Gospel Story Finder

Cory stared at the clock in the Primary room. “When will this be over?” he wondered.
Now that Cory was in middle school, Primary didn’t seem as fun anymore. He knew all the scripture stories and the answers to all the questions. He thought the games and songs were for little kids.
Cory slumped in his chair. Then he remembered something he wanted to ask Austin about his new computer game. “I need your help on this one level,” he whispered.
Sister Evans tapped Cory on his shoulder. “Please sing,” she said. Cory waited for Sister Evans to look away and then finished talking to Austin.
On the drive home from church, Mom asked, “How was Primary?”
“Fine,” Cory said. He didn’t remember much about it.
“Sister Evans asked me if she could come over for a visit tomorrow after school,” Mom said.
Cory swallowed hard. “Um, OK.”
The next day at school, Cory worried about what Sister Evans would say. “She probably wants to remind me that I shouldn’t talk during Primary,” he thought.
That afternoon, Cory was playing his new game when the doorbell rang. He looked up to see Mom inviting Sister Evans in.
“Hi, Cory,” Sister Evans said. She sat down and got right to the point. “How can I help make Primary a place you want to be?”
Cory started to say he liked Primary fine, but it seemed like Sister Evans wanted to hear what he really thought. So he told her everything—how he knew all the stories and how the games and songs were for younger kids.
“I think I understand,” Sister Evans said. “You’ve been in Primary a long time. Sometimes when we do the same things over again, it can seem boring.” Cory nodded. “Well,” Sister Evans said, “I don’t want Primary to be boring. I brought a scripture to share with you. I think it might help.”
Sister Evans opened her scriptures. “This was written by the Apostle Paul,” she said. “See if you can tell what he’s talking about.” Then she read, “‘But now are they many members, yet but one body.
“‘And the eye cannot say unto the hand, I have no need of thee: nor again the head to the feet, I have no need of you. …
“‘Now ye are the body of Christ, and members in particular’” (1 Corinthians 12:20–21, 27).
Cory asked, “When it says ‘members,’ is that like members of the Church?”
“Exactly,” Sister Evans said. “Just like every part of the body is important, every person is needed at church. In Primary, you can be like one of those hands that Paul wrote about—a helping hand.”
“But I don’t teach the lesson or lead the songs,” Cory said.
“But when you answer questions, it helps others learn,” Sister Evans said. “And when you sing your best, the younger children feel more confident.”
“I’ll try,” Cory said. “Maybe you can call me your ‘right-hand man,’” he said, smiling.
On Sunday, Cory felt more excited to go to Primary than he had for a long time. He answered questions, and he tried to sing well so that the younger kids could hear the words.
Later, Sister Evans pointed to a boy in the Sunbeam class who was crying. “Would you mind sitting by Steven today?” Sister Evans asked Cory.
Cory sat next to Steven and helped him sing the songs. When Cory folded his arms for the prayer, Steven did too.
On the way home, Cory felt a little more grown-up. He had always known he was important to Heavenly Father. But now that he was a “right-hand man” in Primary, he knew he was also an important part of Heavenly Father’s Church.

Leroy Alip listened intently as he was set apart to serve on a stake high council on the Big Island of Hawaii. In the blessing Brother Alip was told he would be on the island when a temple was built there and that he would serve in that temple. This was in 1984, and the only temple in Hawaii was on the island of Oahu, many miles away by boat or plane.
In 1997 President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) announced a new direction for temple construction. Building smaller temples would enable more temples to be built. The faithfulness of the Saints on the Big Island was rewarded six months later when President Hinckley announced a temple for Kona. After the temple was dedicated in 2000, Brother Alip was called as second counselor in the temple presidency. Today, fully retired from his career but fully engaged in the work of the Lord, he supervises the workers who keep the grounds of the Kona Hawaii Temple beautiful.

