Gospel Story Finder

My brother, Bruce, was just a year ahead of me in school. He was everything a high school boy might want to be: football star, class president, good looking, popular. I was known as “Bruce’s little sister,” and I thought he was way too cool to associate with me. Sometimes I even felt sorry for him—that people knew he was related to me. Most of the time I felt sorry for myself. I avoided him in the hallways so I wouldn’t feel bad if he didn’t say hi.
All that changed one night. After Mutual, while waiting for rides, a boy my age grabbed my sweater from me. As I was trying to get it back, he threw it on the ground and started to run away—right smack into my big brother. Bruce demanded he pick up the sweater, and growled to him, “That’s my sister! Don’t you ever treat her like that again!” In that one moment I realized he was protective and proud of me.
By the next year I had gained enough confidence to run for class president myself! Bruce helped with my campaign and cheered at my speech. Since he was Senior Class President, he helped count ballots. After the count, he pulled me aside to tell me I had lost by a small margin. “I cheered every time a vote came in for you,” he said. I realized my brother had always loved me. It was my own insecurities that made me think he didn’t. Even though I lost the election, I felt like a winner.
Denalee C., Nevada, USA

I know one young woman who goes home feeling deflated and unimportant almost every night after being around a certain young man in her group of friends. He constantly makes fun of, criticizes, and belittles her. I asked her why she continues to spend time with him, and she responded, “He says I have to learn how to take a joke. I figure it’s not worth losing friends over.” I’m concerned about her decision to continue to be around this guy, and I wonder why he thinks he’s so funny in the first place. How sad that she tries to cope with him rather than genuinely enjoying his company.

When he was just a little boy, Harold B. Lee started to climb over a fence to explore some old buildings in a neighbor’s yard. He heard a voice saying, “Harold, don’t go over there.” Looking around, he could see no one, and he realized that the Spirit was warning him of danger, so he didn’t go. He never learned what the danger might have been, but he always testified that the experience had taught him that the Lord knew who he was and was watching over him.

A tiny sunbeam shining bravely through a crack between the logs in her bedroom played across Louisa’s face. She stretched lazily and listened to the shrieking of the sea gulls outside her small window. They seemed to be calling to her to come and play. Louisa knew they had come for their usual breakfast of worms and insects and perhaps an occasional mouse from the fields surrounding the growing settlement. She had come to think of the gulls as her own, because each morning as the sun rose over the mountains they settled first in the field next to her window and then moved to other fields.
Quietly she slipped from her bed onto the rough floor and down the stairs to the door of the cabin. She smiled as she slipped outside. Father had built one of the few two-story log houses. He planned to cover it with stucco later when he wasn’t so busy.
Louisa chose her favorite spot on the porch by the corner post to sit quietly without moving to watch the sea gulls. She arranged her flannel nightgown around her bare toes to keep out the morning chill. Her soft, brown hair fell gently over her shoulders and her clear, blue eyes seemed to shine as brightly as the sunbeams.
With a soft sound the door opened again and her little brother Thomas crept quietly to her side. The sharp sound of her father’s ax in the woods across the field and her mother’s gentle singing in the garden broke the stillness of the beautiful morning. Thomas yawned sleepily and gazed at the birds in the field.
“Father’s chopping wood for winter and Mother’s weeding the garden so the vegetables will grow,” Louisa almost whispered so she wouldn’t frighten the sea gulls. The birds continued to eat as though Louisa and Thomas were not even there.
“Tell me again about the sea gulls, Louisa,” Thomas said sleepily. “Please.”
He was too young to remember when they had crossed the plains in the covered wagon to Utah. Louisa remembered, though.
“Mother and Father packed our clothes, quilts, pots and pans, dishes, food, and everything else they could into the wagon. I put in my doll and helped with some of the smaller things. Father hitched the oxen to the wagon and we started on our long journey. I’d never seen oxen before. They looked like big brown cows to me.”
“What about the sea gulls, Louisa?” Thomas didn’t like to hear about the times they had traveling to their new home in the mountains.
“When we first came to Utah, I helped Father and Mother plant the seeds in the ground. It took Father two days to break the hard ground before we could plant the seeds. All day we worked and dropped a seed at a time on the ground.”
“Where was I?” asked Thomas.
“You wouldn’t remember because you were only a baby then and had just learned to walk,” Louisa answered quietly. “Anyway, when the new plants were just coming up, about this high,” Louisa measured with her fingers, “some crickets came and began eating them. More and more crickets came.”
“What are crickets?”
“Thomas, you know what crickets are. They are those shiny black bugs. They scrape their wings together to make a squeaky sound at night,” Louisa answered.
“Oh. Tell me about the sea gulls.”
Louisa continued her story. “Everyone got sticks and shovels and whatever they could find and began beating the crickets. But more crickets came. Finally, the people gave up. They couldn’t kill all the crickets. They were going to eat up all the food we planted.”
Tears came to Louisa’s eyes remembering how hard she had cried. She had only been four. Now Louisa was eight and too big to cry. But sometimes she did when she was hurt or afraid.
“When did the sea gulls come?” Thomas asked.
“Father and Mother and the rest of the people prayed to our Heavenly Father that the crops would be saved from the hungry crickets. And it wasn’t long until we were surprised to hear a noise in the sky. I looked up and saw sea gulls. At first they looked like more crickets. I hadn’t seen any sea gulls here before, although I used to watch them on the ocean before we came west in the wagon.”
Louisa waited for Thomas to encourage her to go on with the story. But he just lay quietly beside her. The sky was dark blue with streaks of white clouds high in the sky. Most of the sea gulls were quiet, but once in a while one would call.
“The sea gulls came to the ground and ate up the crickets,” Louisa continued. “No one had really noticed them in the valley before. Some people say they were here all the time. But I think Heavenly Father sent them to us when the people prayed. What do you think, Thomas?”
But Thomas didn’t answer. He had fallen asleep in the warm sunshine.

