Gospel Story Finder

“Just look at you, Matthew—you’re growing like a weed,” Uncle Clinton said. “Pretty soon you’ll be as big as I am.”
Giggling, I spread out my fingers. “I’m only six, and I won’t be as big as you are for a long, long time because you must be a hundred.”
Uncle Clinton threw back his head and laughed.
Grandpa laughed too. Uncle Clinton and Grandpa grow the best dry-farm watermelons out on Coal Pitts. Grandpa made a pond out there, but whenever my brother Raymond—he’s four—and I come visiting in the summer, all we ever see in it is dried-up mud. Grandpa promised us that if the pond ever has enough water in it to float a duck, we can take Luckus and Luella with us to Coal Pitts.
Luckus is a he duck, and Luella is a she duck. When Grandpa turns the canal water onto his irrigated farm in LaVerkin, Raymond and I climb right into the ditch with our ducks and have a splashing good time.
One hot afternoon, big clouds appeared from nowhere and got right down to the business of raining. Raymond and I were excited. We watched through the window, and Grandpa recited, “The lightning flashed and the thunder roared and the little pig lay down and snored.”
The storm passed by LaVerkin, and the sky above Coal Pitts got purplish black.
Grandpa said, “It looks like Coal Pitts is getting a regular gully washer. We might get some water in the pond.”
The next day, when Grandpa figured that the dirt road was dry enough, he said, “Let’s take a little run out to Coal Pitts.”
“Oh boy!” I exclaimed. “Can Luckus and Luella go too? Can they?”
“You’re sort of a funny duck yourself,” Grandpa laughed.
“I’m a boy, Grandpa. Luckus and Luella are ducks.”
“Really?” he teased. “OK, let’s round up the boys and the ducks.”
While Grandma packed a lunch, Grandpa put Luckus and Luella into a wooden crate and set it in the back of the pickup. Just then Aunt Lillian drove up and asked Grandpa if we were going to the dry farm. She said that Uncle Clinton had forgotten his lunch bucket and asked us to take it to him. Grandpa put it beside the crate in the pickup. Grandma brought out the picnic basket, and we all got into the truck and went chugging up the hill.
The rainstorm had filled Grandpa’s pond plumb full. We turned Luckus and Luella loose, and they skimmed over to that water as happy as if they were floating right into heaven. Raymond and I started to go after them.
“Hold it, you fellows,” Grandpa said. “Don’t you want to come with me to take Uncle Clinton his lunch bucket? He’ll be wondering where it is.”
“I think I’ll stay and pick us some roasting ears,” Grandma said. “There’s a fine row of corn alongside our own melon patch.”
Uncle Clinton was mighty glad to see his lunch bucket. He was picking a load of melons to take to town. He wasn’t starving, because he was full of melon, but he said that a piece of fried chicken would be mighty tasty too.
Grandpa was just getting back into the pickup when Uncle Clinton said, “Before you go, I’d like you to see my golden honey melons.”
We followed him up the hillside toward the cedars. He took out his pocketknife and speared a dark green watermelon. It popped open to the touch. The inside of that melon wasn’t red like all the rest, but a bright gold—almost an orange color. He cut a slice for each of us. Mmmm! How juicy and sweet it was!
When Grandpa finally left, I talked him into letting Raymond and me walk back.
“Go ahead and explore if you want to,” Grandpa said. “You know the way back to the pond.”
Uncle Clinton sliced off another piece of melon for each of us. We ate until we were as full as toads; then we went exploring. We had barely gone around the first bend, when a jackrabbit ran in front of us and we took off after him up a little gully that twisted and turned. Then we lost sight of him. After that we played hide-and-seek in some tall bushes that were loaded with yellow flowers—rabbit brush, Grandma calls them. We decided to pick some for Grandma and became so interested that we wandered all over the gully. Finally we climbed to the top of it, where we expected to see Grandpa’s pickup and his melon patch. But all we could see were more hills and gullies.
We just stood and stared, trying to decide which way to go. Raymond thought that we should go back. I thought that we should go ahead, so I coaxed him to go over the next little hill with me. When we got there, we saw the same thing—more gullies and hills.
Raymond started to cry. I wanted to cry, too, but I knew that it would only make him cry harder. If I was as big as Uncle Clinton said, I’d better think of something. Raymond was beginning to really howl, and I had to say something. So I said, “Don’t cry, Raymond. Maybe a helicopter will fly over and see us.”
Then a really good idea popped into my head: Heavenly Father knows where we are. He can see us all the time. I looked up, and my voice choked a little when I said, “Heavenly Father, we’re lost. Please help us find the way back to Grandpa’s melon patch.”
At that very minute I heard the sweetest sound. Looking up again, I said, “Thanks a lot, Heavenly Father.” Then I turned and said, “Raymond, quit crying and listen.”
He snuffled a couple of times quieting down; then we both heard it! Prettier than any songbird’s song came “Quack, quack, quack.”
We ran toward the sound. We had to go down one more little dip and over one more rise. But from the top of it, we could see Grandpa in his watermelon patch and Grandma shucking corn next to it. The quacking and splashing became louder and happier, and we ran through the rocks and brush like a couple of lizards.
“It’s about time you two showed up,” Grandma said, pushing back the hair from her face. “Your grandpa and I have about starved waiting for you so that we could unpack the lunch basket.”
Luckus and Luella had waddled out of the pond at the sight of us. I was real hungry, but before I could eat, I just had to hug a couple of ducks.