I spend my time paddleboarding, ice fishing, and raising show hogs and turkeys. Recently I was crowned the Utah High School Rodeo Queen and first attendant at the National High School Rodeo Finals. Before my competition I asked my father for a priesthood blessing. It gave me the peace and comfort I needed to relax and be myself. My Young Women medallion is as important to me as any of my favorite buckles and crowns. Earning my medallion taught me to set goals and work hard to achieve them.
McKardy K., 15, Utah, USA

A new girl joined our school class in the middle of the year. She looked and spoke differently than the other students. She had moved around a lot and had a hard time making friends. She had sad things happening in her family and came to school crying on some days. I knew I wanted to try to help this girl, but I wasn’t exactly sure what I should do because she did not always like to talk with other children. I prayed about what I should do and could feel the Holy Ghost whisper that I should just try to be her friend.
I helped her with her schoolwork and told her that our Heavenly Father gave her special talents for her to use and share with others. I invited her to play with me and other students at recess. A few months later, she said I was the first friend she ever had.
She had to move again, and I felt really sad. I asked the school secretary to send a letter to her at her new address. In the letter, I told my friend I would miss her and that she would always be my friend. I drew pictures of us playing together and reminded her of some of her talents. I told her she should be brave and try to make a new friend because she could help someone else. I prayed that she would find a friend in her new school and that the other children would be nice to her.
I know that Heavenly Father loves all of His children, and I am thankful that He helps us to help each of them.

In 1965 I headed to Vietnam for my third tour of duty with the U.S. Air Force. We were flying combat missions just about every day, with our squadron’s F-100 Super Sabers taking small arms hits regularly. In this environment, I easily developed faithful habits of prayer, and I found strength in knowing that my family back home was praying regularly for my safe and speedy return.
Looking back, I can see clearly that these prayers helped build a protective shield around me. I felt this protection especially on the morning of March 30, 1966. About halfway through a mission, I noticed that my fire warning light had lit up. I had been hit! I was in trouble, so I headed east toward the nearest friendly airfield.
I was feeling pretty good about things until my wingman told me that I was burning badly, with flames trailing several feet behind the aircraft. A moment later, the aircraft quit responding to the control stick. It was time to bail out. I squeezed the trigger, firing the ejection seat charge. It fired much more violently than I had expected, but at least I was separated from the burning F-100.
As soon as I ejected, things quickly went from bad to worse. The jolt of the ejection put me into a rapid, head-over-heels tumble. The tumble was so violent that I couldn’t think through the remainder of my memorized emergency procedures. My only clear thought at the time was that the human body was not built to withstand such violence. I expected an arm or a leg to be torn off at any minute!
I finally calmed down enough to recall a parachute free-fall training film I had seen just before my deployment to Vietnam. An image soon became crystal clear in my mind: Spread eagle to slow down and stabilize. As I responded to the image, which I knew was an answer to the many prayers that had been offered in my behalf, I immediately stopped spinning and tumbling. I was then able to concentrate on other pressing matters—like opening my parachute! If it had opened automatically, I wouldn’t have found myself tumbling with such violence.
My mind then cleared further, as if a small TV screen had appeared before me, outlining the rest of the critical emergency procedures I needed to remember. Check chute. I didn’t have one. If no chute, pull D-ring. The D-ring is the rip cord, which I quickly pulled. Immediately the parachute popped out and filled with air to break my fall. Deploy seat kit. I pulled the lanyard to release the heavy, hard-shelled survival kit that was strapped to my seat. No luck. The kit stayed attached, hanging dangerously behind my thighs.
Later, in my debrief of the ejection, a flight surgeon told me that in every case he knew of, an undeployed seat kit had resulted in a crushed pelvis. I was thankful I was not aware of this grim statistic as I floated toward the earth.
I hadn’t realized that Vietnam was in its dry season, and the soft rice field I expected when I landed was concrete hard. I hit my head on the ground and was briefly knocked unconscious. Fortunately, I had kept my helmet on throughout the ejection.
When I recovered, I unstrapped myself from my parachute and took a quick inventory. I had no broken bones and saw no enemy troops, but I knew I had landed in hostile territory controlled by the Vietcong. Within 30 minutes an Army helicopter arrived, picked me up, and flew me to my intended destination.
When I finally came down from my adrenalin high and could focus on all that had happened, I became immediately aware of the divine intervention that had occurred in my life. I had experienced major equipment problems: neither the automatic feature on my parachute nor the survival kit release system had worked. My spinning had prevented me from thinking clearly until mind-clearing images came to me. And I had landed safely and been rescued from hostile, Vietcong-held territory. In short, it was clear that my prayers and those of my family had been answered in a remarkable fashion.