As we pushed across the Arctic, the directing and protecting powers of the Spirit were always present. We had prayed regularly throughout the trip; I had set a pattern and hoped Bob would follow, and he did. For the first week, his prayers were choppy and short. But as we moved further into the wilderness, an emotion began to build. He began to talk to the Lord. He would say please, and when I heard him say it, I knew he was on the way back. As we got into some more difficult situations, he really opened up. Sometimes we would pray a dozen or more times a day. The feeling kept growing that we were not really two alone, but three together—myself, my son, and the Lord.

Late one afternoon we were approaching the mouth of a river at the end of Starvation Lake. As we pulled ashore, the canoe bumped a boulder. We noticed a huge mound of fur nearby. I thought it was a dead animal until it moved and Bob said, “It’s a grizzly. And it isn’t dead, it’s asleep.” We were less than 100 feet from it at that point. Suddenly, it stood up. I thought it would run away, as most bears do. But it was irritated. The hair on its neck raised up, it started swaying its head back and forth, its jaws started moving—you could hear the teeth clacking—and its ears were laid back. I grabbed the camera and Bob grabbed the gun, but we soon decided it wasn’t smart to stay close, and we backed into deeper water. Somehow we had to get by that grizzly.
We pulled into a small draw about 200 feet away and checked on the bear. It had lain back down. So we took the food packs up and came back for the canoe. When we checked on the bear again, it was gone. It couldn’t go the opposite direction from us because of cliffs. It couldn’t go to the right, because of the lake. So we knew it was either going parallel uphill or coming straight for us. It knew where we were, but we didn’t know where it was. Bears will sometimes move up your trail and intercept you, and we were both scared. We knew it might come boiling over the hill any minute. Bob said, “Dad, can we pray, please?” After a prayer and with great caution, we started up the draw, me with the canoe over my head and Bob with the gun.
We broke the ridge about 100 feet from our packs, and it was waiting there for us. If it tasted the food in the packs, we would have to kill it to keep it from destroying the entire supply, and we didn’t want to do that. As a last desperate effort, and with prayer in my heart, I raised the canoe and shouted at the top of my lungs.
The bear swung its huge head around and saw a pair of legs, a body, and a 17-foot aluminum head growling at it. It was startled so badly it took off at a dead run. It took us about four hours to shake the hollow feeling we had after that close encounter, but we both knew the prayer had helped us through.
When we arrived at Point Lake, it was covered with ice floes. Shifting ice floes in a bad wind would crush a small canoe like an egg shell. We made camp, and I asked Bob to pray that night. He exhibited a faith rarely seen. He said, simply, “Father, stop the wind.”
The next day when we got up, it was perfectly still. The lake was smooth as a mirror. But we had 20 miles to cross. Even the slightest breeze once we were on the lake and we would be destroyed. For 20 miles we pushed through the floes. Twice the canoe froze in the ice as we got hemmed in, and we had to jump and pry and push to work our way free. Finally, after 7 1/2 hours, we broke into open waters. No sooner had we cleared the ice floes than the wind began to blow again. It had been a daily companion except for those 7 1/2 hours. We prayed again, this time a prayer of thanks.
It was about that time Bob began talking again about going on his mission. We hadn’t mentioned it much, but then one day he said, “Well, I guess when we get home I’ll start getting ready for my mission.” From then on, he talked about a mission more and more. One night, about 1:00 A.M., after a long, hard day, he rolled over in his sleeping bag and said, “Dad, tell me about eternal life.” We talked for about two hours. Then, with his last effort, he said, “That’s for me,” and fell asleep. For me that made the whole trip worthwhile.
We also had several other experiences that taught us to appreciate the harmony and beauty of nature and the power of its forces and creatures.
One day, after we had reached the Coppermine, we were paddling on the river during a blizzard. It was the end of July and the snow was flying! The current was powerful, but the headwind was so strong we were struggling for progress. Bob said, “Dad, look at the shore.” I did. We were standing still. And when we stopped paddling, the wind blew us upstream! So we stopped and pulled over and gathered what wood we could for a fire to warm our hands.
We were resting there when we saw a herd of caribou coming directly toward us. They looked spooked, but I was sure they’d follow their established trail. They did and swam across the river. Right behind them was a pack of wolves. As the herd came out of the water, there were two old cows lagging behind. A second set of wolves, waiting on the far shore, renewed the pursuit, and soon dragged down a victim. Had we not stopped to warm our hands, we would have missed this spectacle of life and death.
That wasn’t our only experience with wind or with wolves. Headwinds plagued us through much of the early trip. Sometimes they were so strong you could lean into them without falling over; sometimes they literally lifted you off your feet. It’s quite a challenge carrying a canoe over your head in winds like that! Another time winds were so strong we couldn’t even pitch our tent. We just waited them out for two days and slept on the ground.
Another day, Bob had stopped to fish. When he looked up, a large wolf, about 30 feet away across the creek, was staring at him. It followed us for several days. I’m pretty sure he was a dominant wolf that had been driven out of his pack. He still carried his tail curled way up above the top of his back, a sign in the society of the pack that he’s a leader. We finally lost him when we crossed a large lake.
We also drifted up to a large bull moose in the river one time. He was upwind from us and didn’t notice us. I’m sure his antlers were 60 inches wide. We got several good pictures of him before we scared him and he ran away, but those photos were among the two rolls of film that were later destroyed in processing, along with photos of the grizzly bear and the caribou and wolves.
Another time we were hung up on a boulder in a bad set of rapids, and it seemed as though we might stay there forever. But after a prayer and a quick maneuvering of the boat, we broke free.
Once we reached the river, we were determined to make up our lost time. We didn’t mind moving, because when we’d stop we’d start to chill. Even at night we slept cold. The ground was ice, and the wind was cold. We had canned heat, but just enough to warm our food. And so we paddled and rushed on. Our worst day on the river we made three miles. Our best day we made 50, and we went over the falls and swamped at the last set of rapids out of eight we covered that day. The map showed eight sets of rapids, and we decided, because of our haste, to run them without studying them first, a foolish thing to do.
We slowly made up time, and by the end of the trip, arrived in the small eskimo village at the mouth of the river right on schedule. We had one half of a meal left. Our canoe was so badly damaged we had to abandon it (after notifying Canadian officials). We had run every set of rapids on the river but one (whether we were tired or afraid of the one we portaged around I’m not sure), so we didn’t claim any records. But Bob had been lost and now was found. The day after we returned home, he went to see the bishop and expressed his desire to serve the Lord. He is now serving in the Illinois Chicago Mission.
To any father who is trying to help his son decide to go on a mission, I would say that the most important thing is to know your son. Not everyone needs to go on a trip down the Coppermine. The same kind of building experiences can take place at home, working in the garage together, playing a game of tennis, maybe just going for a walk where the two of you can be alone. I wouldn’t have gone on the Coppermine if I hadn’t felt inspired to do so.
And to you young men who know you should be going on a mission, I would remind you that for every person there will be wilderness areas, Gethsemanes, Sacred Groves, if you will—places where we learn to rely on the Lord completely and call on him in fervent prayer. Don’t try to tempt the Lord by placing yourself in a dangerous situation, but be prepared to follow the promptings of his Spirit, wherever they may lead you.

