Gospel Story Finder

A number of years ago I attended a branch conference that taught me a lesson I will never forget. The branch president and the first counselor had spoken. Now it was the second counselor’s turn. I glanced at him as he moved, with obvious self-consciousness, to the pulpit.
As he looked down at the congregation I let my eyes follow his. Two or three of the brethren had their eyes closed, apparently in sleep, and several mothers were unsuccessfully trying to quiet their restless children. Only the mission president, who had chosen to sit with the congregation, was looking directly and attentively at the speaker, with an expression of interest and anticipation.
“My brethren and sisters,” confessed the second counselor, blushing, “speaking in Church is very difficult for me.” He paused awkwardly. “I’m doing it today because the president has asked me to say something. I think this is the second talk I have ever given in my life, and since I don’t feel too strong in explaining gospel doctrine, I have copied down a talk from a book we have at home.”
His powerful, calloused hands fumbled in his suit coat pocket. Heavy drops of perspiration suddenly began to bead his brow; the talk was not there. Nor was it in any of the other pockets. I felt sorry for him.
“Bear your testimony.” I thought, hoping he would somehow get my message, but for him it was apparently either the copied talk or nothing. Not finding it in his pockets, he stepped from the pulpit and walked down the aisle toward the coats that were hanging at the rear of the hall.
For one moment I thought he was simply going to put on his coat and leave, but it was his talk he was after. It was there in a pocket of his overcoat. Slowly he retraced his steps up the aisle, carefully unfolding the handwritten pages as he came. Standing once more at the pulpit, he began to read nervously and with obvious embarrassment, sometimes correcting his mistakes, sometimes not.
I was uncomfortable with him, and I was uncomfortable for him. But mostly I was aware of his inadequacy. And yet, the Spirit was about to teach me a great truth.
It began with a kind of pricking inside myself that seemed to translate itself into a small voice, and for the next few minutes I carried on a dialogue with myself.
“You could certainly do a lot better,” I heard my “other self” say.
I squirmed uncomfortably but conceded that I probably could.
“If you had a chance you could certainly teach this man something,” persisted the voice. “You have a doctor’s degree from the university, you are a seventy, the district mission president …”
This voice was too frank. I looked at the audience. Most, out of politeness and embarrassment, weren’t looking at the speaker. Only the mission president was still looking intently and respectfully at him.
“It’s ironic!” the “other” continued. “The good speaker is sitting here and the poor one is up there at the pulpit.”
The discussion was becoming unbearable. I tried shutting the voice out by desperately trying to follow the talk, but the awkwardness and mistakes made it difficult.
“What are you going to learn from him?” asked the little voice, determined to keep needling me.
“I don’t know,” I answered impatiently, “but chances are I can learn something if I listen.”
“You mean you haven’t been listening?”
“No, I’ve been involved in this silly discussion, for one thing!”
“So you’ve learned nothing from him so far?”
“No.”
“And since he started to speak you haven’t contributed anything to the spirit of this meeting?”
“No …”
“Do you think this speaker needs help?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to help him?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then do it,” said the voice. “Listen, and contribute …”
At that point I stopped the dialogue. Considerably disturbed by this silent discussion with myself, I closed my eyes and prayed earnestly to my Father in Heaven, acknowledging that I was the one who needed help, and pleading with him to let me contribute to the spirit of the meeting. “Help me,” I asked, “to listen as I ought to listen.”
Then I raised my head, looked at the speaker, and concentrated every effort to do as much as I could to see that my prayer was answered.
In the remaining few minutes of the man’s talk an unusual thing happened. For ten years one problem had bothered me, a question of doctrine. I ought to have known the answer: my experience in the Church and my study of the scriptures should have given it to me. It wasn’t anything to shake my faith or undermine my testimony, but it had eluded me for ten years. I heard my answer that day. I had often sat in conferences within the sound of a prophet’s voice, but perhaps I had never really listened until that day when the answer came to me from the second counselor. He read it falteringly, unsure of himself, but the message burned itself into my soul as if it had been etched there with fire.
I am now convinced that he taught me by the Spirit. But I am equally convinced that I would not have benefited from his talk had I not made an effort to listen by the Spirit. Above and beyond receiving the answer to the question that had bothered me for ten years, I learned that the call to listen is every bit as important as the call to speak or teach. Jesus himself taught in his native Nazareth; but hearing they heard not, and it profited them nothing.

