Gospel Story Finder

After our first date, we both knew we wanted to go on a second date. Ben wanted to go on another date because Rachel was friendly and fun to talk to. Rachel wanted to go on another date because Ben was a gentleman and was still smiling after all of his well-laid plans fell through. After the second date, plus many more dates and prayers after that, we fell in love and decided to get married in the Sacramento California Temple.
The wedding day was absolutely perfect, and we have loved being married ever since. The world may see marriage differently, but we know that “no other relationship of any kind can bring as much joy, generate as much good, or produce as much personal refinement.”1Marriage is awesome, and here’s why.

Their first stop in India was Edwin’s brother’s house. Edwin’s parents and siblings were there too. Right away, Edwin and Elsie started teaching them. Their family was happy to learn about the gospel.
A few weeks later, Edwin and his family gathered around the swimming pool in his brother’s yard. The pool had been cleaned, painted, and filled with fresh water. Everyone was wearing white. The women wore flowing saris that draped over their shoulders. The men wore loose Indian-style jackets and trousers.
Edwin stood in the pool with his father. “Samuel David,” Edwin said, “having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”
Edwin felt happy as he baptized his father. He felt even happier when he baptized his mom next. By the end of the day, Edwin had baptized 18 people!
The next day, Edwin and Elsie rode a train for six hours. They visited more family members and taught them about the gospel. Edwin baptized four more of his relatives in a nearby river.
When Edwin and Elsie finished their mission, there were enough new members to start one of the first branches of the Church in India! Edwin and Elsie were happy when they returned to Samoa. They were grateful Heavenly Father had sent them on a mission!

“I’ve wanted to fly airplanes for as long as I can remember,” 17-year-old Lamar F. says. When a friend from his wheelchair racing days told him about a British charity that helps people with disabilities learn to fly, Lamar was eager to try.
He signed up for two of the charity’s programs. One of them, the Junior Aspiring Pilots Program (JAPP), was created especially for youth between the ages of 12 and 18. These programs and other solo lessons are all propelling him one step closer to his big goal—getting his Private Pilot License.
Part of his inspiration comes from his family. Lamar’s foster dad was the first person to get him hooked on flight, taking him to airshows every year. Later, after he was adopted by another family at age four, Lamar’s interest in aviation continued to thrive as he watched his adoptive father pursue a pilot’s license. “He’s my inspiration for wanting to be a pilot,” Lamar says. Now Lamar’s dad can ride with him in the single-propeller, five-seater airplanes Lamar is learning to fly.
Lamar’s parents (pictured here on either side of him) are some of his biggest supports.
On Lamar’s first flight in a real aircraft, he was feeling nervous about remembering everything. “I said a quick, silent prayer before I went up, and I was fine,” he says. Now when he struggles to remember something in the air, those small, silent prayers help him do what he needs to do. Even when his dad isn’t in the back seat, Lamar knows he always has his Father in Heaven with him.
Flying isn’t the only thing that keeps Lamar’s spirits soaring. “I’ve always been a big fan of the British military, everything from a royal coronation to a funeral,” he says.
“Because of my disabilities, I can’t join the military myself,” Lamar says. But one of his former Young Men leaders who used to be a soldier has encouraged Lamar. “He’s always reminded me that I don’t have to be in a worldly military because I’m already in the Lord’s army,” Lamar says. “Being in the Lord’s army makes me feel that no matter what life throws at me, no matter what anyone does to me, I have Jesus Christ on my side.”
Brother Bayliss, Lamar’s Young Men leader, inspired him to join “The Lord’s Army.”
At the special-needs college he attends, Lamar tries to help other people his age join the Lord’s army as he shares the gospel with them. “A lot of the time, I get ignored,” he says, “but some of the time, I get interest. Because of some of my needs at the moment, serving a full-time mission soon is not an option. But I see it like this: I don’t need a name tag to be a missionary.”
With so few youth in his ward, most of Lamar’s friends aren’t members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. That isn’t always easy at school, especially when there are, as Lamar puts it, “absolute loads” of temptations. “There’re lots of students talking about inappropriate stuff and listening to inappropriate music. Basically, whenever something like that happens, I just leave and go to a room where that isn’t going on.”’
When temptations come or others aren’t interested in hearing about the gospel, Lamar holds his favorite scripture high: “But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord” (Joshua 24:15).
“This scripture has helped me stay strong in the faith of Jesus Christ,” he says. This is especially important to Lamar in his own family. When Lamar was 10, his father stopped coming to church. “I was younger then, so I didn’t fully understand,” he says. “I tried to convince him to come back. But I’ve learned it’s not about that. You give them time.”
Lamar still has a close relationship with his dad and shows him love in everyday ways, like telling him what happened at church or spending time with him. “He’s always taught me that no matter what you go through, you’ve got to stay strong.” To any youth with family members who aren’t active in the Church, he adds, “Stay strong. Hold on to your faith. Don’t give up, no matter what.”
Lamar has also found courage in Christ in other personal ways. “I suffer with quite bad anxiety sometimes,” Lamar says. “I guess the ultimate person to give me courage to carry on is Jesus Christ Himself. He went through so much, yet He carried on with His mission.”
When Lamar is having a particularly bad day, he often imagines the Savior encouraging him, saying, “You can do this. You can get through anything.”
He also draws strength from his mom and dad, his friends, and other people who are close to him. “There was a time where I kind of got led down the wrong path,” Lamar says. But thanks to a good support system, he was able to adjust his course and strengthen his testimony of Christ.
“I’m still developing my testimony,” he says, “but it’s wonderful to be part of the Lord’s army and in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It’s something that I love.”
His journey may have ups and downs, but Lamar knows what keeps him flying high. “No matter what trials or problems you go through, Heavenly Father will be by your side because He cares about you and loves you.”

