till the ground, we had to clear the rocks away. Ma and I hauled the small rocks away in a wheelbarrow, but there was only one way to remove the boulders—blow them up with dynamite.
When all the small rocks were gone and it was time to start on the big ones, Pa dug under each one as far as he could and placed the dynamite underneath. He carefully set the dynamite in just the right places so the blast would tear the boulders completely apart.
Finally everything was ready for Pa to light the fuse. Mama made sure we children were out of danger.
Boom!
The first boulder exploded into hundreds of fragments and a cloud of dust. When the dust settled, the boulder had disappeared. All that was left was a hole in the ground and many smaller rocks. Now it was my job to pick up the pieces of rock and fill the hole with dirt.
We repeated the process; Pa lit the dynamite and I cleared away the shattered rock. After the third explosion, I was growing tired of picking up rocks and wanted to do the “real” work—lighting the dynamite. I took a few steps toward Pa.
“Willard, stay back!” my mother called. I scowled. At nine, I was the oldest child and believed I was old enough to help.
As I started back to the house, I was filled with a sense of danger. A whispering in my heart warned me that something was wrong.
I didn’t understand. I wasn’t in any danger. I was far away from the blasting. Certain that I had imagined the warning, I concentrated on what Pa was doing. Maybe he would see that I was nearly grown and ready to work alongside him.
The feeling of danger grew.
I recalled the promise my father had made when he confirmed me a member of the Church: “I bless you with the power of discernment. Listen to the Spirit. It will guide you and protect you from harm.”
I tried to ignore the voice, but it wouldn’t be still. I could no longer pretend I didn’t hear the insistent whisper.
I bless you with the power of discernment.
The words were as clear now as they had been when Pa pronounced the blessing more than a year earlier. If I wasn’t in danger, maybe the voice was telling me that someone else was. Ma was hanging clothes on the line, my little sister pulling at her skirt. Then I realized I couldn’t see three-year-old Hyrum.
“Hyrum!” I shouted. “Hyrum!” Shading my eyes from the sun, I squinted into the distance. Then I saw him—heading toward the field, his chubby legs going as fast as he could make them.
I ran after him, praying and shouting all at the same time. “Pa!” I screamed, waving my arms to attract his attention.
His back was turned to me, and Pa couldn’t see or hear my warning—and he couldn’t see Hyrum toddling toward disaster.
I reached Hyrum just as the boulder exploded. Throwing my body over his, I shielded him the best I could. Sharp rock fragments rained down on me, hitting my head, back, and legs.
Hyrum began to squirm. “Heavy,” he said. “Get up.”
I rolled off. My body screamed with pain, but I didn’t care. Gently, I ran my hands over my little brother.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
He wiggled away from me and stood. His chin wobbled and his eyes filled with tears, but he wasn’t hurt. “Scared,” he said.
“I was scared too,” I said as I hugged him.
By then Pa had reached us. Tears tracked through the dirt and grime on his face. His big arms circled us, squeezing tight. “How did you know your brother was in danger?” he asked me.
I hesitated, not sure how to explain. “A voice told me something was wrong,” I said. “I didn’t pay attention at first, but it kept poking at me until I had to listen.” Then I confessed the part that stung my conscience. “If I had listened the first time, Hyrum wouldn’t have wandered away. He would never have been in danger.”
Pa laid his big hand on my shoulder. “But you did listen. That’s the important thing.” Pa took a deep breath. “That was a brave thing you did, Willard.”
“I prayed, Pa. I was praying so hard the words nearly choked me,” I told him.
“So was I. So was I.”
Ma and my little sister came running. Laughing and crying at the same time, Ma hugged me and Hyrum. Soon all of us were hugging and crying.
A sweet feeling of peace settled around my heart as I knelt by my bed that night. My prayers took longer than usual as I thanked Heavenly Father for the whisperings of the Spirit in my heart.

In our family we have tried to hold early-morning scripture study. But we were often frustrated when one son complained and had to be coaxed out of bed. When he finally came, he would often put his head right down on the table. Years later, while serving his mission, he wrote home in a letter: “Thank you for teaching me the scriptures. I want you to know that all those times I acted like I was sleeping, I was really listening with my eyes closed.”