Not long ago I received a touching letter from Sister Mori Farmer. It tells of two home teachers and the loving service they provided the Farmer family during a time when the family was experiencing some difficult financial circumstances. At the time the service was provided, the Farmer family was out of town attending a family reunion.
I share with you first a letter written to the Farmer family by their home teachers, which the family found taped to their garage door when they returned home. It begins: “We hope you had a great family reunion. While you were gone, we and about 50 of our friends had a great party at your house. We want to thank you from the bottom of our hearts for the years of unselfish service you both have given to us. You have been Christlike examples of untiring service to others. We can never repay you for that—but just thought we’d like to say thanks. Signed, your home teachers.”
I quote now from Sister Mori Farmer’s letter to me:
“[After reading the note from our home teachers] we entered the house with great anticipation. What we found shocked us so much we were at a loss for words. I stayed up all night crying over the generosity of the people in our ward.
“Our home teachers had decided that they would fix our carpet while we were away. They had moved the furniture out into the front yard so the carpet could get stretched and finished. One man in the ward stopped and asked what was going on. He returned later with several hundred dollars’ worth of paint and said, ‘We might as well paint the house while everything is out.’ Others saw the cars out front and stopped to see what was going on, and by week’s end 50 people were busy repairing, painting, cleaning, and sewing.
“Our friends and fellow ward members had fixed our poorly laid carpet, painted the entire house, repaired holes in the drywall, oiled and varnished our kitchen cabinets, put curtains on three windows in the kitchen and family room, did all the laundry, cleaned every room in the house, had the carpets cleaned, fixed broken door latches, and on and on. In trying to make a list of all the wonderful things they did for us, we filled three pages. All of this had been accomplished between Wednesday and our return on Sunday.
“Almost everyone we talked to told us, with tears in their eyes, what a spiritual experience it had been to participate. We have been truly humbled by this experience. As we look around our home, we are reminded of their kindness and of the great sacrifice of time, talents, and money they made for our family. Our home teachers have truly been angels in our lives, and we will never forget them and the wonderful things they have done for us.”

As the sun set on another Sunday in 1948, I found myself walking by the Trent River in Nottingham, England. I was a 20-year-old missionary at the time. It had been a long, exhausting day, but I was happy and satisfied in the work.
As I walked along the river, I said a prayer in my heart. Hoping to feel some guidance from the Lord, I asked, “Am I doing what You want?”
An overwhelming feeling of peace and understanding suddenly came over me. At that precise moment, I came to know that Jesus Christ knew me and loved me. I didn’t see a vision or hear a voice, but I could not have known of Christ’s reality and divinity any more powerfully had He stood before me and called out my name.
From that day to today, every significant decision I have made has been influenced by my knowledge that Jesus Christ is the Son of God. I love Him more deeply and powerfully than words can express. He is my Lord, my Savior, my Redeemer, and my friend.

We think we know the difference between “friendly” competition and life. But sharp words and cutting remarks inflict wounds that leave ugly scars. The response is usually as vicious. I saw the absurdity of this attitude in a community league game I officiated several years ago. Two players on opposing teams were aggressively playing each other. Each time, as they went up and down the court, they intensified their verbal and physical exchanges. Finally, after several fouls were assessed, both players let all of their frustration out, and a fight ensued. I had found it interesting that the two players referred to each other by their first names, and after they had left the floor I remarked to a teammate that they seemed to be acquainted with each other. He replied, “They are. One is a bishop and the other is his ward clerk.” In the heat of competition we forget about our common brotherhood.

For their efforts in saving the life of Levi Tapp, Sand Tapp and David Bos received Boy Scout National Council certificates of Heroism.
In a televised presentation, the two 11-year-olds received gold medals for risking their lives to save another’s. The three boys were walking along the bank of a lake close to their home. Levi slipped in the mud and fell through the ice at the edge of the lake. Sand and David crawled out to Levi, and with one holding the legs of the other, grabbed Levi and inched him up onto solid ice. Sand wrapped Levi in his coat and carried him the half mile to his home.
The boys are from the Second Ward, Springfield Missouri Stake.

There is an old story of a waiter who asked a customer if he had enjoyed the meal. The man said that everything was fine, but it would have been better if they had given him more than two slices of bread.
The next day, when the man came to eat again, the waiter gave him four pieces of bread. The man said he still wished he had more. So the next day, the waiter gave him eight pieces! But the man still wasn’t satisfied.
Finally, on the fourth day, the waiter was really determined to make the man happy. So he took a nine-foot-long (3-m) loaf of bread, cut it in half, and with a smile, served it to the customer. Instead of being grateful, the man looked up and said, “The food was good, as always. But I see you’re back to giving me only two slices of bread.”