Apples to Oregon: Being the (Slightly) True Narrative of How a Brave Pioneer Father Brought Apples, Peaches, Pears, Plums, Grapes, and Cherries (and Children) Across the Plains, by Deborah Hopkinson, illustrated by Nancy Carpenter. This is the silly tall tale, based on truth, of how young Delicious and her family faced rivers, storms, drought in the desert, and other obstacles on their way across the plains to the West. The colorful oil painting illustrations give even more life to this exciting tale.

I am familiar with a ward that struggled with an ineffective ward council. It was difficult for the bishop to embrace the direction found in Handbook 2 because he was comfortable in his ways and liked his old patterns. After much counseling and training by a loving stake president, however, the bishop softened his heart, repented, and began in earnest to organize the ward council as instructed. He watched training videos available at LDS.org, he read sections 4 and 5 of Handbook 2, and he acted upon what he learned.
Members of the ward council quickly embraced the changes, and a spirit of love and unity settled on them as they focused on strengthening individuals and families. In every meeting, they spoke at length about investigators, new converts, less-active members, and members with needs. Their hearts began to be drawn out to these brothers and sisters, and miracles began to happen.
The bishop reported that almost immediately after these changes were made to the ward council, previously unknown less-active members began to attend church. These members said they suddenly felt moved upon to return to the Church. They said they had received a clear and compelling impression that they needed to once again associate with the Saints. They knew they would be loved and that they needed the support members would offer.
The bishop shared with me that he is certain Heavenly Father was just waiting for him to follow the counsel he had received and organize the ward council as instructed before He could put the desire into the hearts and minds of these less-active members to return to activity in the Church. The bishop realized that he needed to create the loving, nurturing environment these members needed before the Spirit would lead them back. His words remind me of the experience of Peter the fisherman:
“And [Jesus] entered into one of the ships, which was Simon’s, and prayed him that he would thrust out a little from the land. And he sat down, and taught the people out of the ship.
“Now when he had left speaking, he said unto Simon, Launch out into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught.
“And Simon answering said unto him, Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net.
“And when they had this done, they inclosed a great multitude of fishes” (Luke 5:3–6).
As we listen to and follow the counsel given us by modern-day prophets, seers, and revelators—true “fishers of men”—and as we inspect and mend our nets while serving, our capacity to hasten the work of salvation will be greatly increased and we will become instruments in Heavenly Father’s hands to gather His children.

Alison knew it was going to be a bad day. The world outside was gray and drizzly. Mommy told her she had to clean her room. And—worst of all—there was a big bowl of cold oatmeal on the table that she still had to eat.
“I wish it was tomorrow already,” she mumbled.
Mommy looked up from the computer where she was working. “Oh, things aren’t that bad, are they?”
Alison nodded without saying anything more.
“Well, then,” Mommy said, “why don’t we play the Thank-You Game. Find a reason to be grateful for everything you can. No complaining is allowed. If you can do it the whole day, I’ll give you a surprise.”
“That’s a funny game,” said Alison.
“I’ll help you begin. Why are you grateful for oatmeal?”
Alison thought a moment. “I guess it’s better than a bowl full of bugs to eat.”
“Well, that’s a start,” Mommy chuckled.
Alison gobbled down her oatmeal, to get it over with. “I’m grateful I have orange juice to help wash the oatmeal down,” she said.
Then she went to her room. It was a mess! How can I be grateful for a messy room? she wondered. “I know—I’m grateful I have all these toys to play with.” She hummed as she put them all away.
The drizzle outside turned into a freezing rain that tap-tap-tapped against the window. Alison pressed her nose against the frosty glass.
I’m grateful the rain comes so that the flowers don’t get thirsty, she thought.
When her room was tidy, she got out her play dough. She made funny shapes with it and squished it through her fingers. “I’m grateful for things that feel good in my hands,” she giggled.
Alison was having a busy day. Soon her eyelids began to grow heavy.
“I think it’s nap time,” Mommy said.
Alison was going to complain, but she remembered that it wasn’t allowed. She climbed onto her bed and reached for her stuffed rabbit. “I’m grateful I have Charlie to snuggle with,” she told Mommy.
The Thank-You Game got easier and easier. It wasn’t turning out to be such a bad day, after all!
That night Mommy looked pleased. “You played the game really well, Alison,” she said, “Here’s your surprise,” She gave Alison a strip of bubble-gum-scented stickers along with her usual hug and kiss.
Alison smiled. “It turned out to be a really nice day,” she said. “I’m grateful for bubble-gum stickers and hugs and kisses and you!”

