Gospel Story Finder

Born 30 November 1874 at Oxfordshire, England, young Winston was the son of Lord Randolph Churchill and Jennie Jerome, a beautiful American woman. He longed for attention from his parents, whom he dearly loved, but Lord and Lady Randolph were caught up in political and social responsibilities and spent little time with their son. Consequently his nurse, Mrs. Everest, whom he affectionately called “Woom,” was the one whom he grew to love as a mother.

During his early life, Woom was the only person who gave Winston any real love. When she visited him at Harrow, he walked hand-in-hand with her, despite the ridicule of his schoolmates. Years later, one of his classmates wrote that it was one of the greatest acts of courage and compassion that he had ever seen. Winston wrote and visited Woom often, and he kept a picture of her on his desk until he died.

In 1837, two years after being ordained an Apostle, Elder Heber C. Kimball was sitting in the Kirtland Temple when the Prophet Joseph Smith whispered to him that the Lord wanted him to go on a mission to England. He would be the first missionary sent outside North America.
“The idea of such a mission was almost more than I could bear up under. I was almost ready to sink under the burden which was placed upon me,” Elder Kimball said. But he accepted the call and went to England—even leaping from the boat upon his arrival in Liverpool. “The moment I understood the will of my heavenly Father, I felt a determination to go at all hazards, believing that He would support me by His almighty power, and endow me with every qualification that I needed” (see History of the Church, 2:489–90).
Elder Kimball’s mission opened the door to much success in England over the next several years, as thousands of people accepted the gospel and became a great strength to the Church.

Eegik Tuchiak felt the chill of the icy Alaskan wind through his parka as the snowmobile sped across the coastal plain. Even scrunching close behind his father in the seat ahead did not cut the cold very much.
Eegik was both happy and worried. This was the first time his father had taken him to count the musk-oxen. Other times he had been too young to be around the skittish animals. Am I old enough now if something happens? he wondered.
“Hold tight!” he heard his father, Ukak, call. “We will near the herd soon.”
The grind of the motor and the whistling wind were the only sounds to be heard along the Nunivak Island snow hills, polished hard by the constant wind. The crusty white surface gave a dusky light to the short winter days.
“There they are!” Father shouted.
Gradually the engine slowed and the snowmobile slid to a stop. “We will keep the motor running, son,” Ukak said, picking up his rifle. “It will freeze if we don’t.”
Eegik hopped off the machine and peered before him. Ahead, a small musk-ox herd was bunched up against a low sea cliff. Already they were forming their defensive line—heads out, backsides together in a rough circle. With heads lowered and rows of horns facing the danger, the animals scuffed the ground nervously. Long brown fur swayed in the wind.
“They look like fur rugs,” Eegik remarked.
“Yes,” his father answered, “and the giviut (wool) makes warm sweaters. But,” he added, “they are good fighters, too, when there is no way out. See the horns curling down from the tops of their heads like stiff wigs? We will get closer. The oomingmuk (bearded ones) hide their young behind them.”
Eegik felt a deep pride in his father, who had been schooled by the government. Now he was hired by the Alaska Department of Fish and Game to keep an eye on the growing musk-ox herd, one of the hardiest animals in the world. Today he had to check on the population of the herd and count them.
Slowly and quietly the two left the machine and crawled over the snow, watching the herd skitter at the movement. One bull lowered and shook his head, taking short stamping steps forward and backward. Sensing his restlessness, the other animals jostled together and tightened the ring. Eegik could see one small head push forward, a young one anxious to do battle if necessary.
“They run swiftly,” Ukak whispered. “We must not frighten them.”
The two inched forward, sliding over the ice several yards apart, until they were within fifty yards of the herd. The lead bull, confused and frightened, danced excitedly in his position.
Suddenly, the bull gave a snort and charged forward with the speed of a much lighter animal. Ukak leaped up—his rifle flying—and tried to dodge as the animal attacked. But the musk-ox was more sure on his feet and swerved to the side, throwing Eegik’s father to the ice.
Without thinking, Eegik shouted his surprise and fell on his stomach. At the outburst, the frightened musk-oxen broke their ring, skittered excitedly, and clattered off in a wild rush.
His heart pounding, Eegik scrambled to his feet and hurried to his father, who lay sprawled on the ice.
“Father!” he cried, pushing at his parka. “Father, are you all right?”
Ukak opened his eyes and tried to rise. A shudder went through him. “My wrist … ,” he said, painfully. “I think it’s broken. Are the oomingmuk gone?”
Eegik nodded. “Can you walk, Father?” he asked.
“We should make my arm straight,” Ukak said, gritting his teeth against the pain.
“But there are no sticks,” Eegik answered.
His thoughts racing, Eegik looked around, trying to find something straight and hard. But the barren arctic desert covered now by the ice held no useful object.
Then Eegik spotted the gun a few feet away. “The rifle, Father!” he cried. “We can use the rifle.”
“My son,” Ukak said, nodding, “it is a good idea.”
With his mittened hands, Eegik lifted the gun and emptied the chamber of bullets. Gently, he slid the barrel up his father’s sleeve to the elbow and wrapped the injured arm with the leather ties from his parka.
“There!” he finally said, leaning back to look at his handiwork. “That will help until we get home.”
Ukak smiled. “It is feeling better already,” he said.
With Eegik helping, the two made their way to the waiting snowmobile.
“You will have to drive,” Ukak said, holding the rifle butt with his good hand.
“I can,” the boy replied.
Eegik helped his father onto the seat, eased in front, and started off with the machine.
The journey back was slow, Eegik being careful to keep the ride as smooth as possible. Within an hour, they entered Mekoryuk and drove to their home.
At the sound of their approach, Eegik’s mother opened the door. “What’s wrong?” she asked when she saw that Eegik was in the driver’s seat.
“The oomingmuk did not like our visit,” Father answered, cradling his arm as he eased himself from the machine. “I might still be there, but for Eegik. I’m glad I took our son along.”
Eegik lifted his chin. He had wondered if he were old enough to help his father check on the skittish musk-oxen. Now he knew that he was.