“It’s time for family prayer!” Dad called.
Jessie raced down the stairs to join her family in the living room. Kneeling down between her sister, Kayla, and her brother, Aiden, she reverently folded her arms.
Dad looked over at her. “Jessie, could you say it tonight?” he asked.
Jessie nodded and bowed her head. “Dear Heavenly Father,” she began, “we thank Thee for this day. We thank Thee for keeping us safe. Bless us to not have bad dreams tonight. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
“Amen,” the family echoed. But before anyone could stand, Dad stopped them. “Just a minute,” he said. “Mom and I want to talk to you about something.”
Mom looked around at them, smiling. “We love how reverent you all are during our family prayers,” she said. “But there’s more to prayer than just being reverent. The words we say are important too.”
Jessie wondered what Mom could mean. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked.
Mom pulled her into a hug. “Not at all, sweetie.” She thought for a moment. “When you kids come home from school, what do I have you do?”
“Tell you about our day,” Aiden said.
Mom nodded at him. “Prayers are like that. They’re a chance to tell Heavenly Father about the important parts of your day, like what you’re worried about or grateful for. That way you won’t have to say the same things over and over.”
“But the things I say over and over are the important parts,” Jessie said. “I’m always grateful for my day. And I’m always scared about bad dreams.”
“And that’s OK,” Mom said. “But I bet there are all sorts of other things Heavenly Father wants you to talk to Him about as well. Maybe you can try to think of some tonight.”
Later that night Jessie knelt by her bed. She folded her arms and bowed her head. “Dear Heavenly Father,” she began, “I thank Thee for this day. I thank Thee for keeping me safe …”
Jessie stopped. What else would Heavenly Father want to hear about? What had happened today?
She thought a moment. First she had gotten up. Then she had eaten breakfast. “I’m grateful that Mom surprised us with pancakes,” she said.
And then what? She thought some more. After breakfast she had gone to school. “And I thank Thee that I did a good job on my spelling test. And I’m sorry that I wasn’t very nice to Rachel at recess,” she added. “I’ll invite her to play with me tomorrow.”
Jessie continued to go through the rest of her day, telling Heavenly Father everything that had happened. By the time she was done, it was past her bedtime. Jessie yawned. “And please bless me to not have bad dreams,” she said. “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Crawling into bed, she fell right asleep.
The next morning Jessie was the last one downstairs for breakfast. “Did you sleep in?” Mom asked, pouring her a glass of orange juice.
Jessie shook her head. “No. I got up early to say my prayers.”
As Jessie started to eat breakfast, she smiled to herself.
There was just so much to talk about.

June and Dallin had talked about the future of their family before she passed away. They agreed that remarrying would be a blessing to him and their family. On August 25, 2000, Elder Oaks married Kristen M. McMain.
Kristen Oaks describes her life with President Oaks with one simple sentence: “We are united in the work of the Lord, and it has showered us with countless blessings.” She creates family gatherings as often as possible because it brings so much joy to the entire family. June is always a part of the conversation.

Emily Partridge, daughter of the first bishop of the Church in this dispensation, remembered leaving their comfortable home in Painesville, Ohio, to move to Jackson County, Missouri, in 1831 when she was just seven years old.3 Not long after, her family was driven from their home by the mob and had to relocate in Clay County. She described how they eventually found an “old log cabin that had been used for a stable. … There was one large room, and a leanto, but that was not of much use, as the floor was nearly all torn up, and the rats and rattlesnakes were too thick for comfort. There was a large fireplace in the one habitable room, and blankets were hung up a few feet back from the fire and the two families, fifteen or sixteen in number, were gathered inside of those blankets to keep from freezing for the weather was extremely cold, so cold that the ink would freeze in the pen as father sat writing close to the fire.”4

The family later moved to Illinois. Emily summarized their experience: “Times were hard and we were very destitute, having been robbed and driven from our homes and possessions so many times, and having had much sickness.”5

In my hand I hold a letter received two days ago from a faithful, brokenhearted father whose son, about the same age as the others, took his own life, notwithstanding the efforts of loving parents and a fine, wholesome family. I wish there were time to read a description of how hard these marvelous parents have tried. This is a missionary family, a committed family, a stay-together family; yet this boy, convinced of his own worthlessness, that he was a failure and that the mistakes he had made were disqualifying, took his own life. His father sent a copy of the note he left, and asked me to make such use of his letter and this letter as judgment and my feelings suggested.
I read you just a sentence from the letter left by the boy who ended his own life: “I have no hope, only dreams that have died. I was never able to obtain satisfactory interpersonal relationships. I feared the future and a lot of other things. I felt inferior. I have almost no will to achieve, perseverance, or sense of worth, so goodbye. I should have listened to you but I didn’t. I started using acid last summer. It’s purgatory.” What a tragic story!