The program is intended to be individual-, quorum-, and family-oriented. This means that many of the requirements for each of the deacon, teacher, and priest awards may be accomplished at home—and signed off by a young man’s parents. Thus, the first place a young man and his parents should become acquainted with the program and the guidebook is in the home. Let’s see just how this might happen.
My friend Dan is 11 years old, and soon he will be ordained a deacon. Shortly before he becomes a deacon, Dan will receive a visit from the deacons quorum presidency in his ward and either a member of the bishopric or his deacons quorum adviser to welcome him into the quorum. They will explain to Dan and his parents all the wonderful things that Dan will be able to do when he receives the Aaronic Priesthood and is ordained a deacon, such as passing the sacrament, collecting fast offerings, being involved in service projects, and attending priesthood meeting and Mutual.
They will probably also share with Dan the wonderful blessing it is to bear the Aaronic Priesthood, which was restored by John the Baptist when he appeared to Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery on the banks of the Susquehanna River and said, “Upon you my fellow servants, in the name of Messiah I confer the Priesthood of Aaron, which holds the keys of the ministering of angels, and of the gospel of repentance, and of baptism by immersion for the remission of sins” (D&C 13:1).
They will bring Dan his own copy of the deacon’s Aaronic Priesthood: Fulfilling Our Duty to God (item no. 36412) guidebook. They will explain to Dan what the program is and what it is to accomplish. They might have Dan read the promise of the First Presidency to each deacon who works on and achieves the Duty to God Award:
“The Lord believes in you and has an important mission for you to do. He will help you as you turn to Him in prayer. Listen for the promptings of the Spirit. Obey the commandments. Make and keep covenants that will prepare you for the temple. Work with your parents and leaders as you set goals and strive to achieve them. You will feel a great sense of accomplishment as you fulfill your duty and prepare for the exciting challenges of the future.”1
Since many of the requirements can and should be fulfilled in the home, the quorum adviser will suggest that Dan’s father and mother become familiar with the requirements. Dan’s parents may receive a Guidebook for Parents and Leaders of Youth (item no. 36415), which explains their role in helping Dan. A number of the requirements (especially those in the “Family Activities” and “Spiritual Development” sections) are appropriate for family home evenings or for Sunday and will help Dan keep the Sabbath day holy.
His parents will want to know, for example, that one requirement is for Dan to give four family home evening lessons during his time as a deacon. They can arrange for him to learn how to prepare and give those lessons. They will also want to know that Dan (and possibly the entire family) will review and rememorize the Articles of Faith. Dan also needs to prepare at least two meals for his family, fill out a four-generation pedigree chart, complete a service project, develop the habit of reading the scriptures daily, and read the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet (item no. 36550) and discuss it with his parents or priesthood leader.
As Dan’s parents learn about the program, they will know how they can help and support him in accomplishing its requirements. What a great thing it would be for Dan’s father to review Dan’s progress toward his deacon certificate in father’s interviews with his son. During these interviews it might be helpful for Dan’s father to ask: How are these goals helping prepare you for your mission? How do they help prepare you for the temple? Tell me how your testimony has grown as you have read the Book of Mormon. How do you think your efforts in accomplishing your Duty to God goals are helping strengthen our family and helping you be a better son? How are your efforts preparing you to be a husband and father? (In families without a father in the home, this is a wonderful time for a mother to talk with her son about his goals and dreams and to discuss these same questions.)
Dan’s quorum president may also mention to him that some of the requirements are quorum based and that quorum activities will be planned to help Dan fulfill these requirements. The president may also review Dan’s progress with him periodically and may check with Dan’s parents now and then to see how the quorum can help. The quorum presidencies and advisers will also plan Mutual activities to help him complete the goals leading to his Duty to God Award. The bishopric can also use their regularly scheduled interviews to review Dan’s progress. They might even have an adult in the ward or branch, possibly the secretary to the Young Men presidency, help track each young man’s progress in the program.
When Dan has accomplished all the requirements for the deacon certificate, he will have an interview with the bishop to review his progress and sign the “Completion of Duty to God” page at the end of his deacon’s booklet. Dan can then receive his deacon Duty to God certificate.
Shortly before Dan becomes a teacher and then again when he is ready to become a priest, he may receive a similar visit from his quorum leaders to receive his teacher (and then priest) Duty to God guidebook. When he has received his deacon, teacher, and priest certificates, he is eligible to receive his Duty to God medallion. And though that, in itself, is a wonderful accomplishment, the most important result of Dan’s efforts will be the personal growth he has experienced in earning the award—personal growth that will help him be better prepared to receive the ordinances of the temple, to serve a full-time mission, and to be a faithful husband and father.

One service that needs to be performed repeatedly in Alaska is snow shoveling. “We do drive-by shoveling,” says Mike Killary. “We each grab a shovel and pile into a van.” Then they pick someone in the ward or neighborhood who hasn’t been shoveled out from the latest storm. They quietly sneak out of the van, shovel like crazy, and try to make their getaway before they are discovered. In the meantime, if they throw a little snow at each other, all the better.

