Gospel Story Finder

A more recent example of courage and inner strength comes from a young man from Grants Pass, Oregon. Parker Jarvis was a heavyweight wrestler favored to win the Oregon state championship. He was unable to wrestle his sophomore year because of COVID-19, and then he broke his wrist his junior year. In his senior year he was undefeated in Oregon during the regular season and was the clear favorite to fulfill his dream to be a state champion.

Unfortunately, a snowstorm caused the finals of the state wrestling tournament to be delayed from Saturday to Sunday. In spite of all his hard work and dreams, Parker courageously told his coach that he would not wrestle on Sunday. The competition officials allowed him to continue to compete on Saturday to see how far he could get, and he successfully pinned every opponent he faced. In Sunday’s championship match, he would have faced someone he had already beaten three times during the season.

After his final match on Saturday, knowing he was forfeiting his dream of a state championship, Parker walked over to his mom, dad, and coach and tearfully fell into their arms. He later wrote to his sister: “Wrestling is important to me, but I have to know that I have control of my life. I have to know that I can sacrifice things that are important to me for something of greater value.”

Just a few weeks later, Parker did become a state champion in track and field when he became the Oregon state shot put champion. Shortly thereafter, he entered the mission field to serve in Romania.

The story is told of a rancher who one Sunday found himself the only person in church. The minister came down from the pulpit and asked him whether or not he should go ahead with the service, and the man replied, “If I go out to feed my sheep, and only one comes, I still feed him!” The minister returned to his pulpit and preached a powerful sermon for over an hour, then came back down to the rancher and asked how he liked it. The man replied, “If I go out to feed my sheep, and only one comes, I sure don’t feed him the whole load!” A wise leader can profit from this counsel and provide the feed where it is needed.

Ever since Jeff had moved to St. Anthony the beginning of their freshman year in high school, Jeff and Brett had been friends, almost brothers. There had been a bit of animosity in the beginning when they had both ended up on the football team vying for the same position. Both had had dreams of being great quarterbacks, but there could only be one starter and both of them were too good as athletes for a team like St. Anthony to allow one of them to sit on the bench. The conflict was solved when Brett finally decided to be a tight end. Suddenly this daring duo became the hope of the small town of St. Anthony. From the time Jeff and Brett Baker were juniors until they graduated, St. Anthony never lost a football game.

Their friendship wasn’t restricted to the football field. They were in the same ward. Those who didn’t know them well, just assumed that they were brothers, since they both had the same last name. But blood couldn’t have made their friendship more solid. They had dreamed together. They were both going to go to a semester at Ricks, where they had both received scholarships to play football, and then they were going to leave on missions. That was just the beginning. After that their whole lives lay before them.

Jack Stone, who was in charge of the first seminary pageant several years ago in Cardston, told of another student who had been changed by the annual event.
“One student,” Brother Stone said, “who had become inactive and dropped out of seminary, asked to be in the pageant at the last minute. We had a few extra costumes and there were several crowd scenes, so we put him in those. That year the pageant was on the Book of Mormon. As we sang the finale, the entire cast came down on the stage. It was the part in the Book of Mormon where Christ visits the people in America after his resurrection. We sang ‘I Know That My Redeemer Lives.’ It was a touching scene. I remember looking over at the boy and seeing tears stream down his cheeks. He’d been changed because of his involvement.”

One day in my dance class, my teacher told us that we would have to wear bikinis for our costumes in an upcoming performance. I felt very bad inside. My mother and Primary teachers have taught me that Heavenly Father likes us to dress modestly. I asked my dance teacher if I could wear something else instead. She told me that I had to dress like the other girls or I could not be in the dance.
I looked down at my CTR ring that I always wear to remind me to choose the right. I knew what I had to do. I told my teacher that if I had to wear the bikini, I would not be able to be in the dance. She got angry and told me that I couldn’t drop out now because they would have to redo all the formations. I said I was sorry but I had to do what Jesus would want me to do.
It was a very hard decision to make, but I felt good afterward. When I told my mom about it later, she was very proud of me. She talked to the director of my dance studio and they decided that the costumes could be changed. I am very happy that I chose the right.