Here is a true story that relates a simple experience of a nineteen-year-old who became a remarkable one. He was magnified and had great powers beyond his natural abilities as the Lord acted through him. There was a young nineteen-year-old admirer of Joseph Smith, Philemon Merrill, who had come with other loyal followers to rescue their prophet from the hands of sheriffs Reynolds and Wilson. While returning to Nauvoo, the company rested “in a little grove of timber.” One of the lawyers for the sheriff and the kidnappers boasted of his wrestling powers. He offered a wager that he could throw any man in Illinois. Stephen Markham, a bodyguard of Joseph’s and a huge man, also an experienced wrestler, took up the challenge. The boaster threw Stephen, and a taunting shout went up from the Prophet’s enemies.

As the taunts continued, Joseph Smith turned to young Philemon Merrill and said: “Get up and throw that man.”

The boy was about to refuse, to excuse himself by saying he was not a wrestler, but the look in the Prophet’s eye silenced his tongue. “He arose to his feet filled with the strength of a Samson.” Philemon “lifted his arms” and told the lawyer to take his choice of sides.

“The man took the left side with his right hand under,” which gave him a decided advantage. Philemon Merrill’s friends protested, but young Philemon felt such confidence in the words of the Prophet that it made little difference to him what advantage his antagonist took. As they began to grapple, Joseph instructed him, “‘Philemon, when I count three, throw him!’

“On the instant after the word dropped from Joseph’s lips,” Philemon Merrill, “with the strength of a giant, threw the lawyer over his left shoulder, and he fell striking his head upon the earth.”

Little wonder it is reported that “awe fell upon the opponents of the Prophet when they saw this, and there were no more challenges to wrestle during the journey” (George Q. Cannon, Life of Joseph Smith the Prophet, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1964, pp. 450–51).

When Gerald Lund returned from his missionary service, he had determined that he would rather work than go to college.
“I went to work in the construction business,” he explains. “After spending one week cleaning cement forms with a power brush, I realized this was not how I wanted to spend my life.”
He promptly enrolled in Brigham Young University, where he completed his bachelor’s and master’s degrees. His decision to go to college not only changed his life but also resulted in many years of teaching the gospel.
Gerald Lund started teaching seminary in Salt Lake City in 1965, beginning a 34-year career with the Church Educational System. In addition to his early years teaching seminary, he taught institute, served as an institute director, worked as a curriculum writer, and fulfilled a number of administrative assignments. He is also the author of many popular books and articles.

I received a party invitation. The party was to be on a Sunday. I knew that going to a party on Sunday would not be keeping the Sabbath Day holy. I told my friend that I couldn’t go to his party because I go to church on Sundays and I try to keep the Sabbath Day holy. When I told my mom what I had said, she was very happy that I was trying to be like Jesus by choosing the right. She told me that I am a very good example to my little sisters, Malah (3) and Zilke (1).

Members of the Church also band together in and with their communities to serve those in need. Whether it be an elders quorum gardening for an injured ward member, young single adults assembling meals for the hungry at a conference, or youth creating beds for a homeless shelter, unified efforts bring relief to many.
Julio was born prematurely in Guatemala. His mother took him to a nutrition screening event held by the Church, and he received nutrition supplements for his development. Julio, like many others blessed by member volunteers in the Church’s member-focused child nutrition effort, has since overcome acute malnourishment.