One day a woman came to my business office. She leaned across the desk and said, “President, I have carried a transgression on my heart for thirty-four years that I cannot carry one more step in this life. I know how tender-hearted you are, and I wouldn’t add one particle of a burden to your soul.”
I said, “My dear sister, before you go on, let me share with you a principle of the gospel. When you take a burden off your soul, it is lifted from the priesthood leader’s soul also.”
She said, “I know I will be cast out; I know I will be excommunicated, but does it have to be forever? Thirty-four years ago, before my first husband and I were married, I was involved in an abortion. Since that time, I have felt like a murderess. It was my husband’s idea, and I did not resist. I had an abortion. Later we got married. He was unfaithful constantly during the first two years of our marriage. I finally divorced him and have since remarried a wonderful man who is a convert to the Church. He knows everything, and he still wants to be sealed to me. President, do you think that either in time or in eternity we can be sealed together? I know I will be cast out, but does it have to be forever?” The tears flowed down her cheeks.
I had known this woman and thought she was one of the most Christlike women I had ever met. She always baked bread, rolls, or cookies for the people in the neighborhood. Whenever they had a ward party and the Relief Society sisters cleaned up, she always scrubbed the floor. She said that she didn’t feel worthy to stand by them and do the dishes after what she had done; she only felt worthy to scrub the floor where they walked. She told me that she had never gossiped about anyone else. “How could I,” she said, “after what I had done?”
I listened to her confession, humbled to tears, and told her, “I have never had a case of abortion before. I will need to write to President Kimball, President of the Quorum of the Twelve, and get his counsel.”
I wrote to President Kimball and shared the entire story. I told him she was one of the most Christlike women I had known and that she was willing to submit to any decision he would have for her. Two weeks later I received his response. I called the sister and asked her to meet me at the stake office as soon as she could. When I arrived at the stake center, she was already there. Her eyes were red, and she was pale. I know she must have been on her knees several times after my call, asking for mercy.
Again I sat across the desk from her and said, “I do not want to keep you waiting one second longer. We are not even going to stop for prayer. Let me read you President Kimball’s letter.
“‘Dear President Featherstone: You inquired about a woman who had been involved in an abortion thirty-four years ago. From the way you describe her it sounds like she has long since repented. You may tell her on behalf of the Church she is forgiven.
“‘After a thorough and searching interview, you may issue this sweet sister a temple recommend so she can go to the temple and be sealed to her present husband.’”
If the Savior had been sitting where the woman sat, I would not have felt any closer to him. I believe that is exactly what he would have done. It was as though a two-thousand-pound burden had been lifted from the heart of this good woman. She wept great tears of relief and joy. To this day, I do not remember who the woman was.