I guess everybody at some time longs to feel important and to do something that will be remembered by the people of the world—something that will change the course of history and become legendary because of its momentous impact on society. At least that’s the way I felt when I was a teenager.
Of course, I could dream of being rich and famous, or of making a major scientific discovery, or of being the first woman on the moon or in the White House, but somehow I knew those things were not within the realms of probability. At least not for me.
I was not exactly what you might call an outstanding person. I don’t really remember standing out in anything, except maybe the rain. I was a great follower, but never a leader. I knew I’d never be class valedictorian or win any contests or talent shows, and I was too uncoordinated in sports to excel. It’s not that I didn’t try or didn’t care. I was just shy and lacked self-confidence. So how could a person like me possibly make a difference?
I asked my mother what she thought. She said getting through the school year without getting any C’s on my report card would certainly make a difference when it came time for me to go to college. I knew she was right, but that wasn’t the kind of thing I had in mind. I thought of rewriting the school constitution or taking a petition around for people to sign, but I couldn’t think of what to change in the constitution or what to petition for.
When I finally started to run out of ideas and hope, I turned to the Lord. I asked him to help me find something that wouldn’t take any special talents or qualifications, but would help me feel I was making a worthwhile contribution. Nothing earth-shattering just something suited to my capabilities.
It wasn’t long afterwards that I got this genius idea. It was so right for me that I knew it had to be inspired—I never would have thought of it myself. The idea was that I should get to know people’s names—everyone that I came in contact with on a regular basis—and greet them by name whenever I saw them.
I started with my own neighborhood and learned the names of everyone—even the children and pets. Then I went on to memorize the names of all my ward members. When I had successfully completed that, I started on my high school.
It was a big school in a large city and it took me quite a while, but I did it. I didn’t pay any attention to racial or clique boundaries. At first I felt a little strange saying hello and calling people by name that I didn’t even know, and I embarrassed myself quite a few times by accidentally calling people by the wrong name, but I got better at it as time went on.
It became a game to see how many new names I could learn in a day. Once in a while I got some puzzled looks and some questions like, “Are you trying to win an election or something?” But for the most part, everyone acted like they really appreciated it.
Did it make a difference? I think so. Once Brother Barton, the oldest man in the ward said to me, “Young lady, I think you are the only young person in this ward who knows my name. It sure is nice when you speak to me and remember who I am.” Then one day at school I found an anonymous note stuck into my locker that said, “Thanks for saying hi to me today. I’m new at school and I didn’t think anyone even knew my name. Thanks for making me feel welcome.” I even got to like some of the people I’d previously thought were unfriendly or snobbish. When I started being nice to them and calling them by name, they were usually very nice in return.
The greatest difference it made, though, was in me. My whole attitude changed. I didn’t feel average or ordinary anymore. I felt that I was a special person who was doing something worthwhile because I was helping others. I could see them light up inside whenever I said their name and greeted them with a smile. It may have made only a small difference to them, but with the Lord’s help, it made a big difference to me.

A year later, Prince was ready to serve as a full-time missionary in the Kenya Nairobi mission.
“I can say missions change lives,” he says. During the time he served, there was a lot of persecution of the Church in Kenya, with anti-Church sentiments frequently being printed as newspaper headlines.
“As I walked the streets of Nairobi, I was many times accused of joining the Church for the sake of money”. A particularly difficult confrontation with a detractor became his turning point. That evening, he says, “I realized I had to pack my bag and go home or know for myself.”
Prince received his answer.
“For the first time, like the Prophet Joseph Smith, I could say I knew it, the Lord knew it and I could not deny that I was in the true Church.”