Hang in there. How many times had I heard that as I was growing up? My mind carried me back to my senior year in high school.
I was the Laurel class president and my mom was president of the Young Women. Each week I made what seemed like endless rounds to pick up all the less-active girls in my class to get them out to Young Women classes, basketball practices, activities, or whatever else came up. I didn’t enjoy it. “I’m not doing it anymore,” I told my mom after a particularly frustrating day and then proceeded to explain to her the heavy burden I carried as class president.
She smiled and listened patiently. “Well, Lori,” she said when I had finished, “it’s not forever. Just do your best and hang in there.”
So I tried. It wasn’t always easy and I didn’t always smile as I went, but I hung in there. And, surprisingly, as I looked back it wasn’t the hard times I remembered. What I do remember were basketball games that we almost won together, slumber parties where we stayed up talking and laughing most of the night, and Young Women classes when everyone was there for a lesson.

She thought back to the first time she had seen them—two young men, “boys” to her, who were about the same age as some of her grandsons. She had been trimming the hedge when she saw them come out of the alley and turn toward her, two well-groomed young men in suits. The sight made her lift her eyebrows in mild surprise and curiosity. It seemed different to see decent kids again, she had thought, picturing her own grandsons who had that awful long hair and were doing things that kids just shouldn’t do. “But,” she said, addressing the hedge, “they are still the best grandkids around.”

She wondered what these two young men did in their suits and on bikes at 9:45 in the morning. She wasn’t left to wonder too long. When they got to where she was working, they stopped. One called out, “Howdy, ma’am.” She stopped snipping and tilted her head way back so as to get a better view of them through her glasses, which always dangled precariously on the tip of her nose.

“Good morning,” she replied.

“Ma’am, my name is Elder Blackburn and this is my companion Elder Lyon.

“We are representatives of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, more commonly known as the Mormon church.” (With the mentioning of the word Mormon, her mind reeled with the many things she had heard. Pictures of wild-eyed religious fanatics with long, flowing beards and thousands of wives raced through her head.)

“Have you ever heard of the Mormon church?” the one called Lyon asked.

“Wha-what was that?” she stammered, as her thoughts popped like an over-occupied toy balloon.

“Have you ever heard of the Mormon church?”

“Well,” she began slowly, trying to think of a way to get out of the situation, “yes, I have, but I’ve got my own church.”

“That’s wonderful,” the one called Blackburn said, cutting her off before she had the chance to say she wasn’t interested. “We are new in the area of Rosmont, and today we are going around talking to our new neighbors. We live over on Richardson Street, behind Mrs. Garrett. Do you know Mrs. Garrett?”

“I know her quite well. I’ve lived here for 48 years.”

Lyon began again: “We are also talking with our neighbors about a visit that the Sav—” This time it was her turn to interrupt.

“Boys, I hate to be rude, but I’ve got a lot to do, and I’m really not too interested right now, but thank you for saying hello. That is very sweet. More young people need to be as nice as you. Good-day.”

“Well, it has been nice talking with you, ma’am.” It was Blackburn again, and with that they were gone to the next house.

So then she knew who they were and what they were doing. As the days went by, she would see them leave between 9:30 and 9:45. They always waved as they passed and said hello. They even stopped every once in a while to chat. In a few months a new face took Elder Blackburn’s place. He was introduced as Elder Daringjer. (Same first name again, she thought.) The one called Daringjer had been a horticulture major before coming on his “mission” as they called it. They became instantly talkative, and she showed him all of her little plants and beauties.

One Monday morning she was surprised to find them in ordinary clothes, waiting in the garden for her. Elder Daringjer explained that they would like to work with her and help if they could. Elder Lyon mowed the lawns and trimmed the walks and hedges, while she and the other cared for her little fragile babies. While they worked, she found out many things about who these boys were and why they came out on missions. She also found out that they didn’t really all have the same first names; it was only a title.

By noon what would have taken her days to finish had been completed. They had wanted to come over and show her a film-strip on something or other, but she had politely refused. The fact that they didn’t push things at her seemed to make her think of them with more curiosity than before. She was thinking of them almost daily.

“Why do I bother with fanatics,” she asked a row of carrots one morning after several weeks of letting the elders come and weed, trim, and talk to her. She was very amazed when they told her that both of their families had vegetable gardens back home, and that their prophet had counseled the people to raise gardens, fix yards, repair homes, and care for their farms.

As the days went by, instead of holding her breath when they turned out of the alley toward her like she had during the first few weeks she had known them, she found herself holding her breath hoping they wouldn’t turn away.

“I wonder what makes young men spend two years visiting with people about a religion that doesn’t even have a professional clergy to give sermons? It sounds rather hastily set up. Some day I’ll just have to ask them inside to talk a little more.”

By 9:00 her morning work was done, and she was kneeling in her chrysanthemums, acting very busy with weeding, looking for any evil little bug that would bring harm to her small, delicate beings. Her thoughts kept wandering to the events that had happened just last week.

Her morning had started as usual, but at 7:30 her phone rang and it was bad news from her daughter. Her grandson, one of those with the long hair and bad habits, had been involved in what started as a stay-out-of-Africa rally and ended in a blood bath between students with rocks, signs, and knives and a local garrison of guardsmen with their clubs, shields, and guns. The rally ended with one dead national guard member and five dead students, of which her grandson had been one.