When I was eight years old, my Primary teacher gave a lesson that confused me. She said that after we die, we will be able to remember all the things we did while on the earth.
After class when I was going to sacrament meeting, I saw a little girl who was sad. Her parents were not around, so I knew she was lost. I played with her for a minute, but sacrament meeting was starting and I knew I should go in. I started to go into the chapel, but then I remembered what my teacher said. Her lesson started to make sense. Heavenly Father and Jesus would know what I did. I knew that I should help that little girl.
I went back to get her. And soon her dad came back and found her. I’m grateful for Jesus’ example. And I’m grateful to my teacher for the lesson that helped me so much.

About a month ago four of the Young Adults gathered in Loughborough for a Young Adults conference, along with others from all over England. This group of four went to perform, as did the others, some unsolicited Christian service. Their intended activity, through no fault of their own, could not be performed, so they were left with some time on their hands. While walking along the street, they decided to stop at a pay telephone and call the local public hospital to see if they could be of help. A nurse in one of the wards answered the telephone and was asked by the one calling if four young people could come over to the hospital and scrub floors or walls, wash dishes, or do any other similar needed task without pay. Apparently this was an uncommon request, because the young man calling said, “After the nurse picked herself up from the floor, she said, ‘Are you kidding?’”

During a morning of helping to scrub and of visiting patients, these four Young Adults had an unforgettable experience. They seek, as Aristotle said, to be those “who have at heart the best interests of the state and of its citizens.”