The last day of hiking was a forced march as we pushed hard to make our train reservations at Bennett. Stopping for a brief rest, Colleen, with tears in her eyes, called for her counselor.
“I just can’t go on. I can’t make it. My ankle hurts so bad.” “Would you like a blessing?”
“Brother Otte, we need your priesthood.”
After the blessing the pain persisted, but Colleen was blessed with strength and a new determination and was able to continue hiking.

When I was nine years old, we lived in Fillmore, Utah. One rainy day, my mom, my two sisters, and I left for Kanab, Utah, to help my great-granny. We were on a winding road where you can’t see what is coming toward you until it is right there. The rain started pouring so hard that it was even harder to see. We had to keep driving because there were no places to pull over. I asked Mom if I should say a prayer. She said yes, so I did. I asked Heavenly Father to let the rain slow down until we got across Bear Valley. After a few seconds, the rain came down only very lightly and almost stopped. When we turned onto Highway 89, the rain picked up again, but we could see. We felt good about continuing our trip.
This year, we moved to Price, Utah. It started raining really hard while we were trying to load the moving truck. I went into my empty bedroom and asked Heavenly Father to let the rain quit until we were finished. It did quit, and we even had some sun. I told my parents what I had done, and Mom cried and hugged me because she remembered about Bear Valley, too. It didn’t rain again until we left Fillmore with all our things loaded.
I have a strong testimony of the power of prayer. I know that Heavenly Father listens to children. I will be a deacon soon, and I know I will need to use prayer constantly to help me fulfill my duties. And I know that He will be there and will listen to me.Kass Esplin, age 11Price, Utah

President Paulo Kretly of the Mozambique Maputo Mission shared this experience: “It is common in Mozambique [for] couples to live their lives together [without being married because] African tradition require[s] an expensive dowry to marry, a dowry most couples can’t afford.”
Members and missionaries thought and prayed about how to help.
The answer to their prayers was that they would emphasize the law of chastity and the importance of marriage and eternal families. And while helping couples to repent and legally marry, they would teach of the happiness that only comes through following Jesus Christ.
This is a picture of couples from two different cities in Mozambique. Married on Friday, they were baptized with their older children on Saturday. Friends and family were invited to “come and see,” and hundreds did “come and see.”
Following the baptism, one sister said, “We needed to choose whether to follow the traditions of our fathers or to follow Jesus Christ. We chose to follow Christ.”

“Put your foot inside this shoe,” seminary teacher Tatyana Mutilina said, holding out a boot nearly large enough for Goliath. Her student Anzhelika Kovalova timidly placed her foot inside.
“Now,” the teacher said, “put it here on the table where everyone can see.”
That got the class’s attention.
“Don’t go on a journey wearing shoes that don’t fit,” Sister Mutilina said. Then she taught the Kharkovsky Branch youth a powerful lesson from the seminary manual, reading scriptures, discussing questions, and bearing her testimony of how important it is to be prepared when the Lord calls upon you.
The point? “That the future of the Church in Ukraine will require youth like us to step forward,” Anzhelika says. “We need to be ready for the challenge.”

Eighth President of the Church
While serving in the Southern States Mission, George Albert Smith learned that the Lord truly does protect those who serve Him. After preaching the gospel in a rural area, Elder Smith and five other missionaries were awakened at midnight by shouting from an angry crowd outside. The mob surrounded the building and began firing into it. President Smith later recorded: “Splinters were flying over our heads in every direction. … I felt absolutely no terror. I was very calm as I lay there, experiencing one of the most horrible events of my life, but I was sure that as long as I was preaching the word of God and following his teachings that the Lord would protect me, and he did” (A Story to Tell [1945], 155–56).

