Gospel Story Finder

One approach is exemplified by a fellow we will call Eric. People tell Eric that he is very smart, and he prides himself on his ability to think through ideas and explain them to people.
Recently Eric has been studying about the different nations of the earth. One afternoon as he was watching a film in school about the eastern countries, he was deeply impressed with the number of people on the earth and how varied their lives are.
As he was thinking, he asked himself, does God really near everyone’s prayers? After pondering for awhile he could not conceive how one being could really listen to all those prayers at one time. “It is just impossible; he must have angels assigned to listen for him,” he reasoned. This answer was logical but somehow made him feel a little farther away from his Father in heaven.
Richard is a good example of another approach. Born in the Church, Richard was not active until he was well into his teens. At that time a series of challenging events provided him with the opposition necessary to turn him toward the gospel. After a few weeks of reading and prayer, Richard had developed a testimony of Christ and the truth of the Book of Mormon. People remembered Richard because of his testimony and commitment to it.
One evening Eric and Richard were talking about the Church. Eric said, “You know one thing that bugs me about the Church is that it demands so much blind obedience.”
“What do you mean?” asked Richard.
“Well, for example, the other day in class we were talking about prayer, and I mentioned how many people there are in the world and said that God can’t possibly hear all those prayers. He must have others do it for him. Old Brother Edwards just said I was wrong, and I asked how he knew. He just quoted a bunch of scriptures. Boy, what a cop-out—just blind faith.”
“That’s really interesting, but I disagree on the blind faith idea,” replied Richard. “I thought about that same question not long ago. The first thing I asked myself was, what has the Lord already told us about it? I read some passages in the Doctrine and Covenants (see D&C 88:62–63) and also found a great statement by President John Taylor:
“‘We are told in relation to these matters that the hairs of our heads are numbered; that even a sparrow cannot fall to the ground without our Heavenly Father’s notice; and predicated upon some of these principles are some things taught by Jesus, where He tells men to ask and they shall receive. What! The millions that live upon the earth? Yes, the millions of people, no matter how many there are. Can He hear and answer all? Can He attend to all these things? Yes.’ (Journal of Discourses, vol. 26, p. 31.)
“Since I already have a testimony of the scriptures and the living prophets, the next thing I wanted to know was what do I have to do in order to understand more about how God hears and answers prayers.
“I’ve been praying about it, and last fast Sunday afternoon I was reading Doctrine and Covenants 88 [D&C 88] about the light of Christ and how it is in all and through all things. Of course, I know our Father in heaven is a distinct personage, but this taught that his power, spirit, glory, and influence emanate throughout the universe and create a channel through which light and life are given to all that live. As I’ve been thinking about this, I think l’m starting to realize how our Father can be in personal contact with all his children. I’ve concluded that God hears all who pray, but for us to receive his answers, we must live the commandments and seek him. I don’t feel like that is blind faith.”
Richard’s conclusion meets a great test because it fits with what President Harold B. Lee said in a talk on revelation. He said that we are much like a radio receiver; if our tithing tube is broken, or our keep-morally-clean tube is not operating correctly, we will never receive the messages the Lord sends. Even worse, we could be on the wrong station, thinking we are receiving messages from the Lord when all the time they are coming from the wrong source.
There is an old Chinese proverb that says, in effect, it is not knowing all the answers that indicates a man’s wisdom, but in knowing how to ask the right questions.
What are the right questions and how does that relate to prayer? Prayer is communication between God and man. When we approach the Lord in prayer to seek knowledge and wisdom, our questions should be faithful questions.
Faithful questions seek to understand rather than judge. When Joseph Smith was searching, he read in James 1:5, “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.” Joseph also read (which we sometimes forget), “But let him ask in faith, nothing wavering.” The scripture goes on to say of one who wavers and doubts, “… Let not that man think that he shall receive any thing of the Lord.”
Richard knew how to ask questions; Eric did not. The difference? “But let him ask in faith, nothing wavering.” Eric asked a judgmental, challenging question not based on trust and faith in the things he had already received. “Let not that man think that he shall receive any thing of the Lord.”
Richard did not seek to judge but to understand. It is with faith and trust that we can learn to follow President Lee’s counsel to put periods after what the Lord has said, not question marks.
Faith in seeking brings knowledge, wisdom, and light.
I affirm that God does hear all our prayers; he loves us and seeks to communicate. We need to learn to ask the right questions and, in the things of God especially, seek to understand not to judge.