Ada was cold. Sleepily she snuggled closer to Roy and wished that the wind wouldn’t whip through the canvas of the wagon.
“Where’s Papa?” her little brother mumbled.
“Mama said he’d come for us soon,” Ada answered, sliding her arms around his middle.
“Are we going to go down the hole, too,” Roy wanted to know, “like all the other wagons?”
Ada thought of the hole in the rock that Papa and the other men on the mission had worked on for six weeks. Papa said that going down the cliff to the river was the only way to the San Juan mission, and since Heavenly Father and the prophet wanted them to go, they would do it, even if it meant sliding 1,800 feet (550 m) down a steep road. “Papa said so,” she said.
“Ada? Roy?”
“Papa!” Ada ran and threw her arms around her papa’s neck. “Are we going down the hole?”
“Yes, we are, and by ourselves, too,” Papa said, letting them go and stepping back. Ada could hear him muttering as he moved around the wagon, hitching up the horses. “There I was helping them across the river and not one of them came back to help bring my wagon down!”
“I can help!” Roy called out from his bed.
“Just hang on,” Mama told him. She scrambled into the wagon with the baby.
Ada listened to the horses’ feet, sharp on the bare rock where the snow had blown clear or had been worn away by the other wagons.
“Easy, boy, easy.” The wagon lurched to a stop.
Ada heard the chains rattle. Papa was chaining the back wheels so that they could not roll. That would help keep the wagon from going too fast. Even so, a funny, scary tickle started in her belly. The road down the cliff was as steep as the roof of a house. Skinny, too. Part of it was only a place where holes had been drilled into the rock, wooden stakes pounded in, and brush and dirt piled on top. If it didn’t work, the wagon might slip off and tumble to the river that was only a silver thread at the bottom of the gorge.
None of the other 82 wagons had fallen, but each had been held back by as many as 10 men. Ada had seen them straining with all their might, grunting and panting white steam into the cold air.
“Come on, Ada,” Mama called. She gathered a pile of quilts and lifted the three children from the wagon bed. “I am going to help Papa get the wagon down.”
“All by yourself?”
Mama nodded.
Ada shivered. Out in the wind, the cold was worse. This was the rockiest, driest, coldest place Ada had ever seen. Since October, when they had left Cedar City, she had been dirty and thirsty. Now it was almost the end of January. She wondered if they would ever get to Montezuma, the new town.
Papa was looking down the hole-in-the-rock. He kept shaking his head. Ada couldn’t hear what he and Mama were talking about, but Mama had on her “stubborn look,” which meant that Mama would do whatever she decided was best.
Ada hugged her shawl tighter around her. Pretty soon Mama came back to where the children waited and spread the quilts right on the snow.
“Sit here, Roy,” she said. Roy sat, and Mama put the baby in his arms. Even if he was only three years old, Roy was good at holding Baby George. “Hold little brother till Papa comes for you. Now, Ada, sit by your brothers and say a little prayer.”
Ada wanted to be brave, but she felt like crying and hanging onto Mama’s skirts. But she was five, a big girl, and so she sat and let Mama tuck the quilt over her legs.
“Don’t move, dears,” Mama told them. “Don’t even stand up. As soon as we get the wagon down, Papa will come back for you!”
The scary tickle in Ada’s belly got worse. She tilted her head back and stared up at Papa, his face red from the cold and his blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “Will you come back, Papa?”
He nodded and turned his head aside. But she saw that he was crying. Papa crying! But he said that he’d come back, so Ada knew he would.
“Then I’m not afraid!” she said. “We’ll stay here with God till you and Mama get the wagon down.” Ada bowed her head. “Father in heaven, bless me and Roy and Baby George until our father comes back.”
When Ada looked up again, Papa was on the wagon seat. Mama stood behind the wagon with Old Ned, the spare horse, who was tied to the back of the wagon to help slow it down. She wrapped Ned’s reins round and round her hands.
“Giddap!” Papa clucked. The horses lunged forward, and the wagon lurched through the hole. Mama ran behind, dragging on the reins so hard that she was leaning backward. Then the wagon, Old Ned, and Mama dropped out of sight.
Faintly Ada heard rattling. Then it was so quiet that her ears buzzed, and when she swallowed, it sounded loud.
“Ada?” Roy whispered. “Where’d they go?”
“Down to the river, I guess.”
“Oh.”
A gust of wind swirled the powdery snow and whipped it across the children, stinging their faces. Roy stuck out his bottom lip and snuffed.
Ada thought hard. Mama had told them to stay still, but if Roy started crying, then Baby George might, too, and Ada didn’t know what to do. Yes, she did!
“It will be all right,” she said to Roy. “Papa said he would be back. And we said a prayer, didn’t we? Heavenly Father and Jesus know that we are in the snow, and They will keep us safe.”
They waited a long time. Ada wiggled her toes to keep them warm. Roy rubbed his red nose on his shoulder and sniffed. They waited some more.
Finally Ada couldn’t wait anymore. She didn’t stand up, but she tilted her head back and called, “Papa! Papa!”
From far away she heard Papa yelling, “Coming, Ada!”
“He’s coming! Listen!” She told Roy.
He nodded happily. “Papa!”
“Ada!” Papa’s voice was louder now. And then she saw his hat through the hole-in-the-rock, and then his face, and then all of him striding through the snow to where they waited.
“God stayed with us,” Ada told him when he knelt on one knee next to them.
Roy piped up. “The baby’s gone to sleep, and my arm feels like it’s ‘most broke.”
Papa smiled a little, then scooped up Baby George in one arm and Roy in his other.
“Come on, Ada,” he said. “Hang on to my pockets while we walk down.”
Ada stood and hooked her hands in Papa’s back pockets. She had to take long steps to keep up, but it was fun bouncing along behind him. “Where’s Mama?”
“Down with the wagon. Old Ned fell, and so did Mama. The wagon dragged them part of the way down, but I think they will both be all right.” He stopped to adjust the boys in his arms. Ada peered around him at the slanted, rocky path. She shivered and closed her eyes.
The first part, they sat down and slid. Then they walked as close to the wall of the canyon as they could. It made Ada dizzy to look down, so she concentrated on Papa’s back. Where the road was filled in, the ground felt spongy. Papa said that the horses didn’t like walking on it, either. The very end of the road was sandy. Ada’s feet slid and sank in. At last the ground evened out.
“We made it,” Papa told her. “My wife and children are the bravest pioneers in the Church.”
Letting go of Papa’s pockets, she turned and looked back up to the hole-in-the-rock at the edge of the sky. How had they gotten down safely? Ada knew. “God helped us.”