Ashley pulled her stuffed-animal elephant to her chest and closed her eyes. She pictured the notes of her song, “The Elephant and the Flea,” just as they were on her music. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and smiled. Her turn was next, and she was sure she would remember the music she had so carefully memorized.
This was her first piano recital, and Ashley was nervous. The small room was packed with people, and she hardly knew any of them. But her mom was there, and her piano teacher, Miss Stewart, sat smiling at the front of the room near the piano. The students had been asked to dress to represent their songs, so Ashley carried a stuffed-animal elephant with a flea on its nose.
A little boy finished his song and stood up. He bowed while everyone clapped loudly. He did well. He didn’t forget any notes in his song.
Ashley swallowed. What if she messed up? Would they still clap for her? What would her mom and her piano teacher think?
Mom reached over and put her hand on Ashley’s back. “It’s your turn,” she whispered. Then she saw the nervous look on Ashley’s face and added, “You’ll do fine.”
Ashley stood up and started to picture the notes in her head one last time. Then she walked slowly to the front of the room.
After announcing her name and the title of her song, she placed the elephant on the edge of the bench, sat down next to it, and stared at the piano keys. She knew she could remember the notes. She had practiced so hard; she had to remember. She started playing. Her fingers danced across the keys as she made it through the first part of the song perfectly. Then she got to the second part. This part had always been tricky. Ashley tried to play the right notes, but her fingers and her brain forgot what came next.
Everyone watched her sit silently at the piano. How could this be happening? Miss Stewart searched through a pile of music and pulled out Ashley’s piece. She stood up and began walking toward Ashley. How embarrassing if she had to use the actual written music when she was supposed to have it memorized! Just before Miss Stewart could put the music on the piano, Ashley started playing again. Instead of starting where she had stopped, she skipped the middle part and began to play the short ending, which she remembered.
Embarrassed, Ashley finished the song and hurried back to her seat. She didn’t bow, and she didn’t look at anyone. The audience clapped, but Ashley was sure it wasn’t as loud or as long as it had been for the little boy before her.
“It’s OK,” her mom said. She put her arm around Ashley and kissed the top of her head. “You did so well.”
But Ashley knew she hadn’t done well at all.
When the recital was over, Ashley walked quickly toward the door. She couldn’t stand the embarrassment. A lady stepped in front of the door, stopping her from escaping.
“You did so well up there. I just love that you can play the piano at such a young age,” she said.
A man joined in. “I really liked your song,” he said.
More people walked by and smiled or patted Ashley on the back. Then Miss Stewart put her arm around Ashley’s shoulder. “You did a wonderful job,” she said. She smiled, then moved on to talk to some other piano students.
Ashley felt much better on the ride home. She had messed up, but that didn’t matter so much anymore. Everyone seemed to understand. Ashley had tried her best, and that was enough.

Ariel shares a similar experience: “One day I was rushing to school, and I don’t know why, but something told me to take my scriptures with me. So I quickly put them in my bag and went to school.” She goes on to say, “It just so happened that I had a really bad day. I think I was in the last class of the day, and I was looking in my bag and saw my scriptures there. Just seeing them made me happy and brought the Spirit to me, and I knew that this bad day wasn’t so bad and that everything would be okay.”