Take the example of Dr. Blair Bybee. After his call he received additional training in parasitology and nutrition. He was then sent to a Latter-day Saint hospital in a rural area so that he could gain experience in that situation.
Q—How long was this extra training in the rural hospital?
Dr. Mason—Two weeks.
Q—What happens when the health missionary arrives in his field of labor?
Dr. Mason—For the first five months of Elder Bybee’s mission, he performed as any other missionary would. He was a junior companion in a small village. During this time his responsibilities were divided between proselyting (70 percent) and health service (30 percent), as he learned the language and the customs of the Samoan people. Then in January he ended his preparation period and began concentrating on his specific health mission responsibilities. He was assigned by the mission president to create a health education and disease prevention program for all the Saints in Samoa. Appropriate health lessons that had been developed with the help of the BYU faculty and then translated into Samoan during the first five months of his mission were ready for use. He began conducting health seminars in conjunction with district conferences throughout the mission. He is lecturing in village after village—wherever we have a chapel—to members and nonmembers—anyone who wishes to attend—on such subjects as nutrition, alcoholism, baby care, home sanitation, the evils of tobacco, and so forth.

Soon after my eighteenth birthday I was invited by my bishop (who happened to be my father) to work on the ward welfare farm. The assignment was to thin beets in the company of other priesthood holders. I was a master of this slavelike labor; I have a lame back to prove it. I could do an acre in one day if I started before sunup and ended long after sundown (providing I cared little about standing erect for several days).

I worked diligently up one row and down another, hoping to finish the task early. One of the older workers was my stake president, a banker by profession. It pleased me to see him digging in the soil and sweating under the hot sun. It was the first time I had seen this very proper and fastidious priesthood leader dressed in anything other than a dark suit, white shirt, and tie. I must admit that I enjoyed watching him get dirt on his hands. In fact, I was so carried away by this pleasure (heaven forgive me!) that I sped up the soiling by deliberately kicking up clouds of dust in his direction as I moved by.

On one move past President Roland Tietjen, he called my name and invited me to engage in conversation. I stopped, laid down my hoe, and sat on the soft ground. He asked, “Carlos, how old are you?”

I replied, “Eighteen.”

“Do you know how old I am?” he continued.

“Oh, about seventy” was my quick and foolish answer. (I missed the mark by many years!) Laughing without, and I suppose crying within, he said, “My time on earth is running out—yours is just beginning. Carlos, would you sell to me the next ten years of your life?” I thought to myself, what’s wrong with this money changer? Can’t he forget money and buying and selling for just one morning?

He was able to discern my thoughts and to note my discomfort. He quickly added, “I know that it is impossible for you to transfer to me part of your life. However, if it were possible, would you sell?”

With little hesitation I blurted out, “No, I would not.”

“Suppose I offered you $100,000 for those years,” he pressed. Again, I declined his offer, saying that I had things to do in the years ahead.

During the next ten years, my visits with President Tietjen were few and scattered. On each occasion he would refer back to the question asked in the beet field. He would say, “Will you take $90,000 for the remaining nine years? Eighty thousand for the next eight?” And on it went until ten years were gone.

It didn’t take me the full decade to appreciate the profound lesson which my wonderful Church leader was trying to teach. He caused me to treasure those formative and crucial years between eighteen and twenty-eight. He also motivated me to make plans and to initiate actions that would enable me to claim the most of my opportunities.

When I was a teenager, I struggled, as many young people do, with feelings of confusion and anxiety about the future. And like many teens, I didn’t want to approach my parents about my concerns. I felt they were too old. How could they possibly understand my problems? I’m sure my parents were concerned, but I avoided their attempts to talk to me.
One night my father came home from work with a sack of groceries. He had stopped at the corner store and picked up a few items, one of which was a large bag of roasted peanuts. Finding our red porcelain bowl, he emptied the bag into the bowl. Then, in a voice barely concealing his apprehension, he asked me if I’d like to “snap a few” with him. He said he had a lot on his mind and that he needed someone to talk to. I reluctantly agreed.
By the time the peanuts were half gone, we had warmed to each other, and for the first time in several years we really began to communicate. In his quiet, confident, roundabout way, he began to reestablish the truths he had taught me from the time I was a little boy.
He talked with me not only as a father, but also as a friend—a much older and wiser friend. To my astonishment, I found a wealth of information and experiences in my father I hadn’t known existed. We didn’t talk much about the political and moral issues of the day; instead, I learned from the mistakes and successes of a man 35 years my senior.
That was the first of many “peanut sessions.” When I left home to go on my mission not many years later, I embraced my father and felt his strength and love in the bear hug he gave me. I will always be grateful to him for reaching out to me during a difficult time in my life and sharing unchanging truths with me—truths that have guided my life ever since. His sincere friendship and nonthreatening approach gave me an anchor during a time of instability and provided an example of the way I want to rear my own children.

Elder D. Todd Christofferson recounted the story of Brother George Goates, who in six days lost his son Charles and three of Charles’s small children during the flu epidemic of 1918. That week Brother Goates made the caskets, dug the graves, and helped prepare the burial clothing. His child and grandchildren died during the week he was to harvest his sugar beet crop, which was left freezing in the ground. After the burials, he and another son went to their fields to see if they could salvage any of their crop. When they arrived, they saw the members of his quorum leaving the empty field. His quorum had harvested every sugar beet. It was then that this man who had shown tremendous strength in the previous week sat down and sobbed like a child. He looked up to the sky and said, “Thanks, Father, for the elders of our ward.”