In January of 1997, my family and I were living in Luxembourg where I was working as an auditor for Deloitte & Touche.
January is the front end of what auditors refer to as “busy-season.” In our family, Teresa and I would start busy season by pulling out our calendar and planning a really fun vacation for the end of busy-season. Then we would take a deep breath, plunge in, and hang on until the end of March when we would come up for air and escape to that that long-awaited vacation.
As usual, this busy season was busy. Except for Mondays for family night and Saturdays and Sundays, I would rarely see my kids awake because I would leave for work before they got up and return after they had gone to bed. One night, I got home particularly late, feeling a bit more stress than usual, so I greeted Teresa, who was finalizing a sewing project, and then chose to de-stress myself by sitting down and reading the Church News. The messages were great, and as the minutes passed, I felt myself begin to relax. As I reached the back of the issue, the following position announcement jumped off the page at me: “ BYU–HAWAII Assistant or associate professor of accounting.”
I immediately called over to Teresa and said, “Hey, what do you think about this, an Accounting Professor Position at BYU–Hawaii.” To Teresa’s credit and my eternal gratitude, her resounding reply was “I’m there!” I then fired an email off to Bruce Kimzey, and after a couple setbacks, we were at BYU–Hawaii interviewing for the position, and a few months after that, we were packing up our three little children and all of our worldly belongings for a 24-hour flight to Hawaii. I have never regretted what seemed to be a very spur-of-the-moment, life-altering, career-altering decision to effectively say, “Count me in!” to teaching at BYU–Hawaii, a decision that has changed my life and that of my wife and my children for the better.
I often think about that night and how clear it seemed to me and to Teresa that this would be the right thing to do. Naturally, some people would say, “Well of course Hawaii sounded good. You were working long-stressful hours, it was below freezing outside, you weren’t seeing your kids very much, etc. etc. Of course Hawaii sounded good.” However, our motivation felt deeper than that. We felt a spiritual confirmation that at this point in time, the Lord needed us somewhere else and through various means was asking if we wanted to be counted in. Soon after we arrived in Hawaii and after the excitement of moving here had settled down, we realized that saying “Count me in” is easier than sacrificing and working to “be counted in,” but both are necessary. To Teresa’s credit, what really made our move here work out so well was that she was willing to follow-up her words with the necessary sacrifices and required work to be counted in.

A boy named Stan related the following experience to me. One summer afternoon his younger brother was involved in an accident that left him paralyzed from the waist down. Immediately after the accident, friends of both boys, as well as ward members, were very supportive and attentive. Within a few weeks, however, the visits and offers to help became fewer and fewer. Before long Stan, his brother, and other members of the family felt isolated because of the tragedy. A few short weeks were simply not enough time for them to come to terms with the new and difficult realities that confronted them individually and as a family. Continued support from caring friends would have been truly appreciated.

Oliver could smell Granny’s brownies baking in the oven, and there was a reverent feeling in Granny and Grandad’s house. Oliver had been looking forward to this special family home evening all day.
“Our lesson is about the plan of happiness that Heavenly Father made for all of us,” Grandad said. “Tonight the kitchen is going to represent heaven, where we lived with Heavenly Father before we came to live on earth,” he said.
“Was I there, Grandad?” asked Archie. Oliver looked around the room at Granny and Grandad, Mum and Dad, and his younger brothers, Archie and Ethan.
“Yes,” Grandad said. “We were all there. And when Heavenly Father told us about His plan to create a world and to send a Savior for us, we were so happy that we shouted for joy.”
Archie and Ethan laughed and jumped up and down.
“Who was the first person in our family to leave heaven and come to earth?” Grandad asked.
“You were,” Oliver said.
Grandad left the kitchen. Next Granny left. Then one by one each member of Oliver’s family joined them in the bedroom.
“This room is going to represent the earth,” Granny said. “What are some of the things we can do here to help us return to Heavenly Father?” she asked.
“Be baptized,” Oliver said.
“Go to the temple,” Mum said.
“Choose the right,” Archie said.
Granny nodded and smiled. Then she said it was time to leave the earth and return back to Heavenly Father.
“I’ll go first,” Grandad said.
“Oh, Grandad, don’t leave!” Ethan said.
“Don’t worry,” Grandad said. “Leaving the earth is part of Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness. Soon we’ll be back together again.”
One by one, everyone went back into the kitchen. “We’re all back in heaven!” Dad said as Archie and Ethan ran into his arms.
Oliver felt as glad to see his family as if he had been away from them for a long time. He ran over to hug his brothers and Mum and Dad. Now he understood why Grandad had called it Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness.