The family then began preparing for additional covenants and ordinances in the temple. “We knew that baptism was just the first step,” says Sister Calderón. “We set a goal to continue to progress, including going to the temple and being sealed as a family so that we can someday live with our Heavenly Father.”
In preparation for their temple sealing, the whole family spent time praying and fasting. Jared also participated several times in performing baptisms for the dead. Then on May 10, 2008, the family was sealed in the San José Costa Rica Temple.
Jared remembers what he felt that day. “When I entered the sealing room, the Spirit was so powerful. It felt so right to be there with my family,” he says.
His brother, James, recalls having to wait for a long time before he could enter the sealing room, but, he says, it was worth it: “I felt a lot of joy and happiness. I continue to feel happy knowing that I can be with my family forever.”

Christmas was different that year. We were accustomed to lots of packages under the tree and well-stuffed stockings. Holidays usually brought mounds of divinity candy, mountains of fruitcake, and dozens of cookies. This year, however, we didn’t follow our normal holiday routines. Mama had died in the spring, taking our holiday rituals with her.
And if the emotional drain wasn’t enough, Daddy also had to bear the financial burden of Mama’s prolonged hospital stay. Even though he never said anything to us about how much—or how little—money we had, we sensed that there wouldn’t be much for Christmas that year.
Still, we celebrated Christmas Eve much as we had for the past several years at Aunt Winnie’s house. Gifts were stacked high, around and under the tree. The punch bowl was full and the table was spread with a variety of holiday treats. Aunt Winnie’s “kissing ball” was hung in the archway between the dining room and the living room. Everything was as it should be and everyone was there—aunts, uncles, cousins—everyone but Mama.
The ride home was filled with silence. It was late. Maybe we were tired. Maybe we left our Christmas spirit at Aunt Winnie’s.
Little brother was put to bed. The rest of us stayed up to get ready for Santa. We hung the stockings on the mantel and left some cookies on the hearth. Before turning out the lights, we took one more look at the tree. Daddy said that it was the most beautiful tree we had ever had. He was right; it was beautiful. It was round and fat and perfectly formed. It was just the right height for our living room, and every ornament was where it should be. Daddy said it was a shame Mama wasn’t there to see it. Then he turned out the lights, and we stood in the dark to see the special glow-in-the-dark icicles Mama had bought years before.
All was quiet as we stood there with our own memories and thoughts. The soft light of the icicles warmed my heart, and I finally felt the true Christmas spirit. I realized that life is not gone simply because the lights go out.
I still miss Mama. But I know we can be together again because a baby was born in Bethlehem so many Christmases ago. He lived and died and lived again. So will Mama.

As the winter afternoon sun slid behind the expansive snow- covered ski hill, the freezing mountain air sharply bit our cheeks and noses, acting almost like a stern usher instructing us to find our cars and trucks in the ski resort parking lot. There in our comfortable cars, heaters would soon warm cold fingers and toes. The sound of the frozen snow crunching with each step we took confirmed that this was extreme cold.
Our family had enjoyed a fun-filled day on the ski slopes, which was now coming to a frosty close. Arriving at the car, I reached in my coat pocket for the keys and then another pocket and another. “Where are the keys?” Everyone was anxiously waiting on the keys! The car battery was charged, and all the systems—including the heater—were ready to go, but without the keys, locked doors would deny entrance; without the keys, the engine would not provide power to the vehicle.
At the time, our primary focus was on how we were going to get into the car and get warm, but I couldn’t help but think—even then—there just might be a lesson here. Without keys, this wonderful miracle of engineering was little more than plastic and metal. Even though the car had great potential, without keys, it could not perform its intended function.
Let’s now end where we began, stranded in the frigid parking lot asking, “Where are the keys?” By the way, later that evening I did miraculously find the keys that had fallen out of my pocket on the mountain. The Lord has shown us that He will not leave us standing in the bitter cold without keys or authority to lead us safely home to Him.