“Seminary makes me a morning person.” At least that’s what Patrick Hildoer of the Acworth Ward in Atlanta, Georgia, says. And for him, it’s just one of the real pluses about regularly attending early-morning seminary. “There is something about seminary that energizes me.”
He’s not the only one in his class who feels that way. Kittye Bowen says, “If you start the day off uplifted, it’s going to be hard to bring you back down the rest of the day at school.”
Amy Caldwell of the Mars Hill Ward really noticed a difference when she had to give up seminary for several weeks. “I had a basketball practice every morning. I missed four days of seminary each week. It was horrible. When I went to seminary, I could feel the Spirit so much more throughout the day.”
“I had a friend tell me once,” said Kerilyn Graham of the Acworth Ward, “ ‘Oh, that’s why you get such good grades. You start your day with the Lord.’ That’s true. We start our day with the right attitude and the right perspective.”
Getting a good start to the day is just one reason to go to seminary. Most of the students in the Cartersville Georgia Stake seminary classes talk about what a boost it gives to their testimonies.
Brian Collier of Mars Hill Ward said, “When I have missionary experiences at school, I can always remember what I learned in seminary and the good lessons I’ve been taught. It makes talking to people about the Church a little easier.”
Brian goes on, “My favorite lesson was when we got a chance to bear our testimonies of the Prophet Joseph Smith. The whole year, my testimony has become stronger. I just felt a peace that I had knowledge of the truthfulness of the gospel. I don’t remember everything that I said, but I do know that I know.”
For Tyler Weeks, also of the Mars Hill Ward, learning of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon made for a memorable seminary year. “I’d read the Book of Mormon before, but reading it again, knowing how it is from God, gave me a new perspective.”
Each year seminary provides the chance to study a new set of scriptures. And each year it gives students a chance to build on their previous knowledge. Memorizing scripture mastery verses each year gives them a pool of great scriptures to remember and apply to situations that come up in their lives. The goal to attend all four years is a worthy one.
When Rachel Chase started seminary, she had her older sister, Jessica, to take her and get her up on time. Rachel tried persuading her sister to be a little late and get five minutes’ more sleep. “But she told me,” said Rachel, “that it’s so important to be there on time, to be there for the whole thing. When she graduated, I had my third year by myself until my little brother was old enough to go. I found out you need every year to build up your testimony.”
Shelby Hailstone has a little sister who will be starting seminary soon. “She says she’s glad she doesn’t have to go to seminary because it’s so early. I call her every morning after class and talk to her about the lesson. She thinks it’s the neatest thing. Although she’s not looking forward to waking up, but she loves the lessons. That’s what she can’t wait for—the Spirit of the Lord she knows she is going to feel every day.”
One day on the school bus, Rachel Chase and Lauren Smith, both in the Acworth Ward seminary, were talking about what a good seminary lesson they had that day. Curtis Clinch repeated something his pastor had told him about the Latter-day Saints being one of the fastest growing religions.
Rachel agreed and said, “It kind of makes you think, doesn’t it, Curtis?”
He answered, “Yeah, it kind of does.”
Rachel asked, “Do you want to come to seminary with us?” Instead of Curtis answering, Heidi Hetzer, another friend who had been listening to their conversation, surprised them by saying, “Oh, I do.” Rachel arranged to pick up both Curtis and Heidi, and they have been going ever since—especially after their baptisms a couple of months later.
Heidi said, “I’ve known Rachel and her brother, Stephen, since they moved to Georgia. I’ve seen how close their family is. And I’ve known other members. They all seem happier than the rest of us. I’ve been interested in the Church for a while, but I didn’t have the opportunity to learn more. So when Rachel was talking to Curtis and invited him to seminary, I just said I wanted to come. After that first day in seminary, I went to school with a newfound happiness. Since then, it’s been lasting.”
In fact, on her baptism day, Rachel’s dad noticed her happy attitude. And her friends asked if she was wearing different makeup or something because she had a glow about her.
Heidi said, “Rachel invited me over to talk to the missionaries, and I went to a fireside that same night. I dove right into the Church.”
Curtis had a similar experience, although he thought Rachel was kidding when she invited him to seminary. “She asked me again and came and picked me up. I really liked it. The lessons are powerful and very detailed. Everyone is really welcoming. I didn’t mind waking up early.”
Curtis’s mother didn’t think he would keep it up. When he continued to get up by himself, she came and checked out seminary. “She said it was good and supported me.”
Other class members have invited friends. Mostly they want to see what their friends do every morning so early instead of getting an extra hour of sleep. The seminary students report that their friends really enjoy visiting class.
Most seminary students have a favorite lesson that somehow connected with them and affected the decisions they are making in their lives.
Kelly Cadogan remembers how impressed she was by the great sacrifices made by the pioneers. Stephen Chase remembers the folk dancers from BYU–Idaho coming to their class and reading scriptures about happiness. Tyler Graham remembers the lesson on the Word of Wisdom. Chris Erni can remember the lesson on Joseph Smith and the Spirit that testified of the Prophet. Riley McRae remembers the lesson about showing compassion for others and going out of your way to be kind.
Frank Wheat’s favorite lesson was more personal. He said, “Our teacher asked about our full names and what each of our names came from and what they stood for. I was named after both my grandfathers. Even though one died before I was born and the other died shortly after my birth, it made me think about how I live my life. Maybe they are looking down on me and asking, ‘What are you doing with my name?’ I’m trying to live a good life because of that.”
So why become a morning person? For teens in Georgia, seminary is worth getting up for each morning, and the payoff for their time and energy is a big one—a testimony of their own. As Kitty Bowen said, “After four years of waking up every morning and studying the scriptures and growing to know that the gospel is true for yourself, it’s like that one final leap of developing your own testimony before you have to go off to college. It’s like a prep class for the real world.”