To start the project, each young woman collected five generations of ancestors’ names. The group began by visiting a local family history center, where they learned how to do family history research online. Monica B., 14, especially enjoys researching names on new.familysearch.org and submitting her ancestors’ names for temple work. She says, “It was a neat experience to take family names—that I found myself—to the temple to do baptisms. I feel a stronger connection to my ancestors now and love seeing their names on the tree displayed in our home.”

When I was 18, I asked my father to help me pay for my mission. At first he said, “No way. It’s too much money.” But a couple of days later, he asked me, “Do you really want to go on a mission?” And I said, “Yes. With all my heart.” My father said he would help me.
I didn’t understand why my father would pay such a great price for me. Then I realized it was because he loved me. It made me think of Jesus Christ’s sacrifice for us. He paid the highest price because He loves us.

by David Forbes
Taking advantage of one of the hottest summers on record, about 30 young men of the Dundee Scotland Stake set up camp in an isolated region of Angus County.
Camp leader Paul Roy organized a variety of activities for each day, but the highlight of the week-long camp was a 10-hour pony trek in one of the country’s most beautiful areas. They rode into the blazing sun and crossed three heather-covered glens before taking a refreshing dip in a cool mountain stream during their lunch break.
By the end of the day, regardless of any sore muscles, the boys jumped at the chance to play a game of American-style football.
“The amount of energy these boys have is amazing. I thought after a long day on the ponies they would be exhausted. But not these boys,” said Brother Roy, a member of the stake Young Men presidency.

Jesus Christ was kind to everyone He met. He is a great example of kindness to me. One day when I was in first grade, I was the leader of the day in my class. Part of being a leader of the day was choosing someone to help me carry the lunch basket filled with lunch boxes to the cafeteria. I stood in front of the class and looked out at my classmates, trying to decide who to choose. All of my good friends were raising their hands, and at first I wanted to choose one of them. But then I noticed a boy standing in the back of the room. He didn’t have many friends, and sometimes people were not very nice to him. He never got chosen for anything. Something inside my heart told me to pick him. When I picked him to be my helper, everyone else acted surprised, but he got a big smile on his face. After lunch my teacher pulled me aside and whispered in my ear, “Thank you for picking him. That was a very kind thing to do.” All day I felt really good inside.

Spiritual needs may not be as obvious as physical needs, but they are just as urgent. Pornography and antireligious ideas are spiritual plagues that afflict many, including the young. Often parents and others feel powerless to stop the erosion of moral values in modern society. But Sister Gerda Jensen of Aalborg, Denmark, knows that a single positive voice can be very influential.
In Aalborg recently a proposed school textbook came up for approval that dealt with homosexuality in an explicit and approving way. Fortunately, Sister Jensen was a member of the parents’ council in that school, the body that votes on new textbooks. Sister Jensen was able to speak convincingly against the book.
“I mobilized all my strength and prayed to be able to speak well,” recalls Sister Jensen. The school’s principal and teachers all spoke in favor of using the book. But after Sister Jensen spoke, the parents unanimously joined their voices with hers to reject it.
Sister Jensen’s influence had not always been so persuasive on the council. During the first council meeting she attended after she was elected, another member stood and emphatically announced that “the school would not tolerate anyone who tried to pass out religious tracts at school.”
But Sister Jensen’s positive values slowly gained the respect of many in the group. She was given responsibility for publishing the school magazine and leading the school recreation group. She also spoke at the school’s graduation. “I exclusively used stories and ideas from Church manuals and talks,” she remembers. “Afterward, I was praised by teachers I hardly knew.” She was asked to speak the next three years in a row.
Naturally, not every battle was won. Some textbooks that Sister Jensen felt were inappropriate were approved. But by raising her voice to support positive values, she has helped create a better environment for the schoolchildren of Aalborg.