The next day, when the kids came down the corridor of the church, they found my classroom door closed—not because I wasn’t ready for them, but because I was. A large sign taped across the entrance read, “NOTICE: This is a magic cave. Please enter quietly.” I invited them inside.
“This,” I held up the old music box, “this is magic.” As mysteriously as I could, I told Miranda’s story. By the end of the tale the class had unanimously decided my niece must be crazy.
“Why?” I zeroed in on one girl.
“Well,” she summed up the situation, “All that stuff in the box was just fake. She’s nuts.”
“Then aren’t we all?” I asked, pulling out some surprise visual aids. I held up a pair of jeans—the most popular brand; some shirts with all the stylish patches in all the stylish places; a popular magazine, complete with pictures of the latest haircuts, jewelry, and makeup.
“Do these have magical powers to make us beautiful? I thumbed the magazine open before them. “The only power they have is what we give them. Are we crazy?”
I stopped flipping pages at an appealing cigarette ad. “A magic potion to make us brave, right? All you have to do is hold this little roll of tobacco and just like that, you’re cool! You’re tough! You’re in! Right?” The bell hadn’t even rung yet, but my lesson was over. Three-year-old Miranda and I had made our point.

In 2002 a consortium of companies including General Motors, EDS, Unigraphics, and SUN made a software donation to BYU that amounted to over $300 million (Partners for the Advancement of Computer-Aided Design/Manufacturing/Engineering Education [PACE]). This donation was provided, we were told, to acknowledge the accomplishments of the students and faculty and to help them with their academic programs. We scheduled a time for the presentation that allowed us to focus on this generous gift. I am grateful to all of those students who came and supported us in such grand fashion. The PACE group was all abuzz about their visit and the celebration. Everything about that day was perfect.

Then PACE decided to make a similar donation to BYU—Idaho. This donation was somewhat smaller and amounted to about $60 million in software. Unlike BYU, BYU—Idaho had scheduled their announcement to coincide with their weekly devotional. Just prior to the time of the devotional, President Bednar had a reception for the PACE team. During that time he talked about BYU—Idaho, their unique approach to sports, and the devotional that they held regularly. He explained that it was a custom at BYU—Idaho for all of the students to hold up their scriptures at the beginning of the devotional. Then he presented a copy of the scriptures to the PACE team leader so that he wouldn’t be embarrassed when the students all had their scriptures in their hands and raised them high. During the devotional President Bednar called upon the team leader to say a few words, which he gave most appropriately.

Last year this same PACE team leader asked me to attend an annual conference in New York. There I made a presentation to the other deans in attendance concerning what BYU had done with our PACE gift. After I finished, the PACE team leader related to the entire group of deans that he had a copy of the scriptures that he had received from BYU—Idaho. He told them how he valued these and recounted his wonderful experience there. Remembering who we are can have a lasting effect for good.