The closeness of the family now is in contrast to the separation that employment forced upon Brother and Sister Khanakam after they were married in 1981. “A month after our marriage, we were sealed in the Tokyo Temple. When we came home, I returned to Chiang Mai, where I had a good-paying teacher’s position, and my wife returned to her family home in Mahasarakham 830 kilometers away. We lived that way for about a year. But the full-time missionaries would keep asking me, ‘Wisit, do you have the faith the Lord will bless you if you keep your temple covenants? You need to be with your wife.’
“So I quit my job in Chiang Mai and found one in Mahasarakham. I was earning less than half what I had made in Chiang Mai. That’s when we learned to apply welfare principles in our family. We learned how to budget our income, to work with our hands, and to raise a family in the gospel.
“I was called as president of the Mahasarakham branch, and my wife was called as Relief Society president. I was the only male member in the branch. It took a couple of years for the membership to grow. Now they have a chapel of their own—not because of anything we did, but because of the love and unity that the people there have.”

What would you prefer: enjoying a day at the beach with friends or going to a family history conference? Most teens would choose the beach, but Sierra Y., 17, chose to participate in a family history conference instead. She and other youth from Texas, USA, discovered that family history is not only uplifting but also fun and exciting.
Sierra posted an Instagram image that said: “Fall in Love with Your Family Tree” to encourage others to come to the conference. She says the conference motivated her to find ancestors’ names and do their temple work. “The conference had a wonderful spirit about it the whole time,” Sierra says. Other youth were asked not only to text and tweet but also to teach and train conference goers on how to use technology with family history. They participated in 55 classes and worked in the “Discovery Zone,” a room filled with computers where they provided hands-on help with technology.

For Nepali families, drinking tea with milk first thing in the morning is an ingrained tradition. In every home and every tiny shop along every narrow street, small stoves brew tea. To begin to follow the Word of Wisdom has been difficult for many of these young converts.
When Deepak Shrestha’s older brother, who was the first missionary to serve from Nepal, told him the Church was the greatest thing in the world, Deepak was interested. Then his brother challenged him to live the Word of Wisdom. Deepak quickly felt the wisdom of this advice because “it affects the future.” The result of that decision has been the start of Deepak’s strong and continually growing testimony of the gospel.

There I was, staring at another article with multiple comments and suggestions. Most were valid and helpful, but I still felt down. Since I’m a writer, my work is constantly changing. Usually I’m OK with it, but this time I found myself frustrated.
Did everything always have to change?
My articles weren’t the only thing changing. My plans for graduating university in a timely manner were changing too. After serving a mission, switching majors and COVID-19 had set my education back. While my friends were all graduating, I was halfway through school. Generally, I felt behind. Things had changed so much from the way I’d expected them to go.
During this time, I became a communication intern with BYU–Pathway Worldwide.
Through work, I spoke with students around the world who were single parents, returning to school after years away, or struggling financially. Some had experienced way more unexpected changes than I had, and they were thriving.
But how?
As I came to know two specific students, Darlyn and Alexander, I took note of the lessons they taught me.
I left that conversation wanting to change my perspective of change. Because Darlyn had put aside resentment and anger about her circumstances, she was able to take control of her life. Instead of challenges and change deterring her progress, they propelled her forward.
I truly know now that no matter what changes I face, His commandments, blessings, and love are unwavering and eternal. Alexander taught me that if I set my path toward God and Jesus Christ and rely on Them, I will be able to face the uncertain future with hope and faith.
Thanks to these friends and my time at BYU–Pathway, I see change in a new light! Looking back, if my personal plan for education hadn’t been altered, I never would have found a major I love or met the wonderful people in my life. I know now that as long as I trust Heavenly Father and focus my life on Jesus Christ, I’ll be able to conquer whatever change comes my way.