First, here’s Curt. Today he is 25, but he has no difficulty recalling his 16th summer. “I was 2 meters tall, and I loved to play ball, especially basketball. I played on our high school team and even had dreams of playing professional basketball in New York.”

Curt grew up in Shelley, Idaho, where he could always find work on the neighboring farms. “I enjoyed working. I saved everything I earned as a boy, trying to get my missionary and college funds together.” Curt had saved six thousand dollars.

Curt’s accident happened one day during a break in his job.
“You know, sometimes young kids try crazy things. I looked at an electrical pole and thought, ‘That looks like something challenging to climb.’ So I did.” Witnesses told him that three electrical shocks held him in midair before he fell 7.6 meters and landed in mud. “The doctor said the impact of falling that far started my heart again, so now I’m alive. I lay there in the mud and thought, ‘I’ll never play ball again.’”

Curt spent six painful months in the hospital. He recalls that his family and friends helped greatly during that time. His close friends visited him regularly. His father kindly insisted he learn to be independent. The town held fund-raising campaigns to help pay medical expenses. When he returned to school, his classmates encouraged him and helped him see the brighter side of life. Curt graduated with his class.

Curt’s testimony helped him, too. He says, “I’m grateful to be a Mormon. I know this life is just a small speck in eternity. Someday I’ll have my legs and run again.”

After graduation my summer job stole me from my new-found group of friends. I was employed at a gas station, where I was nearly starved by my co-workers’ lack of concern. I was depressed, unhappy, and alone.
One afternoon in July, Nese and a friend drove up to the station. Just seeing them boosted my morale. They were planning to sing in the Oakland Temple Pageant and invited me to attend.
I’ll always remember that special evening. It was the first time I heard the story of Joseph Smith and learned the history of the Latter-day Saints I had grown to admire. At the end of the pageant, the audience rose and sang “The Spirit of God Like a Fire is Burning.” How I wanted to know the words of the song so I could join the chorus! I felt completely full of respect and love.
The crowd left slowly. Standing in the parking lot, I looked up at the temple. A voice in the back of my mind told me that some day I would enter that building.
Eighteen months later, my impression that I would one day enter the Oakland Temple came true, as I received my endowments one week before leaving on a mission.

One morning during a windy snowstorm, we were riding in the car. Two sister missionaries were walking in the storm, and we offered them a ride. One was from Samoa. We asked them if they needed anything. The other missionary said her companion’s gloves weren’t warm enough. We had an extra pair of gloves in the car, and they fit the sister from Samoa. It warmed our hearts that we were able to do something for the missionaries who are serving the Lord.
Garrison and Kempton M., ages 10 and 8, Idaho

At first, I didn’t really understand what my dad was doing those mornings when he prayed for me. But as I got older, I came to sense his love and interest in me and everything I was doing. It is one of my favorite memories. It wasn’t until years later, after I was married, had children of my own, and would go into their rooms while they were asleep and pray for them that I understood completely how my father felt about me.