I would like to share an incident which took place during the Vietnam War. There were some who were convinced that the United States was engaged in a noble and justifiable war. However, public opinion was changing, and there was opposition which argued that the United States should pull out of Vietnam.
President Harold B. Lee was the President of the Church at the time. While at an area conference in another country, he was interviewed by reporters from the international news services. One reporter asked President Lee, “What is your church’s position on the Vietnam War?” Some recognized the question as a trap—one which could not be answered without a very real risk of being misunderstood or misinterpreted. If the prophet answered, “We are against the war,” the international media could state, “How strange—a religious leader who is against the position of the country he is obliged to sustain in his own church’s Articles of Faith.”
On the other hand, if President Lee answered, “We are in favor of the war,” the media could say, “How strange—a religious leader in favor of war.” Either way, the answer could result in serious misunderstandings both inside and outside the Church.
President Lee, with great inspiration and wisdom, answered as would a man who knows the Savior: “We, together with the whole Christian world, abhor war. But the Savior said, ‘In me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation’” (John 16:33). President Lee then explained, “The Savior was not talking about the peace that can be achieved between nations, by military force or by negotiation in the halls of parliaments. Rather, he was speaking of the peace we can each have in our own lives when we live the commandments and come unto Christ with broken hearts and contrite spirits” (see Ensign, November 1982, page 70).

Thomas Giles, a Welsh convert who joined the Church in 1844, also suffered much in his lifetime. He was a miner, and while he was digging coal in the mine, a large piece of coal hit him on the head and inflicted a wound nine inches long. The doctor who examined him said the injured man would not live longer than 24 hours. But then the elders came and administered to him. He was promised that he would get well, and that “even if he would never see again, he would live to do much good in the Church.” Brother Giles did indeed live but was blind the rest of his life. Within a month of his injury “he was out traveling through the country attending to his ecclesiastical duties.”

In 1856 Brother Giles and his family immigrated to Utah, but before he left his homeland, the Welsh Saints presented him with a harp, which he learned to play skillfully. At Council Bluffs he joined a handcart company and headed west. “Though blind he pulled a handcart from Council Bluffs to Salt Lake City.” While crossing the plains his wife and two children died. “His sorrow was great and his heart almost broken, but his faith did not fail him. In the midst of his grief he said as did one of old, ‘The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord.’” When Brother Giles arrived in Salt Lake City, President Brigham Young, who had heard his story, loaned Brother Giles a valuable harp until his own arrived from Wales. Brother Giles “traveled from settlement to settlement in Utah, … gladdening the hearts of the people with his sweet music.”

Several months ago I attended a conference in a stake that had compiled an impressive statistical record. By all observable standards, this was a stake composed of devoted, faithful Latter-day Saints. As I met with the stake president in our first interview, I was not surprised that he was anxious to review with me the excellent statistical record that his people were making. The reports had been arranged on his desk to facilitate this review. Before looking at them, I asked the president, “Tell me, how do you feel about your people? Generally speaking, in their spiritual qualities, are they standing on higher ground this year than they were a year ago?” I wanted to assess the president’s personal discernment regarding the spiritual strength of his members. He immediately seized this opportunity to direct my attention to the reports. Sensing that he had misunderstood the intent of my question, I explained, “I will be pleased to review the reports with you, but before we do, would you tell me how you feel about your people?”