While the men worked on a shallop (small open boat) from the ship, hauling it up onto the beach for repairs, the women went ashore to wash clothes. After the shallop was repaired, Miles Standish, the military captain of the colony, with Captain Jones and a group of men, most of them Pilgrims, set out to explore. Daily they prayed for guidance.
On December 21, the travelers stepped ashore at the site of a deserted Indian village. Old and weathered cornstalks rattled in the breeze where land had been cleared. A brook sparkled and babbled down a hillside. Nearby was an excellent harbor. In one field was a great hill that commanded a view of the sea and land roundabout. Why the place had been deserted was a mystery.
“We’ll build our new Plymouth here,” Captain Standish announced.
When they returned to the Mayflower, William White looked anxiously about the deck for his wife, Susanna. Then he saw her coming toward him. Placing a tiny bundle in his arms, she said, “My husband, our little son was born while you were gone.”
Tenderly, William uncovered the tiny pink face. “So our little traveler has arrived,” he said, beaming.
Standing by, Governor Carver exclaimed, “Aye, William, your little son is the first white child we know of to be born in New England. He should be called Peregrine (traveler).”
“Peregrine White,” William mused. “That is what he shall be called.” Then noticing Ellen’s eager upturned face, he asked, “Do you want to hold the baby?”
“Oh, yes!” she exclaimed. Gently he laid the bundle in her arms, and Ellen smiled with pleasure.

Brad Lau doesn’t swear. He wouldn’t think of watching an inappropriate movie. While other guys listen to heavy metal in the locker room, Brad sings hymns he’s learned in ward choir. He never drinks or smokes, and he always minds his mother.
Oh, and he also happens to be a six-foot, 240-pound, all-state fullback who benches 350 and rushed for over 2,000 yards and scored 49 touchdowns during his high school career in Boise, Idaho.
Of all Brad’s statistics, perhaps the most noteworthy is “0.” That’s the number of times he’s used profanity since he started playing football.
A football player who never swears? It may be hard to believe, but Brad’s teammates say it’s true.
“When Brad gets mad on the field, he just shakes his head,” says quarterback Mitch Rasmussen. “He just turns red—beet red,” says tight end Mike Kelley. “He might look like he’s close to swearing, but he never lets it go,” says offensive lineman Nate Black. “He just unleashes a huge hit,” says strong safety Terry Deeble with a knowing grin.
And when Brad takes a hit? “I just say ‘ouch,’” says Brad, shrugging his enormous shoulders.
How does Brad refrain from swearing even in a high-tension sport in which cussing is so common?
For one thing, he avoids profanity in the music, television, and movies he chooses. “Obviously, I can’t go around and control what people say, but I can control what I watch and listen to.”
Although he doesn’t control others, Brad does try to have a positive influence in whatever environment he is in. “In the weight room, kids’ll play trashy CDs. I’ll turn it to something else, and some guys’ll say, ‘Why can’t we listen to this?’ If I ask nicely, ‘Can we listen to something else for a while?’ then they will.”
“When Brad picks the music, they’ll always give him a hard time, but it’s all in good fun,” says Terry.
And in the locker room, especially notorious for filthy talk and music, Brad says he likes to sing hymns.
A football player who sings hymns in the locker room? “Not only that, when Brad starts singing, other guys join in,” says Mitch.
Laughing, Brad recalls, “I remember once after practice I was singing, ‘How Great Thou Art.’ I guess other religions know it too, because all of a sudden even all the non-LDS guys started joining in. I was really surprised!”
So don’t people think Brad’s a little … well, strange?
“Actually, everyone looks up to Brad,” says Steve Warren, a Catholic teammate from high school. “He sets a good example. Everybody just considers him a friend.”
“Guys will tease him a lot, but then they’ll say, ‘Man, I wish I could be like that,’” says Mitch. “They respect him because they see someone who doesn’t back down.”
“And he’s nice to everyone,” says Terry. “I’ve never heard him say a mean thing.”
Perhaps that’s another key to Brad’s abstaining from profanity. He’s won people’s respect, so people respect his standards when they’re around him.
Says Steve, “When I’m around other people, every once in a while a swear word slips out. But when I’m around Brad, I just don’t do it.”
Mike nods his head in agreement. “There were even a couple of times when the coaches were swearing and just started apologizing right away. They weren’t even looking at Brad; they just knew he was around somewhere!”
Brad says when people do swear around him, he uses good-natured humor to encourage them to stop. “I’ll just jokingly say, ‘Heeeeey. Use substitute words!’ I have a good time with everybody.”
“During football season he started telling other players he was going to charge them money for every swear word they said. Some words were worth a quarter, some a dime, and some five cents,” says Steve.
“I didn’t keep track, so I never made any money,” Brad says with a smile.
The answer to why Brad strives to be such an example is probably the biggest key to his success. “I know the Church is true,” he says. “If I have that knowledge, then there’s no reason for me to back down and be timid.
“Why not stand up and support something you know is true? Why not choose the right no matter what anyone else is doing? I’ve set my standards high, and I’m going to live up to them no matter what.”
Maybe you’re thinking, Sure, it’s easy for a star football player to be a strong influence for good. But what about me? Brad has signed on to play for Boise State University after his mission. What will he do when he’s just an unknown freshman?
“It’s going to be harder, obviously, because nobody knows me there yet.” But Brad says he’ll follow the same pattern he did in high school. Brad says this pattern can work for anyone who wants to set an example of using clean language:
Choose music, television, and movies that are free from inappropriate language. “You can control what you watch and listen to.”
Surround yourself with friends who don’t use profanity. “Choose the right friends, and it won’t be a problem.”
Be an example. “If people see that you’re firm in your standards, they’ll respect you. They’ll even help you keep your standards. If you’re easily tempted or overcome, you won’t be as well respected.”
If people around you swear, encourage them to stop. Use humor and kindness. “Stand up and say something. Don’t worry about what people might think. You might even help someone quit.”