My Grandfather Rose was very ill due to heart problems. To help my grandmother with his care, our family decided that we would take turns sleeping over to help out. Mostly it was my mother and my aunts, but one weekend I asked if I could spend the night.
I was reclining in a chair next to my grandfather’s bed. He was sleeping really well that night, which was unusual. While I was falling asleep, my granddad rolled over and said, “Carl, shape up.” Then he rolled back over and went to sleep.
I didn’t know what he meant because I wasn’t a bad kid. But I wasn’t able to fall asleep the rest of the night. I stayed up thinking about what my granddad meant by “shape up.”
I thought about his words for the next few days, trying to figure out what I needed to shape up in my life. A few days later, I went again to my grandparents’ home to rub my grandfather’s back. I finished that and sat down to talk to my grandma. She said, “Carl, Granddad prays that you will gain the desire to serve a mission for the Lord.”
Later that night I was working out on my gymnastics. I heard my coach yelling at me to concentrate. I was so caught up thinking about the conversation that I had with my grandma and the decision I had to make that it was hard for me to work out. I was torn between a college scholarship for gymnastics and a mission.
As I was lying in bed later that night, I thought back to my granddad saying, “Carl, shape up.” I thought, Are your priorities where they should be? They weren’t. My number one priority was gymnastics and not the Lord and his work. I finally figured out what my granddad meant by “shape up.” He meant my soul and mind. The only way to do that was to start going to seminary and church. This time I really tried to get something out of it. For the first time in my life I read the Book of Mormon. As I did this I took the great prophet Moroni’s advice and prayed about the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith. Through this I not only gained the desire to serve a mission but I also found the light and life of the world, Jesus Christ.

I would like to share with you some of the things I have put in my cart.

The third treasure in my cart is our children, each one so special, so unique. Each with value more precious than the riches of the earth. These children have given us wonderful grandchildren. I can truly say that if I did not believe that I could be with my family in the eternities, heaven would hold little interest for me.

The fourth thing I have put in my cart is a piece of wood from a tree in the sacred grove. I know there are signs forbidding taking items out of the grove, but I promise there were no such signs when I took this piece of bark. This bark brings back a sacred memory of the day I spent in prayer in the grove, seeking a testimony, even as Enos so many years ago. I was not going on a mission. I spent the whole day telling the Lord why I didn’t need to serve a mission, but the Lord told me otherwise. The testimony gained that day sent my life in a new direction and on a mission to Ireland. That day with God in the sacred grove is precious beyond words to me. I want to remember it forever.

May I share an experience which has touched my heart. Some years ago a young priesthood leader committed a serious moral transgression. A Church court was held and it was determined that it was necessary for him to be excommunicated. It was a severe blow to him and devastating for his family. The months that followed were hard to bear; the adjustment was overwhelming. His wife and family and parents shared in the humiliation. Many sleepless nights followed. Doubts, frustrations, and petitions to a merciful Heavenly Father occupied their waking hours.

For one full year, every Sunday, the man’s loving father drove forty miles to the home of his son, where he conducted a father’s personal interview. The spirit of love and compassion prevailed during these meetings. It was a time for encouragement, not condemnation; a time for instruction, the sharing of scripture and teachings of the living prophets; and a time for constant reassurance that he knew his son would have the courage to persevere.

Many fasts and much petitioning and special blessings by priesthood leaders provided his wife and family the strength to support and sustain him during his travail. At one time the young father had such a promising future in his occupation and in Church leadership. Now suddenly, his whole world had changed and he had to bear new, almost insurmountable burdens. Even with all his family support the young man knew that he personally had to walk the path of repentance.

One night, after many months had passed since the court action, he had a dream. He found that he was in the company of the priesthood leaders of his stake and each was building a tower made of bricks. The young man was proud of his skill in laying brick and he was pleased that he could build his tower faster and higher than his brethren.

Suddenly the tower began to reel and crumble. Vividly and frighteningly, he felt the excruciating pain of the bricks falling on top of him. Frantically he struggled. How could he be rescued in time? He was fighting for air. Just as he was losing consciousness, his brethren pulled him from the rubble. He was saved.

He felt relieved and grateful and terribly ashamed. He said, “Brethren, I have been a fake. I have been building a tower with inferior materials and inferior workmanship. I was driven by the desire to build faster and higher than anyone and now I’ve failed.”

He inquired of his brethren, “Can I start again? Is it possible for me to build another tower” They said, “Yes, you can build another tower, but you’ll have to scrape each brick clean. You must be certain that next time you build solidly and carefully and follow true construction principles.”

He started from this dream in a cold sweat. It had been a portentous experience. He awakened his wife and told her of his dream. It was a time of deep emotion. This was the turning point. With strong resolve, he committed himself to a course of total repentance.

This story was told to the presiding brethren of the priesthood court some years later, when it had convened to consider his rebaptism. He bore his testimony of the mercy of God and the healing power of Christ. He had vividly experienced godly sorrow. He felt the Lord had accepted his offering. He now bore witness to the presiding brethren that he had truly repented of his sins, was willing to take upon him the name of Christ, and would serve him in righteousness. He expressed deep appreciation for the love of his wife, parents, and family, who stood beside him and sustained him through his ordeal.