My insistence on his making this kind of assessment apart from the information in the reports was both frustrating and perplexing to the president. I was sensitive to his frustration, and without further discussion we went through the statistical information. It indicated considerable progress in many areas that are amenable to a quantitative evaluation. I believe the reports were significant indicators of the spiritual quality of the people. However, I had failed to draw from the president the kind of discerning evaluation I had solicited. At the same time, I sensed that he was a little perplexed and somewhat pensive at the conclusion of our interview. His pensiveness continued throughout the meetings of the afternoon and evening and caused me some concern.

On the following day, as the president delivered his address in the general session of the conference, he surprised me by telling the members about his experience with me the previous day. He acknowledged his frustration over my apparent reluctance to go into an immediate review of his correlated reports, and this frustration had remained with him into the night. As he was pondering these things, there came into his mind an experience he had had during the week prior to the conference.

He had visited a member of the stake who was in a hospital recuperating from surgery. During this visit a nurse had entered the room, making her regular calls on the patients. She had gone to some charts that were hanging at the foot of the patient’s bed, carefully perused the notations, and then added some of her own. She had then stepped to the side of the patient, felt her pulse, placed a hand on her forehead, asked some questions, and received some responses. The president said, “It occurred to me that the nurse was attempting to assess some of the patient’s vital signs—some that were not reflected in the notations on the charts.”

The president said that it was then in his reflections that the purpose of my questioning the day before had registered with him. “I realized,” he said, “that Elder Larsen was asking me to assess your spiritual vital signs in ways that the reports may not have revealed.”

He then continued, “Today I am going to talk with you about those spiritual vital signs—those that go beyond the information on the charts.” He proceeded to give one of the finest talks I have heard a stake president give. Interestingly, he made no reference in his remarks to the statistical reports.

As a boy, he had been one of those little children, so common in Korea, who follow the missionaries everywhere. The elders lived near Daeyoon’s home in Chinhae, so he would pester them for conversation, treats, games, any kind of fun. They were always patient and kind, so he came to like them. After a while, he started following them to church. When he was twelve, some missionaries taught him the discussions, and he was baptized. Because of the recurring warmth and loving attitude of the elders, he continued to be active in the Church.

We must be careful of the misuse of credit. The use of credit cards in many places has increased consumer debt to staggering proportions. I am reminded of the story of “an elderly farmer [who] wrote to a mail order house as follows: ‘Please send me one of the gasoline engines you show on page 787, and if it’s any good, I’ll send you a check.’
“In time he received the following reply: ‘Please send check. If it’s any good, we’ll send the engine.’”

The youth of the Bountiful Utah Central Stake were planning a youth conference for the first week in June. They were planning some exciting events right in their own area. They planned a day at a water slide, an evening barbecue, a day of workshops, a dance, and more. It was going to be great fun. But the week before their youth conference, mud slides and floodwaters had inundated dozens of homes in Bountiful. It didn’t seem quite right to be planning an activity when so many people needed help. The youth decided to cancel their youth conference and offer their time and strength in helping their neighbors.
Julie Merrill, Lisa and Lori Dearden, Michelle Reading, Jim Summers, Bob Foster, Betsy Ann Wiscombe, and Adam Birmingham and nearly 100 percent of the youth in their wards turned out dressed in old clothes and with shovels over their shoulders to be assigned a home to help clean. This group was shown to a home where mud had filled the bottom level.
At first the group gingerly waded into the mud careful not to get too much on their clothes, but as bucket after bucket was filled and lifted in a bucket brigade out of the house, they didn’t hesitate to get dirty. As the group was working, one boy called out, “I know a song we should sing. We should sing, ‘Give Said the Little Stream.’” His suggestion was met with groans. The heavy mud started to take its toll on young muscles, but their good spirits won out. Someone missed the bucket with a shovelful of mud. Another retaliated, and soon everyone was yelling to stop the mud fight, but since everyone was already covered, it did little damage.
The youth went back the next day and the next until the home they were working on was as clean as they could get it and ready for reconstruction work.
How did they feel about shoveling mud instead of having fun at their youth conference? Julie Merrill said, “It was nice to help other people. I was worn out, but I felt like I was helping. I didn’t really mind the change of plans.” Lori Dearden actually preferred the change of plans. “I’m still a Beehive so I couldn’t go to some of the joint activities at the youth conference, so I didn’t mind the change of plans. It was hard work, but we were really excited to finally see the floor. We left it really clean with all the walls washed down. It felt good to help.”

There seem to be more families involved in the Church in Madrid than there are in other parts of Spain. Still, in Madrid, like anywhere else, you have to know for yourself what’s true.
Arturo and Alberto Recio saw their father join the Church first, but wanted to gain their own testimonies. “I was studying the Book of Mormon and I read Moroni 10; then I read it again and again,” said Arturo, 13. “Then I asked God if it was true, and he answered me, and here I am.”