Mike woke to the bark of Clancy, his collie. Leaving dreams of county fairs and blue ribbons behind, he dressed quickly and clattered downstairs for a pre-breakfast look at his magnificent melon. Almost as large as a volleyball, it rose from the leaves of its vine like the moon above clouds—a prize-winner for sure. Loosening the dirt around the stem, Mike thought back to the day in spring when he’d found the tiny seedling growing by the corral.
“It looks like a cantaloupe,” Dad had said. “Don’t expect much from it though. It’s a volunteer.”
Mike was on his hands and knees, studying the new plant. “Volunteer?”
“Volunteers aren’t planted,” Dad explained. “A seed just happens to fall somewhere, then sends down shallow roots that don’t permit much growth.”
“This one is going to grow,” Mike insisted. “I’m going to make sure it does!”
Dad smiled. “Go for it, Son. Work the dirt up around it and keep it watered. Who knows what might happen.”
Mike had followed his father’s advice, and the little seedling grew into a healthy vine. One day as he was spading around his plant, Dad put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve really stuck with this,” he said. “I think you’re ready for something even bigger. When Gertrude has her calf, it’s yours to raise.”
Mike gave a whoop and punched the air. The best of their four milk cows, Gertrude was to give birth any day.
One night Mike was awakened by Clancy’s excited barking. He was about to get up to see what was happening, when Mom came in. “The vet’s here,” she said. “Gertrude had her calf, and everything’s fine. Go back to sleep and see it in the morning.”
Certain that he wouldn’t sleep a wink, Mike dutifully closed his eyes. When he opened them again, sunlight filled the room, and Clancy was issuing his good-morning bark. For the first time in days, Mike didn’t head straight to his cantaloupe plant. Instead, he ran to the barn.
“He’s beautiful!” Mike exclaimed. “I’m going to name him Melon, because he’ll be an award winner too. Look! He’s standing up already.”
“These little guys stand almost as soon as they’re born, Mike. Before long, he’ll be frisking all about his ma.” Dad frowned. “That reminds me—there are a couple of boards loose in the corral fence by the barn. You’d better nail them down right away. We don’t want this young ‘un getting out and rambling all over the property.”
Mike made a mental note to do it—right after he checked his melon plant. But he was so pleased with the blossoms he found blooming from the vine that he forgot all about the corral fence. Over the next few days, he noticed that some of the blossoms grew from small green knobs—cantaloupes! Following Dad’s instructions, he carefully chose the most likely one and nipped off all the others so that the plant’s strength would all go into one prize-winning melon. As the summer days passed, he “babied” his melon, and it grew splendidly.
His calf grew too. Soon it was eating hay as well as suckling its mother. “I’m going to have two blue-ribbon winners,” Mike told Dad when he went to breakfast, “a melon and Melon.”
A couple of mornings later, he was again awakened by Clancy’s barking. But this time Clancy sounded frantic. Something was wrong! Racing downstairs, Mike found the dog trying to herd a confused calf back into the corral. A few yards to the left, where the melon plant should have been, was nothing but chewed and tattered leaves and bits of broken and trampled cantaloupe. As Mike stared at the mess, a great rage filled him. He snatched up a piece of the melon rind and cocked his arm. “All right!” he shrilled. “You want cantaloupe, I’ll give you cantaloupe!” Before he could hurl the piece of rind at the bewildered calf, a hand gripped his wrist from behind.
“There’s no need for a tantrum.” Dad’s voice was calm.
“But that stupid calf ruined my plant!” Mike’s anger had him nearly in tears. “I worked on it all summer, and just look at it!”
“How did Melon get out of the corral, Mike?”
Mike eyed the loose boards—the ones he had promised to fix so long ago. …
Dad let the silence grow long, then asked, “Did you do your job?”
Mike scuffed his toe on the ground. “I meant to,” he said in a small voice. “I guess I just kind of forgot.”
Dad put an arm around his son’s shoulder. “Mike, you worked hard with that melon. Your mother and I are proud of what you did. If it hadn’t been for a nosy calf and an unfinished job, you might have had a prizewinner.”
“And now I have nothing.”
“You have a fine calf with a good appetite. And if you’ve learned from your mistake, you have something even better—a bit of wisdom. Sometimes disaster is opportunity disguised.”
Mike’s gaze strayed from the ruined plant to Clancy and Melon and then to the loose boards on the corral. Finally he looked up. “Dad,” he said, “this was a blue-ribbon disaster for sure. But it’s a blue-ribbon lesson, too, and I won’t forget it. I’m going to take such good care of Melon that he’ll be a prize-winning calf! Come on, Clancy, let’s get him back in the corral and nail up those boards. This is one Melon that’s going to the fair.”