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Martin walked along the path that led from his family’s summer home to the lake. A vivid splash of orange and pink streaked across the sky. This was a path he had walked many times before. It was all familiar to him: the trees, rocks, even the old boathouse at the end. He knew it all well. Often he had walked along this path to go fishing or swimming, yet tonight he had something else on his mind.
The wooden boards of the boathouse came into view as he came over a ridge in the trail. As a child he had played in its walls with his brother. It would become the fort as they were under attack from an imaginary enemy, or a stop along a spy trail. They had spent so much of their youth there. But tonight the memories of the past faded to reflections in the dirty windows. He and his younger brother had both grown, and those playful times were gone.
He stopped for only a few minutes to look through the dusty windows. He wiped the cobwebs away with his hand. Inside, the family rowboat sat, waiting for someone to come. Against the wall were several old fishing poles and boat oars. Several buckets and shovels were scattered across the floor. His mother had stacked all the life jackets in the corner, all but one that lay on the floor near the door. He moved around to the front and opened the door. The rusted hinges moaned with age and time. He pushed the buckets away and made his way to the pale orange life jacket. He picked it up and held it for a moment. His mind drifted back to those days when his father would say, “Don’t go in the boat without a life jacket!” So many times he had heard these words. He smiled and held the jacket close to his chest.
He walked from the boathouse toward the water’s edge. The tired sun cast long, golden arms upon the water in a final embrace. As he walked, Martin put the old, worn jacket on over his black school sweatshirt. As he reached the weathered dock, he stopped. Again memories crept into his mind. He had spent countless hours at this dock. Here, his father had taught him to dive. This was where he had looked for a sunken treasure chest with his brother. He smiled at the thought of so many summers. He bent down and gathered a handful of stones before strolling onto the dock. A single lamppost at the end greeted him with a dull yellow glow. The feeling of his first summer romance filled his chest. Here below this very lamppost, he had said his good-byes to the “girl of his dreams.” They had parted with a small kiss, and his summer had ended.
He sat on the end of the dock and removed his dusty canvas shoes. He then rolled his khakis up over his calves so that he could let his feet dangle in the water. He sat almost breathless as he marveled at the beauty of the evening. So many colors, so many pictures, all painted by God’s skilled hand. He let his feet down into the cool lake. A shock ran up his leg as he felt the cold mountain water surround his ankles. The sounds of evening seemed to float through the air around him. How peaceful it all was. He looked at his reflection in the water. Where had the messy-haired little boy gone? he wondered. The face of a 20-year-old young man looked back at him. He dropped a stone into the lake. He dropped a few more. He looked up toward the sky to find the sun had now slipped silently behind the mountains. Only the tattered lamppost cast out a few dim rays. He dropped another stone and watched as it sank quickly to the bottom.
Martin had been at the top of his class in high school. Nothing was standing in his way. His future was so bright. Yet something was blocking that light. He also felt as if he had to struggle to keep his head above water. He saw himself as the stones that quickly sank below the surface. He wondered why life was so hard. The words of his father again rang in his ears, “Don’t go in the boat without a life jacket!” That’s what he had wanted to find, a life jacket for life. It didn’t matter if he was with his friends or alone, he just hadn’t been able to keep that little bit above all the waves of life’s problems.
Martin remembered the summer when a girl from school arrived at the lake. Her family had purchased one of the homes nearby. He had seen her around but had never said much to her. At school, he had noticed that something was different about her. He was happy to have someone to talk to. His brother had found other friends, so it was nice to find someone to spend the long summer days with. Many times they would take a boat out on the lake, or go for long walks, or just sit on the dock and toss pebbles into the water. One afternoon, they had walked to a small store in the town and made their way back to the dock. “Sarah, may I ask you a question?” Martin asked.
“Sure,” came the reply.
“You always seem so … happy.” He paused to find the words he wanted. “How is it that you can always be so happy when everything around us is so depressing?”
The answer he received shocked him, yet it was something that would change his life forever.
Summer soon drew to a close and school began. Martin found it easier to stay afloat as he thought of the words of his newfound friend. He set out to learn all he could about this new idea he had been given. He talked with his family, friends, and others he felt could help him. Sarah introduced him to two others who shared with him the knowledge he desired. They gave him a book and asked him to read it. As he did, the answers he had been looking for became clear. His life began to change, and the obstruction to his bright future seemed to move aside. So much just seemed to fall into place. He learned that he had a Heavenly Father and an elder Brother, Jesus Christ, who loved him very much, in addition to his earthly family.
Two years had passed since the afternoon when it all began. Martin now returned to the very spot where it was started by a simple question. But this time he knew the answers. He pulled his feet out of the water and drew his knees up to his chest. He looked again at the man in the water. He laughed as he saw the reflection. There he was sitting with an old life jacket on. He marveled at how much his life had changed. Everything seemed so clear to him. As he looked out over the lake, his heart began to pound with excitement, knowing he too would be able to share his new knowledge with people. Much like the two young missionaries who had taught him so much about the life he should live, he would be able to give the same to someone else.
Martin rolled over onto his stomach. He rested his chin on his folded arms. He thought of the words and ideas that had saved his life—the ancient writings of men who provided the wisdom and counsel for which he had searched. He closed his eyes and offered a simple prayer of thanks. Martin thanked his Heavenly Father for sending his Son to make such a change in his life possible. Tears began to well up in his eyes. He focused again on the image in the water. Two tears broke the surface. It was almost as though he felt the warmth of a hand on his shoulder and knew his elder Brother was near. He sat for a moment longer; then he sat up and put his shoes on. He stood and removed the old life jacket. As it fell to the dock he smiled and spoke the familiar phrase, “Don’t go in the boat without a life jacket!”