In my Spanish class recently, we were studying the verb tener. In English this verb means “to have.” At the same time, we were also studying the vocabulary of classroom items, things like pencils, paper, desks, etc. My teacher would ask us, “¿Que tienes?” which in English means, “What do you have?” Each student would answer using a new vocabulary word we were learning.
During one lesson, my mind went blank, and I couldn’t think of what I should say. Then a phrase came to my mind, “Tengo la luz.” When I said that, my teacher smiled and went on to the next student.
It wasn’t until later that evening, when I was lying in bed, that I realized what I had said, “I have the light.” As I lay there, an overwhelming feeling came over me. I knew that I truly did have the light, the light of Christ. I was so grateful for that insight and for my knowledge of the gospel.

From this point forward, I began to experience mixed emotions about becoming a member of the Church. I was concerned about my father’s opinion and his reaction to my decision.
During the sixth discussion, I received the message that I had an incoming call from my father. The phone rang. I picked it up, and it was indeed my dad.
He said, “Your mother informed me you’ve made a decision to join the Latter-day Saints.”
I said yes.
He said, “I’m here to prevent that from happening.”
And I said, “You know what, Dad? I love you and you’ll always be my dad. You’ve done a great job with me. But I’m 22. I’m a man now, and these decisions are for my family and my future. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and will continue to do for me, but this is my decision. I’m going to do it, and I know the Lord wants me to do this.”
My dad wasn’t very happy when he hung up the phone. Immediately I got on my knees and asked the Lord to help me see and understand that what I was going to do was correct. I was thousands of kilometers from home. I was all alone, and nothing was going right. Only when I was with the missionaries did I feel good. At that moment the Spirit testified to me that it was the Lord’s will and that the Lord wanted me to be baptized. A very clear voice said, “You are to do the Lord’s will. You are to follow His example.” Then I knew. I never looked back after that. I was baptized on 12 October 1995.

There weren’t any strings attached—and this was one case where they could have been. Members and missionaries of the Yamagata (Japan) Branch staged a puppet show centered on the Book of Mormon.
The missionaries suggested the subject, and the members put together the script. Everyone wanted to get into the show, so the Relief Society sisters made the hand puppets and the brethren built the stage and props for the presentation. Lighting and other technical areas were handled by members also. The missionaries provided the willing hands for the puppets. Members and nonmembers were invited, and after the show, questions were answered and basic gospel principles were explained.
Working in the Japan Sendai Mission, the Yamagata elders have contacted investigators in department stores, while singing in neighborhoods, and on a local radio station. The missionaries credit “an enthusiastic attitude” with their success. “By everyone working together we can truly feel the love of the gospel,” said one elder.

Like Carolina, 16-year-old Katarina Echaniz quickly made friends after being introduced to the Church by a ward member. Through the missionary discussions and her friends’ example, she also quickly gained a testimony. Shortly after her baptism, she was called to the Mia Maid presidency. “I felt responsible because there were girls depending on me to do my calling,” she says. “I wanted to do everything well.” Katarina says the assignment has kept her going strong.