It was the kind of hot summer Saturday that makes you want to drop everything and head to the beach. My buddies and I, about to begin our last year of high school, decided to do just that. We packed ourselves into an old, blue pickup, cracked the windows and cranked the radio, and began the two-hour drive to the California coast.
As we neared our destination, I asked my friend to pull over at a sporting goods shop so I could buy a swimsuit. The woman at the register scanned the price tag of the suit I had picked out as I reached for my credit card. I didn’t even have to look at my wallet to find it; my fingers, from habit, knew exactly where to go. I handed it over and the woman swiped it.
“It says, ‘Insufficient funds’,” she told me, tapping a finger on the countertop. “Got any cash?”
Surprised and embarrassed, I mumbled a “hold on a minute” and went back out to the car. “Hey, something’s wrong with my card. Can someone spot me twenty?” One of my friends did, I went inside and paid, and we continued on our way.
Everyone else had a good time at the beach that afternoon, but for me the trip was spoiled. How had I maxed out a couple-thousand-dollar line of credit? I had a part-time job, but I didn’t make nearly enough to be racking up that kind of a bill. I couldn’t think of any major purchases I had made recently. How had this happened?
Like a lot of teens, I got my first job when I was 16. The paycheck I earned from cleaning tennis courts was nothing to brag about, but I was excited to have some personal income. Because my parents covered a lot of my expenses (they bought a used car for me and my brother to share, and even paid for gas and insurance), the money from my job left over after tithing became spending money. I would spend hours after school at music stores, picking out albums by my favorite bands. An avid reader, I loved going to bookstores and would rarely leave one without a stack of novels tucked under my arm. I bought clothes and DVDs, concert tickets and guitar accessories. I loved to eat out with friends, sometimes almost every day of the week. Having money to do these things made me feel more mature and independent.
When I first started my job, my parents helped me open checking and savings accounts. I signed up for a credit card also. Though I didn’t plan to use it regularly, my parents and I thought it would be helpful to have in case of an emergency. It was more convenient to carry around a couple of cards in my wallet instead of cash and cumbersome spare change, so I switched to plastic. No more counting out bills and coins at check stands; all I had to do was key in a PIN number or show my ID and presto. I hardly had to think at all.
But not having to think much turned out not to be such a good thing. It was so easy to spend money that I began to spend more and more. Online shopping was getting popular at the time, and with a few clicks of the mouse on our home computer, I could have almost anything arrive at my door in two days. With digital music stores beginning to spring up on the Internet, buying music no longer required driving to the store or waiting for a package to arrive in the mail. All I had to do was click the “Purchase Now” button and I could be listening to a new album instantly.
Of course, there was nothing wrong with spending some of the money I earned on music or dinner with friends. But as my spending habits got worse, I began to spend money that I didn’t really even have. Several times I overdrew my checking account and had to pay a fine. My parents encouraged me to slow down my spending and work out a budget, but I didn’t take their advice seriously. Instead, if I didn’t have enough money in the bank, I began to charge purchases to my credit card and say to myself, “I’ll pay it off in a few days when my paycheck arrives. No big deal.”
It was a bigger deal than I thought. A few days turned into a few weeks, then a few weeks into months. It wasn’t long before I had empty checking and savings accounts, mounting debt, and a credit card bill that I couldn’t handle. I was stuck.
I wish I could say that was when I learned my lesson and turned things around—that I stopped overspending, paid my debts, and became wiser about handling finances. In fact, I was able to pay off my credit card debt, with plenty of help from my parents. For a while I was more responsible with my spending. But only for a while.
Having my parents bail me out, I later realized, gave me an unhealthy sense of security. Though I told myself that I needed to change my spending habits, I also felt that if I did mess up again, there would a safety net to rescue me, just as there had been the first time. And so I soon fell back into my old habits. I wasn’t making large purchases, but I never hesitated to shell out a few dollars here, a little more there—either with my checking card or with my credit card. It depressed me to know how much I spent, so I stopped checking my balances altogether. I got a raise and more hours at work and convinced myself that I was probably doing OK. After all, I wasn’t going out and spending hundreds of dollars at a time.
My experience that summer day at the sporting goods store was an unpleasant awakening. Those smaller purchases had added up, and I found myself in an even bigger mess than before.
A few years later, as I’m about to graduate from college, I think of Alma’s admonition to “learn wisdom in thy youth” (see Alma 37:35). Even though I’m on a better track now, I still wonder how much money I could have saved for a mission, college, or marriage had I learned financial wisdom when I was younger—and how many headaches I could have saved myself.
I finally figured out that buying lots of things and being overindulgent won’t make you happy, and that learning to live within your means makes all the difference. It has for me. I just wish I had figured that out sooner.