My mom always calls me a Last-days Kid. She says it as a compliment whenever I’m especially good. Or she’ll say it to prompt me when she knows that I can do better. Sometimes she calls me that to reassure me that I can do a difficult task: “Sure you can give that talk in front of the whole ward at the Scout banquet, Ryan. You’re a Last-days Kid.”
What it means is that I’m probably one of the really good spirits chosen to be born during the last days. And it’s not just me. Mom says lots of children born now are special kids. She volunteered to help out in my fourth grade class once a week, and she continually marveled at how bright we all were. “Of course, you might all be Last-days Kids,” she’d say.
I asked her if everybody in my class could be Last-days Kids. “I thought it was only kids in our church,” I said.
“No,” Mom answered. “Any child born now, whether to LDS parents or not, might have been saved to come forth at this time. You could all be Last-days Kids.”
Suddenly I didn’t seem so special anymore. Then I thought of Kevin, my best friend. If he was a Last-days Kid, too, maybe he’d like to come to Primary with me. I’d love it if he’d join the Church. I’m the only boy in my Primary class. Lisa and Tina-Marie are OK, but I’d sure like to have a buddy in there. So I told Kevin a little about maybe being a Last-days Kid and asked him if he’d like to go to Primary with me. But he said he had other things to do on Sunday. I said, “Some other time, maybe.”
“Well, maybe,” he said, “but probably not.”
I could tell that he hoped I’d drop the subject. I felt really stupid, because I figured that he’d start to tease me about being a Last-days Kid.
Sure enough, he did. At our next soccer game we were down three to one at the half, and our coach, Gracie Gosney’s dad, was trying to inspire us to be a come-back team. “You can do it,” he said as we all sucked on the oranges the trainer had passed out. But from the looks on all of our faces, it was obvious that nobody believed that we had a chance.
Then Kevin poked me in the side and said, “Maybe we could come back and win this game if some of us are Last-days Kids!” Then he started giggling.
“What are you talking about?” Coach asked.
“Ask Ryan. It’s something they teach in his church,” Kevin said.
I stared at the ground and said, “Some of the children on the earth today were saved to be born now, because they were valiant spirits in heaven. So, Last-days Kids are special.” I said it as quickly as I could, hoping the referee would blow her whistle before anyone could laugh.
Coach didn’t understand what I was talking about, but he said, “You mean that you believe that you’re special, Ryan?”
“Probably.”
“And do you believe some of the players on our team are Last-days Kids?”
I looked him right in the eye, and I could tell by his voice and face that he wasn’t teasing me, that he really wanted to know. “Yes,” I said louder. “At least, we could be.”
“I think you’re right.” He smiled. “Let’s go out there and play like Last-days Kids!” He gave us a cheer, and we all cheered back. “Last-days Kids! Last-days Kids! Last-days Kids!” we chanted as we ran out onto the field. The other team and all the parents stared at us, trying to figure out what we were saying.
We won the game, four to three, and I kicked in one of the goals myself! After the game Gracie walked over to me. “Tell me some more about your church, Ryan,” she said.
I told her about the Articles of Faith, which is what Sister Adams says that we should do if someone wants to know what the Church teaches. But Gracie didn’t seem to understand them at all, so I started telling her about Primary.
“Can any kid go to Primary, or just kids in your church?” she asked.
“Anybody who wants to,” I answered. She just stood there, waiting, so I took a deep breath and asked, “Would you like to go to Primary with me tomorrow?”
She smiled a big smile. “I’ll ask my dad.”
Oh, brother! Another girl! I thought. I was glad that Gracie wanted to go to church, but why hadn’t Kevin reacted like this? Gracie’s father said that it was OK for her to go with me, so I told him what time Primary started and when I’d pick her up. She drove off, waving at me from the window of her dad’s van.
That night Mom and Dad came into my room for my prayers. When I was done, Mom kissed my cheek and said, “We’re really proud of our missionary.”
“Don’t be,” I said.
“Why?” Dad asked.
“Because I wasn’t really a missionary to Gracie. She practically had to beg me to invite her to Primary. I didn’t want another girl in my class—I wanted Kevin to come. Why didn’t he want to go to Primary and learn more about the gospel?”
“Even Last-days Kids have their free agency,” Mom said. “Don’t give up on Kevin yet. And don’t stop being his friend just because he isn’t interested in going to church with you.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” I said.
“Good.” Dad smiled. “I’m proud of you.” And he kissed me good night.
Our lesson in Primary the next day was about the Word of Wisdom. Gracie sat and listened hard to everything Sister Adams said. Lisa and Tina-Marie were quiet too. It was a good lesson. After Primary Mom asked Gracie if she wanted to go home.
“Are you going home?” she asked.
“No. We’re going to stay for sacrament meeting,” Mom answered. “But if you’d like to go home now, I’ll take you.”
“Am I allowed to go to sacrament meeting?” Gracie asked.
“Of course,” Mom answered.
“Then I’d like to stay, please,” Gracie said.
Dad squeezed my arm, his smile almost too big for his face.
After church we dropped Gracie off at her house. “See you at soccer practice,” she said as she hopped out of the car.
“Will you need a ride to church next Sunday?” Dad asked.
“No. I don’t think so.” The whole mood in the car went down like a flat tire on a bicycle. Then Gracie leaned in through my open window. “Last night Mom and Dad and I had a big talk. Mom’s been wanting to find a church to go to ever since we moved here. And Dad said that he’s always been impressed with Ryan. So they said that if I liked your church, next Sunday they’d go with me.”