When my son was three years old and my daughter was four, they were part of a neighborhood preschool group. That winter those of us in charge of the group decided to do a Christmas project that included having each child donate a toy to a needy family.
We taught many lessons in the preceding weeks about how gratitude and sharing with others make us happy. I told my children to start thinking about which toys they would like to give, wanting them to have the experience of choosing what to give. Our family finances were limited, and I was curious which of their few toys they would be willing to part with.
One Saturday morning I told the children it was time to select their donation. I helped Hunter wrap the truck he had chosen and then went to see how Mikelle was doing. The scene I witnessed from the doorway of her room brought tears to my eyes.
Mikelle was holding her favorite doll, Mella, dressed in her best doll clothing, and she was singing to her. Then she tucked a small blanket into the bottom of a gift bag. She smiled at the doll, hugged and kissed her, and lovingly placed her in the bag. Seeing me, she said, “Mella’s all ready, Mom. I hope someone will love her.”
Knowing how my daughter felt about this doll, I was stunned she was giving her away. I almost wanted to tell Mikelle she didn’t have to give up her favorite doll, but I stopped myself.
“She understands giving,” I thought. “She is giving her very best.”
Suddenly I recognized that part of me was willing to give and share but not at too great a personal sacrifice. I had placed limits on my charity, and I knew I needed to change.
I thought of how Heavenly Father gave up His only perfect Son and allowed Him to suffer and die for me. I pictured a loving Father in Heaven kissing His Beloved Son and sending Him to earth as a baby, hoping that we would love and follow Him.
The Savior Himself held nothing back and gave everything He had to give.
I wondered if Mikelle would change her mind before the Christmas program, when the toys were to be donated, but she did not. I wondered if she would later regret her choice and feel sad, but she did not.
Seeing my daughter’s Christlike example, I decided that whether I have much or little to give, I would always cheerfully give my best when I have an opportunity to share.

Although most of the Saints had left Nauvoo by summertime, some still remained because of poverty or sickness. This made anti-Mormons very angry. On September 10, 1846, about eight hundred men with six cannons began to fire on the Saints still in Nauvoo. The attack continued for several days until an agreement was reached that every Mormon would leave except five men and their families, who would stay to sell the remaining property.

Scott has always been a very generous boy. His heart is very tender and easily touched by someone else’s need or misfortune.
The first week of school after Christmas, the home of a kindergarten classmate named Richard* burned down. He lost everything—his clothes, his toys, his brand-new Christmas presents—everything! Scott’s teacher asked the class if they would like to help Richard by sharing some of their own things with him. I gave Scott permission to give Richard anything of his that he wanted to.
Scott went to his room and gathered up everything he had received for Christmas—toys, pajamas, a coat, clothes. All were gifts that our family had carefully picked out for him. We explained that since Richard was smaller than he was, Scott’s new clothes wouldn’t fit. So, instead, Scott parted with some of his nice, but older clothes that were getting too small. We also encouraged him to limit how many toys to give to Richard since others in his class would be giving Richard things also. Scott went to bed well pleased that Richard would be OK.

I am grateful to the Lord for my membership in His Church. My investigation of this Church was never through anyone but by the power of God. I and my family members had attended so many churches. Our membership would have been earlier, but rumors about the Book of Mormon scared us until I was pushed by God. I liked what the Church offered me in their classes. The lessons were according to my needs, which I extended to my family members and now, we are all members of the Church.
Before my membership, I had always returned home late, but now I have been able to overcome that so I have time to discuss with my family, teach my children, and look over their work. My family is a peaceful one now and I am grateful to the Lord for that. I know that God lives and that this is His Church, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen. —Sorba Brima, Quarter Branch, Bo-Sierra Leone West Stake

“CQ … CQ (calling any station) … This is N7NGT, November seven November golf tango. Calling CQ from the state of Wyoming and standing by.”
The static of the radio fills the silence. Then the 16-year-old, red-haired girl, call sign N7NGT, leans over the microphone, presses the button, and repeats her call to the world on her father’s ham radio.
For a moment she wonders, Is anyone out there listening?
Does anyone want to talk to Shauna Richards in Rock Springs, Wyoming?
A moment later a voice answers Shauna’s call. In fact, in a little over an hour Shauna talks to people in Australia, New Zealand, Japan—all over. These people all have amateur radio licenses. They also have their own lingo, called Q signals. Shauna enjoys talking to strangers, who quickly become friends, about what their lives are like and what they like best about their hometowns. And in emergencies, they use their radios to relay messages out of the emergency area to comfort worried relatives and friends when other methods of communication fail. Ham radio is a good hobby for someone who likes to talk. And Shauna likes to talk.

Lincoln lived with his family in Santiago, Chile, until his mother died when he was 10. Afterward, he lived with his aunt and uncle. When Lincoln was 18, Elder Barton and Elder Bentley came to his aunt and uncle’s home. Lincoln’s aunt and grandmother immediately accepted the gospel, but Lincoln avoided the missionaries. One Sunday morning, his normally gentle grandmother came to his room, ripped the quilt off his bed, and told him he was going to church with them. Shocked by his grandmother’s unusual behavior and out of respect for her, he got up and went to church. That day he felt something new and powerful within his soul that changed his life. He soon became one of the Church’s first converts in Chile.