Carrie put her finger on her zoo-animal calendar and once more counted the days before she would be baptized. Today was Sunday, and in just seven more days she would be eight years old—old enough for baptism.
Today was really important, too, and maybe just a little bit scary, because today she would have her baptism interview with the branch president. President Stevenson wasn’t unfriendly, but Carrie was worried that he would give her a test about the Articles of Faith or the Ten Commandments or something.
“Carrie,” Mom called, “it’s time to get up. Remember, your interview is right after sacrament meeting.”
Carrie slipped out of bed and onto her knees. During her prayer, a warm feeling came over her, and she knew that everything would be all right. She remembered that it was the sort of calm feeling that Sister Cowan, her CTR-A teacher, had taught her could come to her through the Holy Ghost.
“Get out of my way,” Nathan growled later as he shoved past Carrie into the bathroom.
Wow! she thought. I hope he’s not going to be a real grouch all day.
But Nathan was still scowling as he, Carrie, and Mom and Dad left for church.
“Good morning, Carrie. Your big day is coming up next week, right?” Carrie felt a familiar arm around her shoulder as Sister Cowan gave her a hug. “Your interview with President Stevenson is today, isn’t it? You’re really ready for baptism—I know you are.”
Sister Cowan always made Carrie feel special. But that warm feeling disappeared as Nathan came toward her—he still had a frown on his face.
Just then President Stevenson came out of the chapel. “I’ll be seeing you right after church, won’t I, Carrie?” he said with a big, warm smile.
Carrie nodded and smiled back. Maybe our visit will be OK, she thought.
Then President Stevenson smiled at Nathan. But Nathan didn’t smile back—he was being a dedicated grouch today. The branch president simply said, “Nathan, remember?”
Miracles really do happen, Carrie thought as Nathan started to grin, then gave President Stevenson a great big smile!
“I remember.” Nathan’s smile grew and lasted as he ambled down the hall.
Did I see a miracle? Carrie wondered. And what did Nathan remember?
During sacrament meeting, Carrie glanced over at Judy. Carrie thought that she always looked sort of sad. But now, as Judy looked up from her hymnbook, she broke into a smile! Following Judy’s gaze, Carrie saw President Stevenson smiling at Judy from the stand.
How can he make Nathan and Judy smile when nobody else can? Carrie asked herself.
Soon, the meeting was over, and the branch members were visiting in the foyer.
“Carrie.” She felt a light touch on her shoulder. “Are you ready for our interview?”
Nodding, she followed the branch president to his office.
“I’m really glad we can visit today about your baptism,” President Stevenson told her. “Would it be OK if we started with a prayer?”
When he finished the prayer, he opened his scriptures and asked, “Do you remember when the Prophet Abinadi tried to teach King Noah about God? The only one in the king’s court who believed Abinadi was Alma. After Alma was converted, he gathered others and taught them the gospel. He said that for people to be ready for baptism, they should ‘mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places’” (Mosiah 18:9).
As they talked about what Alma had written, Carrie was glad that Sister Cowan had discussed it all in her class.
When President Stevenson asked Carrie if she would be willing to do all that Alma said, she answered yes and really meant it.
“The next verses talk about a covenant between the people being baptized and God. Do you know what a covenant is?” President Stevenson asked.
Covenant? Oh no! This is the test, and I can’t remember what it is! “Well, uh, not really,” was all she could mumble.
“That’s all right, Carrie. Lots of people don’t really know. A covenant is an agreement, or promise, between two people. They agree, or covenant, that as long as one of them does what has been agreed upon, the other is bound to do what he promised. Alma spoke of baptism as a covenant between us and God. If we agree to be baptized and always remember the Savior and keep his commandments, he agrees to send his Spirit to always be with us. Do you understand this?”
“I guess so, sort of.”
The branch president smiled. “Maybe it’ll be easier to understand if you and I make a simple agreement, OK? Here’s our agreement: Whenever I see you, whether it’s here at church or someplace else, I promise that I will smile at you, even if I’m not feeling happy. But if I do that, then you have to promise that you’ll smile back at me, even if you don’t feel like smiling. Do you think we can make that agreement?”
“OK. I can do that.”
“Good. Now, as a symbol of our agreement to smile, let’s shake hands.” Her small hand was smothered by his, but it felt warm and firm, not scary.
“Now, just as our handshake was a symbol of our agreement, your baptism will be a symbol of the covenant—a very sacred agreement—that you are making with God. He’ll send you his Spirit if you take the name of Jesus Christ upon you by being baptized and remembering him and obeying his commandments. The sacrament prayers will help you remember this sacred covenant that you are making with Heavenly Father. Do you understand better now?”
“Yes, President Stevenson.” Carrie smiled.
“I think that you are prepared for your baptism, Carrie. Tell your parents I’d like to talk with them about arrangements for your baptismal service.”
She got up to leave, then turned back with a grin. “President Stevenson, have you made the smile agreement with the other kids who have been baptized?”
“Yes, I have. Everyone—even adults—who has been baptized in our branch since I’ve been branch president has made the same agreement with me. I think it helps everyone understand better what a covenant is, and every time we smile at each other, we remember just how sacred our baptism covenant is. Their smiles show that they are happy to have made their covenants with Heavenly Father. Don’t you think so?”
Remembering Nathan and Judy, Carrie thought so too. She smiled as she hurried to find her parents.