“Why not just a little?” That was the question David asked after his early-morning seminary teacher finished an entire lesson about protecting yourself from sin by keeping your covenants.
“I’m not talking about doing anything big,” David continued. “I just want to know why I can’t have a sip of beer—just to taste it and know what it is like. Why not just one cigarette or one night with a girl so my friends will stop bugging me?”
Before the teacher could even start giving the usual answers, David outguessed him and blurted, “And don’t tell me that alcohol kills your brain cells and that cigarettes cause cancer. Don’t tell me about AIDS.” He didn’t want to hear the “scare” stories. David continued, “I know men who used to drink and smoke, and they’re bishops now.”
It was true. David knew many people who had repented and been forgiven of their sins. “So,” he looked directly at his teacher and repeated his original question, “why not just a little?”
By now nearly every young person in the room was nodding and saying, “Yeah, why not?” The seminary teacher knew he had to say something—quickly. He swallowed hard, said a silent prayer, and offered, “None of us is perfect. We all sin and have need to repent—we know that. But try looking at it like this: Isn’t the Holy Ghost a member of the Godhead?”
“Yes,” David answered, “but what does that have to do with anything?”
The teacher explained, “In the scriptures we are told the Spirit won’t always strive with us” (see Gen. 6:3; Ether 15:19; D&C 1:33).
The room was quiet. Despite already sitting through one lesson that day, David and his friends were listening to their teacher: “The immediate consequence of sin is withdrawal of the Spirit. So one cigarette may not be enough to give you cancer, but it is enough to alienate you from the Spirit. One can of beer may not make you an alcoholic and leave you homeless, but it is enough to leave you without the Spirit. The same would be true for a premarital sexual experience.”
Most of the class was agreeing with their teacher now, but David still wasn’t completely convinced. He said, “So the Spirit leaves. So what?”
Class was over. The students needed to go to school. “Let’s pick this discussion up tomorrow,” the teacher said, and they did. Over the next few days the class studied the fruits of the Spirit. What David had not considered was that when we lose the Spirit we automatically lose some other things as well.
The seminary class was glad David had asked, “Why not just a little?” In the course of their discussions, David and his friends came to some important conclusions. One student summed it up: “Why not just a little sin? Well, why not just a little touch on the burner of a hot stove? Sure, you may heal in the long run, but not without going through a lot of unnecessary pain and suffering.”