The shock lingered long after the telephone call. She sat staring at the kitchen wall for an hour, and finally she had dragged herself down to her flowers. There she sat, trying to forget. It was then she looked up, and instead of seeing two young men in suitcoats and on bikes turn out of the alley, only one was coming. His white shirt was missing its usual tie, and his bike and coat were gone. With head down and hands jammed hard in his pockets, clenched in fists of frustration, he was kicking rocks and old cans as he stomped toward her. She could see that he was talking to himself, and as the distance narrowed, she caught snatches of the angry words he was saying.

She sat and listened as he began having a mental battle with himself. First he’d mumble a scripture on patience, or brotherly love, or humility, then a quick comeback on patience being gone, and brotherly love destroyed by this or that, and humility nonexistent. The more he talked, the more the scriptures began to win until he was murmuring only pieces of scriptures and phrases of hymns that she had never heard before.

There had been a disagreement of some sorts; that was obvious. By the time he had reached the spot where she sat staring in the chrysanthemums, he had slowed and stopped. He stood looking at his scuffed shoes, totally unaware of her presence, his mind frantically searching for what to do. Pride said go, but love said stop. The hardness of his brow softened, the firmness around his mouth that had kept his gritted teeth solidly in place weakened, and she could see his eyes fill with tears. She became very conscious of her position and wished she were one of her beautiful little flowers blowing in the breeze.

Then from the alley a voice boomed: “Elder, wait! I—I’m sorry!” The young man near her slowly turned and looked where his partner was standing in his stocking feet.

For what seemed enough time to plant and harvest a section of wheat, the air remained empty of human sounds or movement. Then Elder Scuffed Shoes looked at her and, in a rather husky voice, asked if he could please have a flower. “A flower of forgiveness,” he had muttered. Mutely she clipped one for him and watched as he retraced his steps until he stood in front of the other. They were too far off for her to hear what was said, but she saw the flower exchange hands and watched as they walked back to their apartment in the alley, each with an arm around the other’s shoulder.

She had sat there in the flowers trying to figure out how one young man could know so much about love and have such an abundance of it, while another lay lifeless on a mortician’s table because of his gross lack of it. Both had been searching for what life really was. One had found it; the other hadn’t. Why? She couldn’t answer her own question. Finally she got up and left to prepare for a funeral many miles away. Even as she left, she knew she had to find the answer to “Why?” when she returned.

She was kneeling in the chrysanthemums when she saw them coming.

“Turn up!” she whispered. “Turn up!” They looked right and left, they both saw her and waved, and then together they turned away. Her heart sank like a rock in a lake. She felt as if a building was falling on her, making her hands and mind feel heavy. She watched silently as they rode a little way and then stopped. They were talking to one another. She just sat in the flowers thinking that they were gone and she’d have to try again tomorrow. She considered just going to their small apartment to talk with them.

“I could bring something nice like fresh cookies,” she whispered to her small spade, knowing that she would never find the strength to do it.

The elders sat on their bikes looking back at their neighbor.

“What makes you think she wants to talk to us, Elder? The only things she talks about are her flowers.”

“I know, but did you see the way she was watching us? Did you see her eyes? I have a little sister who used to wait by the big window every day when I came home from work, and I could see in her eyes that she wanted to tell me what had happened to her in kindergarten that day.”

“So?”

“Well, Elder, look at her eyes, and besides that, she didn’t even wave at us. She always waves.”

“Maybe she’s mad.”

“I don’t really think so. Let’s just ask her if we can help her in some way. Look, she’s still watching us.”

“Okay, let’s go chat.”

They turned their bikes around and came back. When they stopped, Elder Lyon said, “Ah, ma’am? Could we help you?”

She just looked at them, and her eyes filled with tears. “Yes, Elder,” she said, through a slightly cracking voice. “Let’s go in the house, and you … well … I’ve got some questions I need some answers to.”

They walked up the stairs and onto the front porch. Before they went in, a thought came to her, and she said, “I hope this won’t take all morning, because there is an old man I must see today, an old man who suffered a stroke in the early spring. He must be awfully depressed watching his beautiful lawn go unattended. I think I’ll take him some flowers, flowers of forgiveness.”

Several years ago, I was invited to give an important lecture at a medical school in New York City. The night before the lecture, Sister Nelson and I were invited to dinner at the home of our host professor. There he proudly introduced us to an honor medical student—his beautiful daughter.
Some weeks later, that professor telephoned me in an obvious state of grief. I asked, “What is the matter?”
“Remember our daughter, whom you met at our home?”
“Of course,” I replied. “I’ll never forget such a stunning young lady.”
Then her father sobbed and said, “Last night she was killed in an automobile accident!” Trying to gain composure, he continued: “She asked permission to go to a dance with a certain young man. I didn’t have a good feeling about it. I told her so and asked her not to go. She asked, ‘Why?’ I told her that I simply was uneasy. She had always been an obedient daughter, but she said that if I could not give her a good reason to decline, she wanted to go. And so she did. At the dance, alcoholic beverages were served. Her escort drank a bit—we don’t know how much. While returning home, he was driving too fast, missed a turn, and careened through a guardrail into a reservoir below. They were both submerged and taken to their death.”
As I shared my feeling of sadness, he concluded: “My grief is made worse because I had the distinct feeling that trouble lay ahead. Why couldn’t I have been more persuasive?”