I had a particular experience in my life that showed me how using the wrong word can shock those who do not expect such an utterance to come from you. I was in boot camp in the U.S. Marine Corps during World War II. Of course, the language among my fellow Marines was not of the caliber that you would want to repeat. Being a recently returned missionary, I determined I should keep my language above the level they were using. I tried consistently to keep from saying even the simplest and most common of swear words.
One day we were on the rifle range firing for our final qualification scores. I had done well in the 100-, 200-, and 300-yard positions. Now we were back at the 500-yard position. All I needed was a reasonable score—just hitting the target without even having to hit the bull’s-eye—and I would make Expert Rifleman. We had been charged up with the desire to excel and be the top platoon in firing for qualifications. I tensed up at the 500-yard standing position and on my first shot threw my shoulder into the rifle. Of course, the flag waved—I had missed the target. And likewise I missed the opportunity of being named Expert Rifleman.
Out of my mouth came a little four-letter word that I had determined never to use. Much to my shock and chagrin, suddenly the whole range stopped firing and everyone turned and looked at me with their mouths open. Any other Marine firing from that position that day could have used the word I used without anyone paying attention. But because I had determined that I would carry the standards of the mission field into the Marine Corps, everyone was shocked when I forgot myself.

I really liked the new video game I played at my nonmember friend’s house. It became my favorite, but I could never play long enough to get very far into it. I decided to work and earn enough money to buy my own copy. It cost a lot of money, but I did a lot of extra jobs and even sold lemonade and cookies at a garage sale.
When I had enough money, I first paid my tithing and then asked my dad to take me to the store to buy the game. It had a good rating, and I told my dad that I hadn’t seen anything bad in it.
I loved playing the game, but when I got into the higher levels, some bad words and violence started to appear. They made me feel bad inside. If I had known they were there, I would not have purchased the game. I told my parents, and we decided that I should not play it anymore, even though I had worked so hard to earn the money for it. It was the right choice.
When my friend and his mom asked why I didn’t play the game anymore at their house, I told them why it made me uncomfortable. My friend’s mom said she didn’t know the game was like that and she didn’t want my friend to play it, either. It felt good to make the right decision and to be an example for others.
Richard S. Osborn, age 9Omaha, Nebraska

I remember, when very young, helping my mother and dad in our movie theater in Raymond, Alberta, Canada. I enjoyed it because we were together—selling popcorn or tickets. When it came time to clean the big theater, I had the privilege of doing it with my dad. We each had our own jobs to do and yet we did them together. I noted later in life that I had retained the desire to keep things neat and orderly.