“Kids,” Mom said as she gathered us around her, “your uncle has to have surgery. He has a tumor. Would you be willing to fast for him?” she asked, her eyes wet with tears.
“Sure, Mom, we’ll fast for him,” I said in unison with my brothers and sisters.
Dad continued, “This surgery is very risky because the tumor is near his brain. We are going to have a family fast on Sunday, the day before his surgery. Do you think you can help?” he added while we all nodded.
I really wanted to do this for my uncle, but I was a bit nervous. It had always been hard for me to fast. I would usually just give up because I was so hungry. I decided this was my chance to do it right.
Sunday came, and I started my fast with a prayer. I asked Heavenly Father to let my uncle get through the surgery. I asked Him to bless the doctors that they would know what was best. I also asked Him to help me through the fast. I really wanted my uncle to be all right, and I wanted to fast right for once.
I went to church thinking about my uncle and hoping the operation would work. I was glad to get home from church. I decided to read the New Era to try and keep the day holy. And before I knew it, it was time to end the fast. I ended it with a prayer.
I noticed that this fast felt different from all the other times I had tried to fast. When I didn’t think about myself, or crave food, the fast went smoothly and felt meaningful.
The next day my uncle had surgery. Again I asked Heavenly Father to bless him. The surgery was successful, and my uncle was fine.
I felt great. I knew my fast had helped him. I thanked Heavenly Father and was filled with joy and love.
Not only did my uncle make it through his surgery, but I had a great feeling. I would no longer think fasting was just going without food. I would always remember the power that helped my uncle and taught me the value of fasting and prayer.

When Dilson Maciel de Castro Jr. lost his job in São Paulo, he and his wife moved to Recife, a major port city in northeast Brazil, so they could live with his parents. Despite Dilson’s experience in the telecommunications industry, the only work he could find in Recife was a series of odd jobs.
“Things were very difficult for us at the time,” recalls Dilson. Their challenges went from bad to worse when the couple lost everything they owned in a flood.
At that low point, Dilson, who had served in the Brazil São Paulo South Mission, met with Elder Gutenberg Amorim, an Area Seventy and institute of religion director, to talk about career and educational options. As Dilson discussed his interests, he received a spiritual prompting that he should study medicine. Thanks to the Church’s then-recently implemented Perpetual Education Fund (PEF), in 2003 Dilson turned that prompting into a profession following an 18-month course in nursing.
“Without the fund, it would have been impossible for me to take the courses I needed,” says Dilson, who works for a public hospital in Recife. Likewise, his wife, Alexsandra, would not have been able to get a loan to pay for the education she needed to become a schoolteacher.
“Six years ago we were unemployed,” Dilson says. “The PEF was essential to all we’ve been able to accomplish. It has changed our lives.”