We must always be sure to make decisions in harmony with the commandments. To obey requires that we trust the Lord’s wisdom and love for us. The story of another young man, whom we will call Fred, illustrates: When Fred was eleven, he got a job delivering newspapers door-to-door and really began to prosper. He was still delivering papers at age sixteen. One day the manager of the newspaper, an inactive member of the Church, said, “Fred, you have been so loyal and done so well in selling subscriptions that I’m going to appoint you assistant manager of circulation of this newspaper. You’ll supervise the other delivery boys and teach them how to sell subscriptions. After school, upon finishing your route, you’ll be able to come to the office to work two or three hours. You’ll be able to do some homework while you’re waiting to answer customer telephone calls. All in all, it will be a great job for you. And by the way, your pay will be tripled.”
Fred was delighted. He was saving money for a mission. This was an ideal job, at a time when many teenagers had no work.
He said to himself over and over again, “The Lord truly does bless those who keep the commandments.” He knew he had always paid his tithing, kept the Sabbath day holy, and honored his priesthood.
After a successful year and a half, George, the newspaper manager, approached him with another opportunity. “You know, Fred, one week from now we’re going to begin delivering the Sunday paper. You will not only have a Sunday route to deliver in the morning, but you’ll have to stay in the office from about 7:00 A.M. to 2:00 in the afternoon. You’ll also receive a 30 percent increase in pay.”
When Fred didn’t look too happy at the news, the manager quickly added, “I know you’re a Mormon, and you may be thinking of not accepting this extra responsibility. But if you don’t take the job, you’ll lose your paper route and be fired from your weekday job as well. Many of my other paper boys would do anything to have your job.”
As Fred rode home on his bicycle that day, he was despondent. He prayed over and over, “How could this be, Heavenly Father? I have kept the commandments. I’ve tried to do what is right. I’ve paid my tithing. I’m trying to go on a mission. Now I may lose my job. Shall I work this added job on Sunday or not?”
He explained the problem to his father, who wisely responded, “I don’t know the answer, but I know someone above who does.” Fred talked to his bishop, who told him much the same thing his father had told him. For two full days Fred prayed and struggled. He knew that he could attend sacrament meetings in another ward later in the afternoon.
When his boss asked for a decision, Fred replied, “I like my job and my newspaper delivery route, but I cannot work on Sunday. It’s not right.”
“You’re fired!” said George angrily. “Come in Saturday to pick up your last paycheck. You’re a very ungrateful young man!”
For the next several days, the manager hardly spoke to Fred. But whenever Fred wondered if he had decided correctly, the answer seemed to be the same: “There may be some who have to work on Sunday, but you don’t have to, and you should not.”
When Fred went to pick up his last paycheck, he found George waiting for him. “Fred, please forgive me,” he said. “I was wrong. I ought not to have tried to make you go against your beliefs. I have found a young man of another faith who is willing to do the extra work on Sunday. You can keep your job. Will you?”
With a thankful heart, Fred answered, “Yes.”
The manager then added, “You’ll find the extra 30 percent I was going to pay you for the work on Sunday included in your paychecks from now on.”
What great joy Fred felt in his heart as he went home that afternoon. “It is worth it to keep the commandments of the Lord,” he said to himself. Of course, it would have been worth it even without the reward of the pay increase. A year later, when he gave his final talk before leaving for his mission, Fred was overjoyed to see his manager in the congregation. He felt even greater joy when, a few months ago, he learned that, after twenty-six years of inactivity, George is now a faithful high priest group leader in his ward.