Let me tell you of a young man I knew when I was a mission president. He was a missionary full of faith. He was Uruguayan. He had been in the mission about three or four months when I arrived, and I noticed that wherever he served, people were being baptized. In the beginning I thought it was because of his senior companion, because he seemed too young, too new, to be the cause—that was my mistake. He knew how to make things happen.

He was called as a senior companion and a district leader. I sent him into a city that had gained a reputation of being a tough, “no results” city. Missionaries had not baptized anyone there for nearly a year—not one person! The members were discouraged. Only ten to twelve members were attending the branch. I didn’t tell him anything—I just notified him of the transfer. Three weeks later, he and his companion began baptizing. He served there about ten weeks. All of his district started baptizing.

It is great to have a missionary who can baptize, but if he can teach others how to do it, his leadership can bless the lives of many.

This missionary never wrote me much in his weekly reports. He would only write, “Dear President, I sure love you. Things are going great. Sincerely,” or “President, the Lord is blessing us greatly. I love the work. Your brother.”

He was called later to serve as a zone leader and sent to supervise the whole upper area of the mission where there were some very challenging cities. His new challenge was to teach the missionaries to do what he was doing. He served there two or three months and was responsible for scores of baptisms, and he literally changed the spirit of the whole zone, member leaders as well as missionaries. Together they wrought a spiritual miracle.

Then came a spiritual struggle for me, a restless feeling about him. I felt impressed that he should be sent to Paraguay. At that time the work was very slow in Paraguay. We averaged only 20 to 25 baptisms a month in the whole country. I wrestled with that and thought to myself, He has really proved himself here, but to put him in that situation might drag him down in discouragement as it has so many others. He may have a hard time sustaining his faith there. I had to struggle with my faith to convince myself that he really ought to go, but I obeyed the promptings.

I sent him a telegram transferring him to Asunción, Paraguay, as a zone leader and told him that he should leave the very next day. When he came into Montevideo, he didn’t even come to see me. He was modest and always a little embarrassed to see “the president.”

He departed from the mission home, but he left a letter, which was the first one that I had ever received from him. It said, in effect, “Dear President Cook, I received a telegram today telling me to go to Paraguay, and I thought you ought to know a few things: (1) You can’t baptize in Paraguay. I have had at least ten to fifteen elders tell me of their experiences there. (2) The members are not helping at all. (3) There are some real morality problems among the nonmembers there. (4) Many people live together unmarried. (5) ,(6), (7), (8) …” And he went through and listed ten to twelve of some of the most negative things that I have ever heard in my life.

I thought to myself, Oh no, unbelieving people have gotten to him.

But as he finished the list, he said, “I just wanted you to know, President, that I don’t believe any of those things.” Talk about faith! Then he committed himself, after expressing his faith, saying, “I want you to know, President Cook, that on Christmas Day (and the date of the letter was December 1), we are going to baptize 25 people.”

When I read that, I prayed for him and thought, The Lord bless you, elder. You have a tremendous amount of faith, and the Lord will sustain you. You don’t know the country. You haven’t ever been there. You don’t know where you are going to live. You don’t know your companion, the leaders, the members. You don’t know anything, and yet you, in faith, believe that you are going to baptize 25 people in 25 days.

Well, this young man was full of faith and was a real example of a great Latin leader. On December 25, he and his companion baptized 18 people. They hadn’t reached the 25, but 18 was just about all that the whole country baptized in a normal month. It was a great privilege two weeks later to participate in a baptismal service where he and his companion baptized 11 more. His district baptized about 30 that day. Can you see how one righteous man can turn around a whole set of circumstances? He believed, he committed, and he and the Lord did it.

One day at school, I was in a hurry to get to my math class, and my locker wouldn’t open. I hadn’t had any trouble opening my locker all year, so I was surprised I couldn’t open it. Right then the hall monitor walked by and opened my locker. I got my books and realized that if I walked into my math class, I would be tardy, so I went to find the hall monitor. She gave me a back-to-class pass. Just as I turned the corner, there was a girl in the hall sobbing because some girls had pulled a mean prank. I didn’t know her very well, but I gave her a hug, and she hugged back. I was amazed that the only time my locker jammed was that one day when a girl could use a hug. I think it is amazing that the Lord puts you in certain situations to help others.