What are you making?” Cassie asked her older brother as he opened the oven door.
“Some cookies for the baseball game. I figure, since we just moved here, it wouldn’t hurt to go the extra mile to get to know the kids,” Chris explained.
“I’m going to make something too!”
“What are you going to make?”
Cassie thought a bit before a smile spread across her face. “It’s a secret, but I’ll give you a hint—it starts with F.”
Chris grinned. “So what ingredients do you need for your secret recipe?”
“Ingredients?”
“The things you use to make your recipe,” Chris explained. “Ingredients are very important. Use the wrong ones, and your recipe won’t turn out. Good luck.” He grabbed his mitt and the plate of cookies, then ran out the door.
Cassie got the plastic bucket out from under the sink. “Since I’m making an F recipe, I’ll need things that start with F,” she reasoned. She carried the bucket outside, where her mother was weeding.
“Flowers!” Cassie exclaimed, “Can I have some?”
“You may have all the dandelions you want,” her mother replied, gazing at their lawn in exasperation. “Pick away.”
It wasn’t long before the bottom of Cassie’s bucket was covered with yellow flowers. “I’m making an important recipe,” she told her mother. “Can I go down the street?”
“Yes, but don’t leave the block. You aren’t used to this neighborhood yet, and I don’t want you to get lost. I’ll keep an eye on you from the yard.”
Cassie carried her bucket out the gate. She still needed more ingredients for her recipe.
“Who are you, and what are you doing?” someone asked.
Cassie looked up to see a girl about her age looking at her.
“I’m Cassie, and I’m making a recipe. I need ingredients that start with the letter F.”
“My name is Rachel. I live next door. How about a flamingo? We have a plastic one in our front yard.”
“Great!” Cassie exclaimed. Soon a plastic flamingo was sticking out of her pail. She walked down the street with Rachel, the pink head bobbing with their steps.
“What are you doing?” said a voice. They turned to see a boy on a bicycle.
“This is Cassie,” Rachel told him. “She’s making a letter-F recipe. We have flowers and a flamingo for ingredients. Can you think of anything else, Steven?”
“Frogs! Come with me to the pond. There are lots of frogs there.”
He walked along with them, pushing his bike, to the pond near the corner.
While they were catching frogs and putting them into the bucket, three more kids came up. Rachel introduced them as Benjamin, Eric, and Kathryn. They seemed happy to meet Cassie and were eager to help with the recipe.
“Flowers, frogs, and a flamingo,” Eric said. “How about adding french fries? I have a couple in my pocket.” He tossed them into the bucket.
“What else?” Cassie asked.
“Ferns? Kathryn shouted, plucking some that grew near the pond. “But I think we’ll have to forget about the frogs. They’ve all jumped out.”
“Ferns, flamingo, flowers, french fries—can you think of anything else?” Cassie asked.
“I have a toy fire engine,” Benjamin said. “Let’s go to my house and get it.”
They followed him home, looking like a small parade. The fire engine went into the bucket, nearly filling it.
“Now come to my house,” Cassie said. “We can finish the recipe there.”
Her mother met them at the gate. “Cassie, what are you doing, and who are these children with you?”
“We’re making a recipe,” Cassie explained. “We need a few more ingredients, but we don’t know what.”
Her mother smiled. “Well, how about a snack? There are some bananas in the kitchen.”
“Fruit? Kathryn declared. “That’s perfect!”
All the children followed Carrie into the kitchen. Soon they came back outside with a bunch of bananas nestled among the other things in the bucket. Then they sat on the porch and ate the bananas.
Cassie’s mother looked in the bucket, then at her daughter. “That’s a rather strange recipe,” she remarked. “I’ve never seen such unusual ingredients. What are you making?”
Cassie looked at her mother and smiled. “Friends,” she said.

Pat was my best friend, at least he was until my sense of humor got in the way.
Pat and I played football together at BYU. He played offense; I played defense. But we became good friends anyway. We lifted weights together, played racquetball together, and ran together in the off-season.
When I first met Pat, I was a recent convert to the Church and he was a lazy life-long member. He went to church once in a while, but he really wasn’t active, at least not as active as I thought he should have been.
We always joked around a lot. He teased me about my skinny arms; I teased him about his pot belly. Any topic was fair game for our joking: the way we dressed, missed racquetball shots, blown plays on the football field. Most of the joking was pretty clever, and it helped pass the time we spent working to become better football players.
One day, as we were getting dressed, I started teasing Pat about being inactive.
“Let’s see, Pat,” I said, “this Sunday is even numbered. Does that mean you’ll go to church? Or do you only go on the odd-numbered days?” He didn’t answer, so I continued to razz him. “Or do you just go every other month?”
I laughed. He remained quiet.
During the car ride back to our apartments, I didn’t let up. My teasing continued nonstop, and he sat sullenly throughout the trip.
Finally, just before we pulled up to my apartment, Pat spoke up, only “spoke up” isn’t the right expression. “Yelled” is more accurate.
“Listen, Chris,” he said, barely controlling his anger, “don’t ever tease me about the Church. Never.” And with that, I got out of the car. He slammed the door closed and drove off. The next day, some of our mutual friends came to talk to me.
“Hey, Chris,” said one, “lay off teasing Pat about the Church. You really hurt his feelings yesterday. See, he’s trying to get active; he’s been working at it for a long time, and you just don’t understand.”
I was stunned. I couldn’t believe that a guy so big, so strong, so good at handing out teasing and taking it, could ever have his feelings hurt. But he did. And worst of all, that incident ruined our friendship. Of course, I apologized to Pat immediately. I felt horrible about the whole thing—horrible that I had really wounded a good friend, and horrible that I had ruined a great friendship. Sure, we remained friends, but it was never the same again.