I want to talk to my young friends of the Aaronic Priesthood. I begin with a parable; and then I have a test for you.
Imagine that our bishop has appointed you and me to plan a picnic for all of the ward members. It is to be the finest social in the history of the ward, and we are to spare no expense.
We reserve a beautiful picnic ground in the country. We are to have it all to ourselves; no outsiders will interfere with us.
The arrangements go very well, and when the day comes, the weather is perfect. All is beautifully ready. The tables are in one long row. We even have tablecloths and china. You have never seen such a feast. The Relief Society and Young Women have outdone themselves. The tables are laden with every kind of delicious food: cantaloupes, watermelon, corn on the cob, fried chicken, hamburgers, cakes, pies—you get the picture?
We are seated, and the bishop calls upon the patriarch to bless the food. Every hungry youngster secretly hopes it will be a short prayer.
Then, just at that moment there is an interruption. A noisy old car jerks into the picnic grounds and sputters to a stop close to us. We are upset. Didn’t they see the “reserved” signs?
A worried-looking man lifts the hood; a spout of steam comes out. One of our brethren, a mechanic, says, “That car isn’t going anywhere until it is fixed.”
Several children spill from the car. They are ragged and dirty and noisy. And then an anxious mother takes a box to that extra table nearby. It is mealtime. Their children are hungry. She puts a few leftovers on the table. Then she nervously moves them about, trying to make it look like a meal for her hungry brood. But there is not enough.
We wait impatiently for them to quiet down so that we can have the blessing and enjoy our feast.
Then one of their little girls spies our table. She pulls her runny-nosed little brother over to us and pushes her head between you and me. We cringe aside, because they are very dirty. Then the little girl says, “Ummm, look at that. Ummm, ummm, I wonder what that tastes like.”
Everyone is waiting. Why did they arrive just at that moment? Such an inconvenient time. Why must we interrupt what we are doing to bother with outsiders? Why couldn’t they have stopped somewhere else? They are not clean! They are not like us. They just don’t fit in.
Since the bishop has put us in charge, he expects us to handle these intruders. What should we do? Of course, this is only a parable. But now for the test. If it really happened, my young friends, what would you do?
I will give you three choices.
First, you could insist the intruders keep their children quiet while we have the blessing. Thereafter we ignore them. After all, we reserved the place.
I doubt that you would do that. Could you choke down a feast before hungry children? Surely we are better than that! That is not the answer.
The next choice. There is that extra table. And we do have too much of some things. We could take a little of this and a little of that and lure the little children back to their own table. Then we could enjoy our feast without interruption. After all, we earned what we have. Did we not obtain it by our own industry, as the Book of Mormon says? (see Alma 4:6).
I hope you would not do that. There is a better answer. You already know what it is.
We should go out to them and invite them to come and join us. You could slide that way, and I could slide this way, and the little girl could sit between us. They could all fit in somewhere to share our feast. Afterwards, we will fix their car and provide something for their journey.
Could there be more pure enjoyment than seeing how much we could get those hungry children to eat? Could there be more satisfaction than to interrupt our festivities to help our mechanic fix their car?
Is that what you would do? Surely it is what you should do. But forgive me if I have a little doubt; let me explain.
We, as members of the Church, have the fullness of the gospel. Every conceivable manner of spiritual nourishment is ours. Every part of the spiritual menu is included. It provides an unending supply of spiritual strength. Like the widow’s cruse of oil, it is replenished as we use it and shall never fail (see 1 Kgs. 17:8–16).
And yet, there are people across the world and about us—our neighbors, our friends, some in our own families—who, spiritually speaking, are undernourished. Some of them are starving to death!
If we keep all this to ourselves, it is not unlike feasting before those who are hungry.
We are to go out to them, and to invite them to join us. We are to be missionaries.
It does not matter if it interrupts your schooling or delays your career or your marriage—or basketball. Unless you have a serious health problem, every Latter-day Saint young man should answer the call to serve a mission.
Even mistakes and transgressions must not stand in the way. You should make yourself worthy to receive a call.
The early Apostles at first did not know that the gospel was for everyone, for the Gentiles. Then Peter had a vision. He saw a vessel full of all kinds of creatures and was commanded to kill and to eat. But he refused, saying they were common and unclean. Then the voice said, “What God hath cleansed, that call not thou common” (see Acts 10:9–16). That vision, and the experience they had immediately following, convinced them of their duty; thus began the great missionary work of all Christianity.
Almost any returned missionary will have a question: “If they are starving spiritually, why do they not accept what we have? Why do they slam the door on us and turn us away?”
One of my sons was serving in Australia and was thrown off a porch by a man who rejected his message.
My son is big enough and strong enough that he had to be somewhat agreeable to what was happening or the man never could have done it.
Be patient if some will not eat when first invited. Remember, all who are spiritually hungry will not accept the gospel. Do you remember how reluctant you are to try any new food? Only after your mother urges you will you take a little, tiny portion on the tip of a spoon to taste it to see if you like it first.
Undernourished children must be carefully fed; so it is with the spiritually underfed. Some are so weakened by mischief and sin that to begin with they reject the rich food we offer. They must be fed carefully and gently.
Some are so near spiritual death that they must be spoonfed on the broth of fellowship, or nourished carefully on activities and programs. As the scriptures say, they must have milk before meat (see 1 Cor. 3:2; D&C 19:22). But we must take care lest the only nourishment they receive thereafter is that broth.
But feed them we must. We are commanded to preach the gospel to every nation, kindred, tongue, and people. That message, my young friends, appears more than 80 times in the scriptures.
I did not serve a regular mission until we were called to preside in New England. When I was of missionary age, when I was your age, young men could not be called to the mission field. It was World War II, and I spent four years in the military. But I did do missionary work; we did share the gospel. It was my privilege to baptize one of the first two Japanese to join the Church after the mission had been closed 22 years earlier. Brother Elliot Richards baptized Tatsui Sato. I baptized his wife, Chio. And the work in Japan was reopened. We baptized them in a swimming pool amid the rubble of a university that had been destroyed by bombs.
Shortly thereafter I boarded a train in Osaka for Yokahama and a ship that would take me home. Brother and Sister Sato came to the station to say good-bye. Many tears were shed as we bade one another farewell.
It was a very chilly night. The railroad station, what there was left of it, was very cold. Starving children were sleeping in the corners. That was a common sight in Japan in those days. The fortunate ones had a newspaper or a few old rags to fend off the cold.
On that train, I slept restlessly. The berths were too short anyway. In the bleak, chilly hours of the dawn, the train stopped at a station along the way. I heard a tapping on the window and raised the blind. There on the platform stood a little boy tapping on the window with a tin can. I knew he was an orphan and a beggar; the tin can was the symbol of their suffering. Sometimes they carried a spoon as well, as if to say, “I am hungry; feed me.”
He might have been six or seven years old. His little body was thin with starvation. He had a thin, ragged shirtlike kimono, nothing else. His head was shingled with scabs. His one jaw was swollen—perhaps from an abscessed tooth. Around his head he had tied a filthy rag with a knot on top of his head—a pathetic gesture of treatment.
When I saw him and he saw that I was awake, he waved his can. He was begging. In pity, I thought, “How can I help him?” Then I remembered. I had money, Japanese money. I quickly groped for my clothing and found some yen notes in my pocket. I tried to open the window. But it was stuck. I slipped on my trousers and hurried to the end of the car. He stood outside expectantly. As I pushed at the resistant door, the train pulled away from the station. Through the dirty windows I could see him, holding that rusty tin can, with the dirty rag around his swollen jaw.
There I stood, an officer from a conquering army, heading home to a family and a future. There I stood, half-dressed, clutching some money which he had seen but which I could not get to him. I wanted to help him, but couldn’t. The only comfort I draw is that I did want to help him.
That was 38 years ago, but I can see him as clearly as if it were yesterday.
Perhaps I was scarred by that experience. If so, it is a battle scar, a worthy one, for which I bear no shame. It reminds me of my duty!
Young brethren, I can hear the voice of the Lord saying to each of us just as He said to Peter, “Feed my lambs. … Feed my sheep. … Feed my sheep” (see John 21:15–17).
I have unbounded confidence and faith in you, our young brethren. You are the warriors of the Restoration. And in this spiritual battle, you are to relieve the spiritual hunger and feed the sheep. It is your duty!
We have the fullness of the everlasting gospel. We have the obligation to share it with those who do not have it. God grant that we will honor that commission from the Lord and prepare ourselves and answer the call, I humbly pray, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