Eric was excited. He had a jingle in his pocket!
Today he had his own money to spend. He was going to go shopping with his mother.
At the store, Eric saw rows of candy, toys, and books. What should I buy? he wondered. He studied everything on the shelves. “Mom, I’m going to buy that big dump truck,” he said proudly.
His mother turned over the box to check the price and shook her head. “I’m sorry, honey, you need many more dimes and nickels to buy this truck. Do you want to wait and save enough money?”
Eric felt very sad. He slipped his hand into his pocket to feel the smooth coins. “Let’s look around some more,” he suggested.
He paused by the games and puzzles. But he had plenty of those already.
Then Eric saw something he hadn’t seen before. “Look, Mom, books!” he shouted, and raced toward the shelf. Eric loved books. Softly he touched the covers—a fuzzy puppy, a colorful circus train, and a barn full of farm animals.
“Mom,” Eric called, “I’ll buy this clock book and learn how to tell time. Then I’ll know when it’s time to go to Primary and to bed.”
Mom smiled in agreement as they walked quickly to the cashier. “How much, please?” asked Eric.
“Thirty-five cents, young man,” she replied.
Eric jingled the coins in his pocket. Then he took out four dimes. “Is that enough?” he asked.
“It certainly is,” the clerk answered. “And here’s your change.”
“Wow, I get a whole nickel back!” Eric exclaimed excitedly, and he put it in his pocket with the dime and other nickel.
Mom watched to be sure Eric held the package tightly. She noticed he slid a hand in his pocket to feel the remaining dime and nickels.
“Let’s celebrate,” Mother suggested. “Do you know a boy who likes doughnuts?”
Eric smiled broadly and said, “I’ll treat you today.”
At the bakery Eric pointed to a doughnut inside the case.
“We’ll have that big frosted one,” he said with a smile.
“Thank you, honey, for sharing your treat with me,” said his mother.
Eric gave the lady all his money and waited to see if she’d give him any change back. She returned from the cash register and pushed two pennies toward him. “There, young man. Now you have two more pennies to spend.”
Eric laughed happily as they finished their doughnut and went back to the car. When they got home he burst from the car to find Dad.
“Dad, guess what! I bought a new book, and then I treated Mom and me to a doughnut. And best of all—I still have a jingle in my pocket!”

When I was called as a General Authority by President Russell M. Nelson, I was flooded with emotions. It was overwhelming. My wife, Julie, and I anxiously awaited the Saturday afternoon session of general conference. It was humbling to be sustained. I carefully counted the steps to my designated seat so as not to fall in my first assignment.
At the conclusion of that session, something happened that had a profound effect on me. The quorum members formed a line and greeted the new General Authorities one by one. Each one shared their love and support. With a hearty abrazo they said, “Don’t worry—you belong.”
In our relationship with the Savior, He looks on the heart and is “no respecter of persons.” Consider how He chose His Apostles. He didn’t pay attention to status or wealth. He invites us to follow Him, and I believe He reassures us that we belong with Him.
This message especially applies to the youth of the Church. I see in you what President Nelson sees in you. He said that “there is something undeniably special about this generation of youth. Your Heavenly Father must have great confidence in you to send you to earth at this time. You were born for greatness!”
I am grateful for what I learn from the youth. I am grateful for what my children teach me, for what our missionaries teach me, and for what my nieces and nephews teach me.
Not too long ago, I was working on our farm with my nephew Nash. He is six and has a pure heart. He is my favorite nephew named Nash, and I believe I am his favorite uncle speaking in conference today.
As he helped me come up with a solution for our project, I said, “Nash, that is a great idea. How did you get so smart?” He looked at me with an expression in his eyes that said, “Uncle Ryan, how do you not know the answer to this question?”
He simply shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and confidently said, “Jesus.”
Nash reminded me that day of this simple and yet profound teaching. The answer to the simplest questions and to the most complex problems is always the same. The answer is Jesus Christ. Every solution is found in Him.

I wasn’t really interested in the Church. I had listened to the missionary discussions only to learn more about a friend’s religious beliefs. But when the missionaries then asked me to pray about whether or not the Church was true, I felt I needed someone to talk to.
I thought about talking with the minister of the Christian church I had been attending. He and his wife had been good to me, and I respected him as a man of God.
“Surely, he could give me some direction,” I thought as I put on my coat.
As I was about to leave, I was impressed to pray about the matter. The feeling was so strong that I acted immediately without question.
I closed the door, knelt by me bed, and asked Heavenly Father to guide me as I talked to my minister. I also prayed that I might receive an answer about what the missionaries had told me.
After ending my prayer, I rose to my feet and again prepared to depart. However, another strong feeling came—that I should not see the minister. I felt that I should tell no one of my problem and that my answer would come in due time. If I needed truthful answers, I was to turn to the Lord in prayer.
Without further thought, I took off my coat and went on with my usual morning tasks.
My answer did come in due time. A burning sensation within me testified of the truthfulness of the gospel.
Several weeks after my baptism I visited my former minister and told him of my experiences. As I politely listened to his biased opinions, I felt thankful that I had taken the time to listen to that still, small voice several months earlier.

Growing up, I didn’t believe there was a God. My life was full of turmoil, and in my darkest days I was depressed enough that I wanted to end my life. That was when the missionaries came knocking on my door. The gospel was exactly what I needed; I was drawn to it like a magnet.
My trials didn’t end after I joined the Church, but I was in a better position to resist the influence of the adversary. For the first time, I knew what happiness felt like.