Ever since Marcus got his CTR ring, he was determined to choose the right. It wasn’t always easy. A hard choice came when his mother told him he was going to get to see his grandmother. Marcus’s grandmother lived far away, so he didn’t get to see her very often.
When he saw his best friend, Ramon, at school, Marcus said, “I’ve got some great news!”
“I do too,” Ramon said. He handed Marcus an envelope. “Open it!”
“First let me tell you my news,” Marcus said. “My grandmother is coming from England! We get to see her!”
“That’s super!” Ramon said. “When is she coming?”
“Friday night. But we can only visit her at the airport because she’s on her way to help my aunt with her new baby.”
Marcus quickly opened Ramon’s envelope. “You’re having a party!” he exclaimed. “I can’t wait. When is it?” Marcus read the invitation, and his face fell. “Oh no! It’s Friday.”
Ramon shrugged. “That’s OK. I understand why you can’t come.”
“But I want to come. What should I do?” Marcus asked.
“I guess you need to make a choice,” Ramon said. “Let me know what you decide.” Ramon waved and ran to class.
When Marcus got home from school, he sat on the front step, flipping a coin.
“What are you doing?” Mom asked, sitting down beside him. Marcus handed her the party invitation.
“I’m sure Grandmother will understand if you can’t come to the airport,” Mom said.
“But I want to see her,” Marcus said. He looked at his CTR ring. “What do you think is the right thing to do?” he asked.
“They are both good things to do,” Mom said. “In this case, it’s a matter of which is the best thing to do. But I don’t think flipping a coin is going to help. Have you prayed about it?”
“Yes. I prayed and asked Heavenly Father to tell me what to do, but He didn’t. Why won’t He just tell me?”
“Maybe He wants you to figure it out for yourself first,” Mom said. “Then He will tell you through the Holy Ghost if you’ve made a good decision.”
“But how can I figure it out?”
“Follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost. He can help you make the choice between two good things.”
The next day at school Marcus told Ramon what his mother had said. “Won’t you feel sad if I don’t come to your party?” Marcus asked.
“Of course,” Ramon said. “But won’t you feel sad if you miss seeing your grandmother? If you came to my party, you might wish you were at the airport.”
“And if I go to the airport, I might wish I was at the party.” Marcus sighed. “I guess I need to think about it more.”
That night Marcus stood on Ramon’s front porch, holding a present. He rang the doorbell. Ramon answered the door.
“What’s this?” Ramon asked. “My party isn’t until tomorrow.”
Marcus took a deep breath and blurted out, “I’m sorry that I won’t be able to come to your party, Ramon. I brought your gift early. Happy birthday!”
Ramon smiled and took the gift. “Thanks! I’m glad you’ll get to see your grandmother.”
“Me too,” Marcus said.
“Can you stay for a while?” Ramon asked. “We’re frosting cupcakes, and we could use your help.”
“Now that’s an easy choice to make,” Marcus said, and headed straight for the kitchen.

Being the only member of the Church in my family was not easy. I longed for a way to share all I had learned about the Church with my family but feared they would accuse me of trying to convert them. I struggled with doubts. I knew the Lord wanted me to share the gospel with my family, but for more than a year I was too afraid to suggest that we have family home evening.
Finally, with my heart racing in fear, I asked the Lord for courage and strength to invite my family to have family home evening. To my surprise they said an enthusiastic “Yes!” to the suggestion, and our relationship has never been better.
Through family home evening I have been able to share the gospel and my testimony with everyone from my mother to my three-year-old niece. What a blessing it has been to read the Book of Mormon with them and hear that they believe what they are reading. In addition, the missionaries have been welcomed into our home to assist in our scripture study.
The greatest blessing is that in such a busy time of work, school, and other activities, my family is committed to meeting together every Monday and devoting an hour to learning more about the Lord. Laughing, singing, and kneeling together in family prayer have brought a tremendous sense of peace and love to our home.
Arlene Pryce, Don Valley Ward, Toronto Ontario Stake

A friend—we will call him John—shared what can happen when we see another’s less visible need: “A sister in my ward attempted suicide. After two months, I discovered no one in my quorum had approached her husband to address this traumatic experience. Sadly, I had not acted either. Finally, I asked the husband to lunch. He was a shy man, often reserved. And yet when I said, ‘Your wife attempted suicide. That must be overwhelming for you. Do you want to talk about it?’ he openly wept. We had a tender and intimate conversation and developed a remarkable closeness and trust within minutes.”
John added, “I think our tendency is just to bring brownies rather than figure out how to walk into that moment with honesty and love.”7

What a happy day for the Mqadi family. After the doors of the temple had been closed for the better part of 14 months due to the COVID-19 pandemic, Nala M. (age 11) finally had her opportunity to visit the temple for the first time in June 2021.

Looking back on the experience afterwards, Nala named some of the highlights of the experience. She loved the peace and cleanliness of the building. And she loved that she could be baptized by her older brother, Ntando.

Ntando (15) was able to perform this sacred ordinance because he holds the Aaronic priesthood. He had recently been ordained to the office of priest.

“It was spectacular having the opportunity to baptise my sister for her first time,” he remarked. “I also baptised my mom for my first time being able to baptise in the temple. I have the key to access the temple and I have the ability to do sacred ordinances. I have been truly blessed from it and I have received the blessing of serving the Lord in His temple.”