After that the days seemed to drag, gray and dull, one after another. Part of the time I felt defensive and angry at my mother, wanting to hurt her back. But at other times I felt small and frightened, like a little girl, longing for her to hold and comfort me and dissolve my fears. She had taken the excitement and anticipation out of the whole thing, and sometimes I weakened and felt that maybe I shouldn’t go after all. But too many of my prayers had been answered, too many signposts pointed that this should be the direction my life ought to take. I kept telling myself that things would work out. Perhaps it would be easier for my family if I went away. If I weren’t so close, such a source of conflict and friction, it might be easier for them to understand, to get a broader, kinder perspective. Perhaps they might even miss me and appreciate me a little.
But I was afraid. And there was no one to understand. Lori could only see that I had the world at my feet, that I was going to Zion, Mecca, where everything would be sunshine and happiness and dreams-come-true. But I had never been to Utah before. I didn’t even know what a mountain looked like in real life. I didn’t know a single person in all of Utah, much less at BYU. What were other Mormons like? Would they laugh at me if I was different, if I did things wrong? Our little branch was so casual, so experimental. What would it be like in a congregation of hundreds of Latter-day Saints? What if they all knew ten times more about the gospel than I knew?
Finally, suddenly, the long days were past, and it was time for me to leave. The day before the bus came that would take me to the airport in Madison, I prayed and fasted all day. I couldn’t bear to leave my mother like this, with her hating me and thinking that I was deserting her, rejecting her as, somehow, her older sister once had done.
That night I had a dream. In the dream I was a little girl again, with long pigtails and a dirty face. Some mean little boys were chasing me down the sidewalk and I fell and scraped my knee. I stumbled back up and ran across the lawn, sobbing for my mother, screaming for her to come. Suddenly she was there, sweeping me into her strong, soft arms. She smoothed back my hair and kissed my cheek, and cleaned my scraped knee, painting it with iodine, then sticking a big, beautiful band-aid on top. I woke suddenly, feeling still her gentle fingers against my skin, seeing the smile of love on her face.
I sat up in bed and it came to me that my mother didn’t know how much I needed her! How long had it been since I’d asked her advice or her help? In her eyes I seemed efficient, self-contained, and sure of myself. Mormonism had excluded her from my life, and I had done nothing to compensate for that—to let her know I still loved and needed and valued her! And all these months I had been thinking it was all her fault, that I, alone, was the wounded party!
The next morning I called her into my room and asked if she would help me pack. She’s very neat and efficient, and I knew she could organize and fit in all my last-minute things in a way I never could. I told her so. I talked with her and I praised her, and soon the look of guarded puzzlement left her face and we both began to enjoy being together. It didn’t work miracles; there wasn’t enough time for that. I still couldn’t tell her how frightened I was, how much I really loved her and would miss her. But the look of cold anger had gone out of her eyes, and she came to the bus station, and when I pushed the note I had written into her hands and reached out to hug her, she reached out, too, and held me close a minute and kissed my cheek. It was all I could do to hold back the tears. I looked through the glass and waved to my family, wishing they knew how very much I loved them.