At the age of three, Zane insisted that he be allowed to ride in the rodeo against the 8–12-year-old cowboys, but since he was underage, he was only allowed to ride exhibition. Undaunted, he put on his hat, boots, rope, and spurs, and climbed aboard a cranky calf. Zane says that the next thing he knew he was on the ground and a clown was standing over him fanning him with a giant fly swatter. Apparently, he had ridden the calf almost to the whistle before falling off.

It had been 12 years since I had left my beloved California home and ward to remarry. With the Lord’s help, I had slowly rebuilt and achieved new goals. But I longed to visit dear friends who had shared the joys and the challenge of living in an area where Church members were a minority.
“Sometimes it isn’t good to relive the past,” my family members said. Nevertheless, I made the trip. At my old house, I marveled that the seedlings I had planted years before were now large trees shading the property. Overwhelmed with emotion, I left the spot and drove down the street. Old landmarks were hazily familiar. What was I doing here?
Then I sighted the spire of the local Church meeting-house, and I drove to my favorite parking spot. Though still not sure exactly what I was looking for, I began to feel more peaceful as I strolled through the church grounds. Rounding a hedge, I nearly bumped into a young man who was pulling weeds. He jumped to his feet, and I noticed that he had a fresh missionary haircut.
As I apologized, he looked at me strangely and said, “Aren’t you the mustard-seed teacher?”
I looked at him in puzzlement.
“Yes, I think you are,” he said. “You were my first Primary teacher. I could never resist coming to your class because of the clues about the lesson you always taped to the door. The picture of the jar of mustard was my favorite. I remember obediently carrying home my bag of tiny mustard seeds after your lesson about the parable. After that, I always thought of you as the mustard-seed teacher.”
The memory flooded back to me of a recently baptized woman bringing her seven-year-old son, Chandler, to my CTR classroom. Here was the same boy, now a young man.
“Your lessons made me want to be a good Latter-day Saint,” he said.
I was thrilled to hear that Chandler had recently submitted his application for a mission. As we spoke, I realized that his testimony was another tree that I’d help plant and nourish. When he was a young boy, his testimony had been embryonic, perhaps even “less than all the seeds that be in the earth” (Mark 4:31). Now the strength of his testimony made him a mighty tree in the Lord’s vineyard.
Silently thanking the Lord, I vowed to keep sowing grains of faith and to trust in their promise and strength.

My first brush with the priesthood was when I was baptized. I was baptized in an irrigation canal in the little town of Oakley, Idaho. I was with my friends on the bank of that irrigation canal. We had on our bib swimming suits, which consisted of bib overalls with the legs cut out so you wouldn’t sink and holes cut in the pockets. We had never seen a swimming suit made out of knit or of other fabric. My father came out from the First Ward meetinghouse with his counselors. He was carrying a chair, and he put the chair on the side of the irrigation ditch. My father said, “David, come on over here; we’re going to baptize you.”
I dove in the canal and swam over to the other side, shivering. It was in September and a little cold, and young boys get the shivers, you know, when you have only bib overalls on. My father got down into the canal. As I remember, he didn’t take his shoes off or change anything but was just in his regular clothes. He showed me how to hold my hands, and then he baptized me. After I came up out of the water, we both crawled up on the bank of the canal. I sat in the chair, and they put their hands on my head and confirmed me a member of the Church. After that I dove in the canal and went over on the other side and joined my friends.
This was my first experience, really, with the priesthood.

Sometimes temptation to let down her standards can be almost overwhelming, especially when a cherished goal comes in sight. Like the time Jenny was invited to meet with well-known disk jockeys from a major radio station—on a Sunday.
She wanted so much to be there, supporting her hospital team and meeting influential people, possibly improving her career opportunities. Workmates kept pressuring her to go. But she refused, at the same time explaining her feelings for the Sabbath.
“I felt awful letting them down,” she says, “but I’d have felt even more awful letting myself and Heavenly Father down—and my workmates, too, because eventually they would have seen me as a bad example.”