As is evident by the experience of the Mqadi family, although the priesthood is borne by men, it is used to bless all of God’s children.

“I felt blessed when I went into the temple,” Nala commented afterwards. “It was cool to be baptized by my brother.”

For Nala’s older brother, Ntando, it was also a day of firsts. It was his first time performing proxy baptisms in the temple. Being able to do this for his family members was meaningful for him.

The siblings’ mother, Tshepiso, said, “Being in the temple for the first time with Nala, and watching Ntando exercise the Aaronic Priesthood also for the first time at the baptistry was very special for me.

“I am grateful for the Spirit that testified to them of the divinity of the temple and the service performed therein. It touched my heart when they both excitedly requested to attend temple baptisms again. It is my prayer that this experience has ignited a desire within them to do more to participate and be part of the Lord’s work as they grow.”

I saw that diligence and heard that laughter when, late on a Saturday, I visited with a group of Latter-day Saints in Florida. The volunteers stopped their cleanup labor long enough to let me shake some hands. They said that 90 members of their stake in Georgia had created a plan to join in the rescue in Florida just the night before.
They left Georgia at 4:00 in the morning, drove for hours, worked through the day and into the night, and planned to labor again the next day.
They described it to me all with smiles and good humor. The only stress I sensed was that they wanted to stop being thanked so they could get back to work. The stake president had restarted his chain saw and was working on a downed tree and a bishop was moving tree limbs as we got into our vehicle to go to the next rescue team.

Staley’s Butte—7,921 feet high. He knew its elevation by heart after studying an old road atlas that Grandpa had in the bookcase. And he knew the mountain because he’d climbed it right to the top.
Sam’s mind wandered back to a Friday in the fall four years earlier, just after school had started. The family was around the kitchen table, talking about lots of little things that seem to be best discussed over a warm supper. Along about dessert time, Dad abruptly brought up the subject of climbing Staley’s Butte.
“You got much planned for tomorrow, Sam?” Dad asked between bites of chocolate ice cream.
“Nothing outside of the regular chores,” he answered cautiously, wondering if his answer would lead to additional work.
“What do you think of the two of us packing a lunch and making a climb up Staley’s Butte? I don’t believe you and I have ever climbed it.”
“Sure, Dad!” Sam said. “Really? That’s a pretty hard climb isn’t it?”
“Oh, it’s a test. That’s for sure. But you’ll make it,” Dad encouraged, and then turning to Mother. “Say Ruth, did you hear Vernon Henderson sunk a new well …”
Nothing more was said about the climb, at least until five the next morning when Sam felt someone gently shaking his shoulder.
“You going with me on the hike today, Son?”
Sam was a little startled by having his sleep broken so unexpectedly. “Huh … hike? Oh yeah, Staley’s Butte,” he said groggily. “We’d better fix something to eat for when we get to the top,” he said, proud of what he felt was admirable foresight.
“Already done,” Dad reassured, smiling. “I’ve been up an hour. Breakfast is on the table, and I’ve got a pack full of sandwiches. Are you going up there in your pajamas?”
“Be right with you,” Sam said, swinging out of bed and fumbling around with some clothes.
Thirty minutes later they were turning away from the highway and onto a dirt road that led to the mountain. The morning air was clear, still, and cool. Sam leaned back in the car seat, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. The air smelled mostly like dew and juniper, with the fragrance of sage intermingled. Higher up, where the road started switching back on an upward path, he knew the fresh smell of pine would dominate.
They poked ahead for another ten miles before Dad slowed up and pulled the car over where the road flared just before a wooden bridge crossed a hard-running stream. Light had been making steady gains on the darkness, and now sunshine was reaching the tops of the trees. Sam pulled back on the door handle and jumped out into the nippy, tingling air.
“There’s a trail that runs parallel to the stream. We’ll follow it for a couple of miles,” Dad said matter-of-factly. “There’s a little draw that washes down almost from the top of the mountain. We can follow it up almost to the summit. The last stretch is tough, but I think we can lick it.”
Dad was digging through the back seat for the pack with the food in it. He fished it out and hefted it onto his back, then stopped just short of letting it rest on his shoulders.
“You know, Sam, I think it might be time to let you carry the pack. You’re about as big as I am now.”
They started off on the trail, Dad in the lead, taking long, loping strides. Gradually the trail left the streamside, climbing higher into the thick pine forest. The harsh noise of the rumbling water was slowly replaced by the sounds of the wind stirring through the tree limbs and a host of mountainside birds clucking and calling. Soon the sunshine filtered to the trail and Sam was mildly surprised to find perspiration forming on his forehead. They pushed on for an hour, not saying much, but sharing the communication that seems to come naturally for fathers and sons in the outdoors.
They hiked on for 45 minutes. The pine forests were thinning into small meadows and patches of rock. Sam noticed they were now able to look down on the tops of the lower peaks nearby.
“This is where we leave the trail,” Dad said, stopping for a rest. “The streambed should lead us almost to the top. How about some water?”
Sam took the pack off and passed a plastic jug to his father. Far below, perhaps a half-mile, the stream thrashed and twisted down the canyon. Its gurgling could only be heard during the moments when the wind died down.
Dad handed the water jug back to Sam, who took a couple of long swallows before wiping the top off and placing it back in the pack. He looked at Sam. “How about you taking the lead? I’m getting sort of tired I guess.”
“Okay, Dad, but don’t expect me to slow down on your account,” Sam teased.
“Then let’s go, Mr. Young and Arrogant.”
Sam turned and faced Staley’s Butte. It wouldn’t be an easy climb, this last stretch. The slope was steep and there was plenty of loose rock. And the top of the butte resembled a king’s crown, with tall spires that seemed to dare anyone to climb them.
They made steady progress for the next hour, zigzagging along the rocks. But the small streambed they’d been trying to follow began to narrow and steepen, finally disappearing among the upper reaches of the mountain. It wasn’t long before both father and son were using hands and feet to help them work their way to the top. Sam found himself nearly out of breath as he searched for hand holds and solid footing. Dad was right behind, and Sam could hear him breathing hard. They rose, slowly, arduously, until the terrain flattened into a small mesa two dozen feet wide with a few good-sized stones sprinkled about.
“Ready for a rest?” Sam questioned, hoping that his father would say yes.
“I think so … that was quite a climb … that last little stretch,” his father panted. “There’s some good sittin’ rocks here. Let’s take five.”
Both of them were quiet for a few moments. The water jug was passed around again.
“By the look of things, we’re going to have to grow some wings if we want to make it to the top,” Dad said, studying the steep spires above. “You still game?”
“I think we can do it, Dad,” Sam said slowly. “If we stay to the left there seem to be places between the spires where we can get some good holds.”
“That’s our best bet, no doubt about it,” Dad agreed. “You know, my foot is kind of bothering me. Blisters. Why don’t you start up, and if you make it okay, then I’ll follow you in a few minutes. I think I’d better take care of my foot,” he added with a trace of playfulness in his voice.
Sam took the challenge. “See you at the top,” he said.
The last part of the climb was the most difficult. Sam carefully crept up an opening between two of the spires, ignoring a dozen scrapes and small cuts he received as he pulled himself up. After 20 minutes, he crawled over the last ledge. He stood up and gazed at the panorama around him, then called down to his father to let him know he’d reached the top of Staley’s Butte.