Audrey liked to be awake. She liked to play with her friends Karen and Sue. Her mother and her grandmother were fun to be with too. Audrey liked to run and jump and chase her shadow. Some days she even liked helping with chores around the house.
The one thing Audrey didn’t like, though, was taking naps. Every afternoon when Mother suggested that Audrey lie down for a little while, Audrey would pout and say, “Do I have to?” Audrey was afraid she might miss doing something she enjoyed while she slept.
“Audrey, it’s time for your nap,” Mother announced shortly after lunch one day.
“Oh, Mother, could I skip my nap just this one time?” Audrey pleaded.
“But if you do, you’ll feel cranky and tired later on,” Mother warned.
“No, I won’t. I promise, Mother. Just let me skip my nap for today,” Audrey persisted.
“Well, OK, just this once,” Mother agreed, but Audrey noticed she didn’t look very pleased.
As Audrey raced over to Karen’s house, she felt very grown up.
“Where’s Karen?” she asked Karen’s mother.
“Karen is napping,” her friend’s mother answered.
Audrey felt disappointed as she walked next door to Sue’s house. She knocked on the back door and asked if Sue could play with her.
“I’m sorry, Audrey,” Sue’s mother said, “but she’s in her room taking a nap. Perhaps later.”
Unhappily, Audrey started home. Maybe Mother or Grandmother will play with me, she thought, rubbing her eyes.
When she was home again, Audrey looked up at Mother, who was busy sewing.
“Mother, will you play a game with me?” Audrey asked.
“Honey, I can’t now,” Mother told Audrey, glancing at the clock. “I’ve promised to hem this dress for your grandmother. She needs to wear it tonight.”
“Where’s Grandmother?” asked Audrey.
“She’s taking a nap,” Mother explained.
“But Grandmother is too old to take naps,” Audrey said in surprise.
“Audrey, people don’t take naps because of their age. They take naps because they’re tired and need to rest,” Mother explained, smiling.
Audrey knew what Mother said made sense, for already she was beginning to feel tired. She let out a yawn and then said, “Mother?”
“What, Audrey?” Mother asked.
“I don’t think I want to skip my nap after all. I think I’ll go lay down for a while like Grandmother. I’m sort of tired too.”
Then Audrey kissed her mother and hurried off to her room.

This story happened in Slovenia.
Maja sat on the steps of her house and rested her chin in her hands. The sun was shining bright, warm rays of light through the tall trees. The air smelled like fresh pine needles.
Mami came out and sat next to Maja. “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m supposed to share my favorite scripture in Primary,” Maja said. “But I don’t have a favorite. And I don’t know which one to pick.”
Mami nodded. “Choosing a favorite scripture is hard.” She looked out at the trees, then stood up. “I have an idea.”
Mami went back inside. When she came back, she was holding her scriptures. “Let’s start with a story. What’s your favorite scripture story?”
Maja thought about it. “I like when Jesus visited the Nephites.”
Mami flipped through the pages in the Book of Mormon. “That story starts in 3 Nephi.” She pointed to the page. “Let’s take turns reading and pick out verses we like.”
Maja nodded and listened as Mami read. She read about Jesus Christ calling His disciples. She read about peacemakers and prayer.
Then it was Maja’s turn. When she finished one of the verses, she paused. She felt like the sun was shining bright enough to fill her heart.
She looked up at Mami. “I like that one.”
“Me too. What do you like about it?” Mami asked.
Maja shrugged as a smile spread on her face. “It’s about Jesus. And it just makes me feel happy.”
Mami smiled back. “That’s a great way to know you’ve found a favorite scripture. Do you want to share that one in Primary?”
Maja nodded excitedly. “Will you help me learn it?”
“Of course!” Mami said.
Mami and Maja practiced one word at a time. While they worked, the birds chirped in the trees, like they were learning too.
All week, Maja kept practicing her new favorite scripture. On Sunday morning, she was a little nervous. She practiced saying her scripture on the long drive to church.
There were only a few kids in Maja’s Primary. But as she walked into the classroom, Maja felt like butterflies were flying around in her stomach.
When it was her turn to share, Maja stood and took a deep breath. “Behold, I am the law, and the light,” she said. “Look unto me, and endure to the end, and ye shall live; for unto him that endureth to the end will I give eternal life.”
When Maja was done, she sat down and smiled. She did it! The nervous butterflies were gone, and the warm, sunshiny feeling was back. She knew her favorite scripture would bring that feeling whenever she needed it.
The scripture Maja learned for Primary still brings her feelings of sunshine and comfort today! What’s your favorite scripture?
Illustrations by Chloe Dominique

Several years ago I was working in my garden and was delighted to see a family of quail. I watched the father sitting on top of the wall standing guard. The mother was busy keeping her 10 precious babies together and seemed to be demonstrating how to peck in the earth for food. I was fascinated. I carefully and quietly walked closer. All too soon I was detected by the watchful father, and he let out a warning call. The mother tried to guide the children around the wall to safety, but I—the danger—was too near, and she became frustrated and confused and flew up on the wall by the father. I didn’t want to harm this family, so I quickly retreated out of sight.
Unlike my experience with the quail family, the dangers threatening the lives of our families do not retreat. Satan rejoices in our confusion and frustration, and his influences surround us. We turn on the television—is this a family show? We hear something coming out of our child’s room—is this music? We try to pick a movie—did this one really have an acceptable rating?
Sometimes Satan’s influences are more subtle. I have asked myself these questions: Do I leave my children exposed to danger when I don’t teach them the truths of the gospel? Do I neglect their souls when I don’t help them recognize the promptings of the Spirit and the guidance they can receive? Do I leave my children exposed to danger when my example is not the same as my words or when I don’t share my love in such a way that each child feels it deeply?