A counselor in a bishopric recently shared an experience that teaches how important each neighbor is. While looking out over the congregation, he saw a child with a large box of crayons filled with a variety of different hues. As he looked at the many members of his ward, he was reminded that, like the crayons, they were very similar but each person was also very unique.
He remarked: “The shade they brought to the ward and the world was all their own. … They had their individual strengths and weaknesses, personal longings, private dreams. But together, they blended into a color wheel of spiritual unity. …
“Unity is a spiritual quality. It’s the sweet feelings of peace and purpose that come from belonging to a family. … It’s wanting the best for others as much as you want it for yourself. … It’s knowing that no one is out to harm you. [It means you will never be lonely.]”6
We build that unity and share our unique colors through benevolence: individual acts of kindness.
Have you ever felt lonely? Do you notice those who are lonely, living in a black-and-white world? Young women, I’ve watched as you bring your unique color into the lives of others with your smiles, your kind words, or a note of encouragement.
President Thomas S. Monson taught us how to interact with our peers and everyone we meet when he told the young women of the Church, “My precious young sisters, I plead with you to have the courage to refrain from judging and criticizing those around you, as well as the courage to make certain everyone is included and feels loved and valued.”7
We can follow the example of the good Samaritan and “change the world” of just one person by being benevolent.8 I would like to invite each of you to do at least one Samaritan-like act this coming week. It may require that you reach beyond your usual friends or overcome your shyness. You may courageously choose to serve someone who doesn’t treat you well. I promise that if you will extend yourself beyond what is easy to do, you will feel so good inside that kindness will start to become a part of your everyday life. You’ll see that benevolence can bring joy and unity to your home, your class, your ward, and your school. “Remember this: kindness begins with me.”
Not only did our Savior love all; He served all. Expand your goodness to many. Old and young can be greatly blessed by your kind service. President Monson, since the time he was a young man, has always had a special place in his heart for the elderly. He recognizes the value of a short visit, a ready smile, or a squeeze of a well-worn, wrinkled hand. Such simple acts of charity bring color into a life that sometimes is made up of long, lonely, gray days. I would invite each of you to be mindful of your grandparents and the elderly. Look around at church tomorrow and identify those who could use your shade of color added to their life. It doesn’t take much: greet them by name, engage them in a short conversation, be available to assist them. Could you open a door or offer to help with their home or garden? What is a simple task to you at your young age can be an overwhelming project for an older person. “Remember this: kindness begins with me.”
Sometimes being benevolent is most difficult in our own families. Strong families require effort. “Be cheerful, helpful, and considerate of others. Many problems in the home are created because family members speak and act selfishly or unkindly. Concern yourself with the needs of other family members. Seek to be a peacemaker rather than to tease, fight, and quarrel.”9 “Remember this: kindness begins with me.”
Jesus loved the children, took them in His arms, and blessed them.10 Like the Savior, you can bless all children with your kindness, not just those in your home.
You may not know the impact your life and example may have on a little child. I recently received a note from a friend who manages a day-care center in a local high school. Attending that high school are several young men and young women who are members of the Church. She shared with me this experience: “As I walk through the halls with the little children, it is nice to see how many lockers have pictures of Jesus or of temples taped to the inside of the doors. One of the children saw a picture of Jesus on the inside of a [young woman’s] opened locker door and said, ‘Look, Jesus is at our school!’ The student was moved to tears as she bent down and gave the child a hug. I thanked the young woman for the good example she was to those around her. It is uplifting to know that there are so many youth that are trying to stand for truth and righteousness and do their part in inviting the Spirit into their lives, even though it is difficult at times with all the noise and harshness in the world around them. We have some wonderful youth in the Church.”
I couldn’t agree more! Young women, you are changing the world by centering your life on Jesus Christ, and you are “becoming what He wants you to be.”11
Thank you for your benevolent lives; for including those who may be different; for your kindness to your peers, the elderly, your family, and little children; for being neighbors to those who are lonely and those who have challenges and heartache. Through your benevolence, you are “pointing others to [the Savior’s] light.”12 Thank you for remembering “kindness begins with me.”
I know that President Thomas S. Monson is a prophet of God whose life has been a model of benevolence from which we can learn. Follow our prophet. Learn from his example and listen to his words. I believe in the gospel of Jesus Christ, and I know that through Joseph Smith the priesthood has been restored to the earth.
I know that our Savior lives and loves each of us. He has given His life for all. I pray that we will center our lives on Jesus Christ and “follow in His ways” by loving and serving one another.13 By so doing, I know that we can make the world a better place, because “we believe in being … benevolent.”14 I so testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

We encourage those of you who have a large reservation of names to share them so that members of your extended family or ward and stake can help you in completing that work. You can do this by distributing temple cards to ward and stake members willing to help or by using the FamilySearch computer system to submit the names directly to the temple. This latter option is something Cindy Blevins of Casper, Wyoming, has been doing for years.
Sister Blevins was baptized as a teenager and has been the only member of her family to join the Church. She has completed a vast amount of genealogical work. But there are far too many names for her and her immediate family to complete. Consequently, Sister Blevins has submitted the names to the temple, which, she reports, are often completed in a matter of weeks, usually at one of the two temples closest to her home. She says she likes to think that friends and neighbors in her own ward and stake may be among those helping to complete the work for her ancestors. She appreciates their doing so.

I know those things by the only way any of us can know them. The Holy Ghost has spoken to my mind and heart that they are true—not just once but often. I have needed that continuing comfort. We all experience tragedy during which we need the reassurance of the Spirit. I felt it one day as I stood with my father in a hospital. We watched my mother take a few shallow breaths—and then no more. As we looked on her face, she was smiling as the pain left. After a few silent moments, my father spoke first. He said, “A little girl has gone home.”
He said it softly. He seemed to be at peace. He was reporting something he knew was true. He quietly began to gather Mother’s personal things. He went out into the hospital hallway to thank each of the nurses and doctors who had ministered to her for days.
My father had the companionship of the Holy Ghost at that moment to feel, to know, and to do what he did that day. He had received the promise, as many have: “That they may have his Spirit to be with them” (D&C 20:79).