When I was baptized I wanted to have a strong testimony like other members of the Church. I fasted and prayed until I gained a small testimony, but I still felt a little sad. Then I read “A Growing Testimony” by President James E. Faust, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, in the January 2001 Liahona (Spanish). President Faust said that our testimonies will continue to grow, and I know this is true. My testimony is getting stronger every day. I’m grateful and happy to be a Latter-day Saint and to have a growing testimony.
Gilberto Cordero Castro,Coronado Branch, San José Costa Rica Toyopán Stake

Elder Carlos E. Asay, executive director of the Missionary Department and a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy, tells of a struggling branch in western Texas whose stake president asked Elder Asay, then mission president, to send a missionary couple. So Elder Melvin and Sister Annie Cook of Rigby, Idaho, “some of the finest Church members with long experience you’ll ever find,” were sent there. As a counselor in the branch presidency, Elder Cook trained the local priesthood leaders. And his wife did equally valuable work with the auxiliaries.
“They were wise,” says Elder Asay. “They knew that if they did too much for the branch members it would hurt them. And they knew they had to be the example. They molded together a fine, working branch.”

Family prayer and scripture study are also important preparation. Each morning when the parents wake up the children, they all gather on the parents’ bed. There they sing a hymn, kneel and pray, and take turns reading scriptures aloud before having breakfast and getting ready for school. They talk about the principles in the scriptures.
“It’s really a challenge to get everybody up so early,” says their mom. “But since we’ve been studying the scriptures every morning, the children are understanding them better. When we didn’t do it, we felt we were sending our children out to school unprotected. But now they are going out into the world more prepared. We hope that during the day they might think of something we read about.”