But most of all, I remember sitting in a merciless rain on the hill with a sister and her companion while she, with joy filling her eyes, told me how happy she was to be in pageant and related to me a personal incident that had happened to her a few days before.
It was a brisk morning in Palmyra, and she and five other sisters who were staying with a nonmember family during pageant were waiting for the bus that would take them to the rehearsal on the hill. Across the street, a young boy was tossing a baseball up and down in the air. It had been over a week since she had last been with her family in the West. She missed her little brothers and her home.
Before she knew it, she was across the road and asking the young lad if she could play catch with him. The boy’s eyes lit up, and he thanked her for asking him.
“You’re a Mormon, aren’t you?” he asked jubilantly.
“Yes,” she replied, wondering why this eight-year-old youngster was asking.
“I love Mormons,” he added, as if in answer to her thought. “You’re all so nice. You dress nice. You look nice. And all of you are always fun to be with when you come for the pageant.”
Possessed with the true missionary zeal of the pageant and touched by the boy’s comment, this sister asked if he would like to have two “representatives” come to his house. The answer and the feeling that emanated from him brought tears to her eyes.
“That’d be great! But my mother wouldn’t like it. See, Daddy died a little while back, and she doesn’t really want to see anyone. But I keep working on her.” At this point, the boy stopped playing catch, looked at her with the surety and faith that only an adolescent can possess, and said, “I’ve seen the pageant every year, and I pray in secret every night. I love Jesus, and I know Mr. Smith found those plates over there. Someday I’m gonna be a Saint too, and I’m gonna be in pageant and tell everybody what I believe.”
From the mouth of a child, the Lord had given her all the encouragement she could need to be an example. And being an example is the key to the miracle of the pageant. No one thing influences the effect and success of the pageant more than the spiritual atmosphere present on the hill. For this reason, during the performance, participants who are not on stage maintain reverent silence. The result is an astonishingly spectacular pageant that has awed, thrilled, and inspired millions of viewers since its inception thirty-four years ago and has received news reports in papers in all of the fifty states and many other nations, in addition to widespread television and radio coverage. For anyone not to be deeply inspired by pageant, he would have to have water instead of blood in his veins.

1 Max was a little brown pony who lived all by himself in a beautiful green field. All day long he pranced and danced in the cool sweet grass. All night long he snoozed and snored under the dark, twinkling sky. “I like it here in my beautiful field,” said Max, “and I never want to leave it! Never, never, never!”
2 But one day his owner and some men came in a big truck. They said, “Come on, old fellow. It’s time for you to come with us.”
Max did not want to go with them. He tried to run away. But the men caught him and tied a rope around his neck. Poor Max! He felt terrible.
3 The men took Max to the pony ride place. They led him into a big warm barn and into a stall with his name on it. They brushed the tangles out of his coat. And they gave him lots of good food. “Nice Max,” they comforted. “You will like it here, you’ll see.”
But Max thought—“I do not like it here! I want to go back to my beautiful field!”
4 The men took Max to the pony ride ring. Some children came running. They laughed and clapped their hands when they saw him. “Oh, what a beautiful little pony!” they cried.
Max saw the other ponies trot around the ring—trot, trot, trot.
5 A man climbed onto Max’s back. “Now let’s see what you can do,” the man said.
Max showed the man what he could do all right. He could walk slower than a turtle—w-a-a-a-alk, w-a-a-a-alk, w-a-a-a-alk. He could run faster than the speed of light—gallop, gallop, gallop! And he could stop dead in his tracks without any warning—S-T-O-P!!!
The pony ride man flew through the air and landed on the ground—THUMP! “This one isn’t for us,” he said sadly. “We’ll have to return him to his former owner.”
6 Max went back to his beautiful green field. But then something astonishing happened. He wasn’t happy there any more. He missed the other ponies. He missed the men and the big warm barn. Most of all, he missed the children and all the excitement.
Max was lonely! And two big tears rolled down his nose.
7 Max ran and ran down the familiar road until he finally found the pony ride place. The men there were surprised, of course, but glad to see Max. “Welcome home,” said all the men.
“We’re so glad to see you, Max,” said all the children.
8 They called his owner and got permission for Max to try the pony ride again. This time Max showed the men what he really could do! He did not walk slower than a turtle. He did not run faster than the speed of light. He did not stop dead in his tracks without any warning.
He trotted around the pony ring—trot, trot, trot.
The children were glad to see Max back again. Max, of course, did not say anything. He just stretched out his nose for the children to pet. And he thought—“I will never say never again, for never is a long, long, long time!”

The importance of this step is illustrated by a family of five who became converts to the Church. They had lived in a neighborhood where there were many Latter-day Saints, and they had learned much about the gospel. Then they had moved to a mission area, and a Mormon missionary invited them to church. In a short time they were baptized. Someone asked, “Why didn’t you join sooner?” The father answered, “No one ever before invited us to join or even to go to church.”