Some goals stretch you more than others. And then there are other goals that hardly seem possible at first glance.
The youth planning committee from a stake in Texas, USA, knew they were shooting for the moon on this one.
“We weren’t really sure how we were going to do it,” says Kyle O., 17, one of the young men on the planning committee for their stake’s annual stake youth conference. Even the adult leaders let out a bit of a gasp after the youth proposed their plans.
So, what was the goal? Simply this: to send out 200 youth in pairs to bear their testimony about a gospel message with 100 different nonmember or less-active families. In the families’ own homes. During a single hour.
No point in setting goals that are boring, right?
The annual two-day conference is something the youth in this stake look forward to all year. It takes a ton of planning, praying, and courage to try things that have never been done before.
Each conference starts with the youth planning committee. “We really wanted the youth to have a positive experience in sharing the gospel,” says McKenna F., 17, one of the young women on the committee.
Specifically, they hoped to provide a positive experience for those young men and young women who didn’t think they had the confidence to share the gospel with others. “We wanted to give them a taste that it really is doable,” McKenna explains.
One thing the youth committee didn’t want was 100 doors slammed in their faces. They didn’t want to spend the hour trying to find families to visit.
So they had the adults throughout the stake ask friends and neighbors if they would allow the youth to come share a testimony about Christ. In the end, 115 families accepted the invitation.
As part of preparation, full-time missionaries and other leaders provided tips and advice to the youth during the conference so that when they talked to others, they could say what was in their hearts. Many of the youth were still nervous, but they headed out anyway.
The next hour would prove to be the favorite of the entire two-day conference, hands down.
Luke E., 17, and his younger companion approached the home of their assigned family to visit. A small cross hung on the front door. “With that cross on the door, I knew they were probably a pretty faithful family,” Luke says.
Inside the home they had a great spiritual discussion with the family. Luke and his companion shared their testimony and thoughts based on Christ’s words in the Bible, “If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15).
As the conversation unfolded, the couple asked a question that Luke and his younger companion hadn’t expected.
“What is the Book of Mormon?” they asked.
The adult leaders in the room remained silent in order to allow the youth to answer.
“I took this one,” Luke says. In a few minutes he explained the meaning of the title and subtitle (“Another Testament of Jesus Christ”) of the Book of Mormon, as well as a basic overview of the contents inside. He shared with them how Jesus visited and taught other nations after His Resurrection. Luke also bore testimony of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and left them a copy.
When Luke finished answering the question, the couple was touched. They thanked everyone for coming and said, “We are grateful for young people in the world who believe something so passionately.”
For Luke, the experience was a huge boost in confidence for sharing the gospel.
“Sometimes in high school you clam up and stay quiet about spiritual things, and then you lose your confidence,” Luke says. “That day was very strengthening for me as a young man preparing to serve a mission.”
Tristan S., 17, served on the planning committee and was excited about the whole conference. But even with all that energy, he still felt a little unsure about the actual teaching experience.
“I was nervous,” Tristan says. For one thing, part of the goal with each visit was to stay and talk for at least 15 minutes. In other words, no showing up, sharing a scripture or two, and leaving within a few minutes. Sometimes 15 minutes can feel pretty long.
Tristan went with a younger companion to the home of a single man in his 30s. “We shared scriptures from Matthew about how Jesus Christ brings peace in our life,” Tristan says.
The man they were visiting added to the conversation right away as he shared his own insights and experiences. They sailed right past the 15-minute mark without noticing. By the time they reached 45 minutes, the man told them, “There’s something different about you guys.”
Tristan and his companion gave the man a card directing him to mormon.org, which he accepted gladly.
“It was an amazing experience,” Tristan says. “It’s something I’ll never forget.”
Lindsey J., 17, and her companion for the day visited a woman who’s been investigating the Church for three years. Her husband was not investigating.
The conversation with the wife was going well when, after a few minutes, her husband decided to enter the room and join in. “They were a very talkative family,” Lindsey says.
As they continued to visit, Lindsey felt a strong prompting. “Usually I’m not the kind of person to ask somebody something so direct,” she explains, “but I felt like I should ask the husband if he would be interested in going to church.”
So she did.
To Lindsey’s surprise, the husband answered that, yes, he’d like to attend even though he wouldn’t make any promises. Two Sundays later, both husband and wife came to church together. They’ve been attending ever since.
Lindsey has most enjoyed getting to know the couple better and better. “I say ‘Hi’ to them all the time,” she says. They’ve become close friends. Lindsey even brought flowers on Mother’s Day because the woman doesn’t have children of her own.
Ever since the youth conference, Lindsey has chatted with many other youth about their experiences. With each conversation, it became clearer just how much everybody enjoyed sharing testimonies about the Savior.
“A lot of the youth said that this was the best weekend of their lives,” Lindsey explains.
That one short hour of teaching was just the beginning. Some families began meeting with full-time missionaries afterward. Others attended a Church meeting for the first time, prayed, or started reading scriptures.
As for the youth who participated, they’ll never forget the experience. They also gained confidence in sharing their beliefs with others. “A lot of youth were really nervous about this,” says Kyle O. “But going out to share increased their confidence. They realized it really wasn’t that hard to open your mouth and share the gospel, to share the love of Christ.”
It just goes to show that you don’t have to be afraid to shoot for the moon when it comes to setting goals.
You might just get there.