I recently met a family who is a beautiful example of how we believe Him. Olgan and Soline Saintelus, from Port-au-Prince, Haiti, told me their story.
On January 12, 2010, Olgan was at work and Soline was at the church when a devastating earthquake struck Haiti. Their three children—Gancci, age five, Angie, age three, and Gansly, age one—were at home in their apartment with a friend.
Massive devastation was everywhere. As you will remember, tens of thousands lost their lives that January in Haiti. Olgan and Soline ran as fast as they could to their apartment to find the children. The three-story apartment building where the Saintelus family lived had collapsed.
The children had not escaped. No rescue efforts would be devoted to a building that was so completely destroyed.
Olgan and Soline Saintelus had both served full-time missions and had been married in the temple. They believed in the Savior and in His promises to them. Yet their hearts were broken. They wept uncontrollably.
Olgan told me that in his darkest hour he began to pray. “Heavenly Father, if it be Thy will, if there could be just one of my children alive, please, please help us.” Over and over he walked around the building, praying for inspiration. The neighbors tried to comfort him and help him accept the loss of his children. Olgan continued to walk around the rubble of the collapsed building, hoping, praying. Then something quite miraculous happened. Olgan heard the almost inaudible cry of a baby. It was the cry of his baby.
For hours the neighbors frantically dug into the rubble, risking their own lives. In the dark of the night, through the piercing sounds of hammers and chisels, the rescue workers heard another sound. They stopped their pounding and listened. They couldn’t believe what they were hearing. It was the sound of a little child—and he was singing. Five-year-old Gancci later said that he knew his father would hear him if he sang. Under the weight of crushing concrete that would later result in the amputation of his arm, Gancci was singing his favorite song, “I Am a Child of God.”
As the hours passed amid the darkness, death, and despair of so many other precious sons and daughters of God in Haiti, the Saintelus family had a miracle. Gancci, Angie, and Gansly were discovered alive under the flattened building.

We had just moved to a small rural town where not many members of the Church lived. Our little branch was a friendly, close-knit group, and we enjoyed each Sabbath day and the opportunity to attend church. Our only concern was for our children, who had few playmates their ages in our branch. My husband and I decided to look for ways to make friends outside of the Church so our children could have new friends and get to know people from different faiths.
My hopes were soon dashed, however, when a local children’s group told me that because we were “Mormons,” we were not welcome in their group. I had belonged to similar groups in other areas where there weren’t many Latter-day Saints, and religion had never been an issue before. I assured the leaders of the group that I would not try to proselytize or force my religion on anyone; my family and I just wanted to make friends and meet new people. But they remained firm in their decision and did not allow us to join.
I decided that I would be kind, Christlike, and friendly to the people of this town so they would see that members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are good people. We started inviting other children over to play, inviting neighbor families to dinner, and visiting with others in an effort to get to know people. I read conference talks, Church magazine articles, and scriptures about fellowship, kindness, and serving others. Then I worked to put these principles into practice in my life. I knew if I could show the people of this town how kind and loving Latter-day Saint families can be, this group would be sure to accept us in time.
Time passed, however, and although we were able to befriend the leaders of this social group, they remained firm in their “no Mormons allowed” position.
I decided then to continue being neighborly and kind to the people in my town, but I also decided to search out a similar social group in a neighboring town. But even there I was told that Latter-day Saints were not allowed to join their group. By then I was so frustrated I wanted to cry. What was wrong with the people in these two towns? Couldn’t they see that we were a kind, fun family?
I prayed for the Spirit to guide me and help me be as friendly and Christlike as possible. I prayed that those who knew me would feel in their hearts that we were good people. I prayed they would experience a change of heart that would lead them to accept us. Still, I felt as if my prayers weren’t being answered. No matter how hard I tried, I was unable to soften their hearts.
Then one evening I received a phone call that shattered my hopes altogether. The leaders of the group called and told me once again that my family was not welcome in their group. They were concerned that we might be expecting to join in the future because we had made so many friends in the community. They said some very hurtful things, and I cried with a broken heart. All of the dinners, service projects, cookies, and sidewalk chats had meant nothing to these people. Where had I gone wrong?
That night I prayed a heartfelt and sincere request for help in dealing with those who had such strong feelings against the Church. I felt as if I were now entitled to their favor because of my efforts, and I explained this to my Father in Heaven.
The answer was stronger than any impression I had received for quite some time: “Follow Christ.”
It confused me at first. “Yes,” I thought, “but I already do.” The cookies, the friendship, the reaching out—I was being as Christlike as I could. Still, the only impression I received was “Follow Christ.”
I then realized that when my energies are focused on following Christ, I am not affected as much by the opinions of others. I serve them because it is right and not because it will help my image as a Latter-day Saint. I am friendly and neighborly because I feel friendly and neighborly, not because I have some self-centered reason for being friendly.
“Follow Christ” has become my motto whenever I am troubled by those who dislike us because of our faith. I now find joy in serving others regardless of their reaction to my kindness, and I am blessed for it. I did not come to earth to win the approval of others. I came here to prepare to return to my Father in Heaven, and the only way to get there is to follow the Savior.

Illustration by Katelyn Budge
I had a lot of kids at my school who acted like fake friends. In the hallways, they’d be like, “What’s up, buddy?” And then they would laugh and whisper about me. Other people made fun of how I looked. It was really stressful and made me feel self-conscious.
I used to not pray very often. But especially when I started getting teased at school, I started praying more. At the beginning, I was unsure of what to say. But over time, I’ve felt comfortable talking to Heavenly Father because I’ve built a relationship with Him.
Now if there’s something going on at school, I’ll just say a prayer in my mind. I know that Jesus Christ is with me, and He’s the best Friend I can have. Praying and remembering Christ have helped me realize that the things other people say don’t matter. What matters is what Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ think of me.
Joshua G., age 14, Michigan, USA
Enjoys playing the violin.