My priests quorum was pretty much like any other quorum. We had an adviser, inspiring lessons by the bishop, assistants to the bishop, and then the rest of us. Our ward was neither huge nor small, but we had a number of members who seldom or never came to any meetings. In one particular quorum meeting we spent a lot of time discussing those young men who had not been to church in a while. Brother Wheeler, our quorum adviser, had prepared a list.
When I was young, many considered me shy and quiet, and I did not especially go out of my way to make noise or be seen. I was not the first to volunteer to visit the young men on Brother Wheeler’s list. All he was asking was for us to pick a name, make a friendly visit, and invite them to our upcoming weekly activities.
Hands went up when Brother Wheeler called out names from this list. He said it was a plus if you were already friends, neighbors, or schoolmates. I started to feel guilty as the list grew smaller and smaller. Finally there was one name left. The other boys were chatting about their plans of how they were going to take care of this assignment. Brother Wheeler looked at the name on the list and then at me. I lifted my hand. Smiling, he wrote down the boy’s name and sketched a map for me. He said the family had moved in a while ago and a visit could really benefit the young man.
We lived in an area of southeast Idaho where it was a mixture of farms and homes. Many of the parents commuted to work in town. As in many communities like this, we were fairly close-knit, and everyone pretty much knew everyone else. But I didn’t recognize the name I was given, nor did anyone else in our quorum.
Sunday passed, and I considered the name I’d received. Monday came and went. I still considered. Tuesday passed, and I considered with increasing gravity. How was I going to approach a total stranger and ask him to come to church?
Wednesday came, and my consideration began to change into worry. The week was already passing by, and all I could consider was a gut feeling of dread. This young man I was to visit had never been seen at church, he had never been seen at Scouts, he had never been seen at school, he had never even been seen, period.
The school bus dropped me off at my house. I pulled out the folded note I had been carrying with me since Sunday. The young man’s house was about two-and-a-half miles from mine. I wanted to get it over with and release this burden. I told my sister where I was going and, with grim determination, headed out.
Imagination fed on anticipation. I pictured a family where the dad answered the door with a shotgun in his hands and vicious dogs were ready to attack. I walked half a mile. I pictured a family that only spoke Russian. I walked along. I pictured a family with so much wealth that they only wore tuxedos and ball gowns. Was this how Nephi and Sam felt while they were on their way to get the brass plates? Or worse, perhaps this is how Laman and Lemuel felt. Suddenly, there I was in front of the house.
I rang the doorbell. I heard heavy footsteps. The door swung open, and an older man stood there. He looked at me. “Hello,” he said.
A rush of relief came over me. He was not holding a shotgun, he spoke English, and he was not wearing a tuxedo. “Uh, can uh …” I looked at my note. I couldn’t remember his name. “… Bill …” I couldn’t think straight. “… play?” I finally blurted out. I felt like a little kid. What kind of word had I used? “Play?”
The man looked very surprised.
“Is Bill … available?” I corrected myself. Did I read the map wrong? Was I at the wrong house? “Does a Bill, Billy, or even a William live here?”
The man’s expression changed from confusion to smiling enlightenment. “Oh, yes, of course. Come in. You must be from the ward. Brother Wheeler called last week and told me someone would be coming.”
An entire flood of relief swept through me. I followed the man through the front room, past the kitchen, down a hallway, to a bedroom. The house was neat and modest. I saw a picture of the Salt Lake Temple on the wall. The Ensign magazine sat on the kitchen table, opened. I saw scriptures on the shelf. “But these people never come to church,” I thought with more than a touch of confusion. And what about Bill, who was a total hermit apparently—and a very lazy one, because it appeared he was still sleeping.
The man softly knocked. “Billy?” he said as he gently opened the door.
Instantly everything was explained. I felt so small. A wheelchair and a hospital bed sat in the center of the room.
An emaciated boy lay there staring out the window. He turned his head to look at us. His eyes widened. “Help me sit up, Father. Do I have company? What is your name?”
I did not have to worry about carrying the conversation; Billy was very good at assisting me with that. I returned regularly to his house for the next several weeks. I brought various games; he especially liked chess. I learned that he was actually a foster child and had not seen his birth parents for years. Billy’s disease was critical, and the older couple he was now with had taken him in so that he wouldn’t have to stay by himself in the hospital. He was a member of the Church but could only remember being baptized.
Brother Wheeler arranged for us to have our priests quorum meet for class at Billy’s home. His bed had been moved to the front room to help accommodate the extra visitors. Our bishop came and even helped bless the sacrament for Billy and his foster parents.
I felt pretty good about the whole thing. Over the past few months I had made a friend, and I had helped this friend make other friends in our quorum. I did not anticipate the phone call I received from the bishop later that week. He told me he had interviewed Billy and found him worthy to hold the Aaronic Priesthood. Billy had asked the bishop if I could ordain him.
We held our priesthood meeting again at Billy’s house the following Sunday. I do not remember what I said during the ordination. I do remember Billy’s smile and the tears he was pushing back—the tears Brother Wheeler, the bishop, and all of us were pushing back.
A few weeks later, Billy was not available for “playing” anymore. His condition had worsened, and he spent most of the time in the hospital. About six months from my first meeting with Billy, he died.
Now what I remember most about Billy is not what I did for him on my visits, but what he did for me. A young man whose name I came to know from a simple list had become one of the most treasured memories of my youth.

Things had not gone smoothly that morning. Getting my fifteen-month-old and my new baby ready to go anywhere was still an adjustment for me. I was relieved to see a parking space right across the street from the medical clinic. With a little luck I would still be on time for the baby’s first check-up.
It wasn’t easy to climb out of our small car and cross the street with a diaper bag, a baby in an infant seat, and a toddler who was just taking her first steps alone. As we prepared to cross the street I noticed our car was very close to the driveway of the house we had parked in front of. I saw a curtain move and a face peering out, but I quickly turned away. “It’s not fair,” I reasoned; “I’ve had to rush around all morning and all she’s had to do is look out the window daring someone to park too close to her driveway.”
The long wait in the waiting room, my fussy baby, and my restless toddler all made me feel even more frustrated when I emerged from the clinic an hour later. Just as I was about to cross the street, the woman, about seventy years old, came rushing out of her house. All my morning’s frustration came to the surface; expecting harsh words from her, I felt I would either burst into tears or explode in anger.
Then it happened. Her words astonished me. “You poor little dear,” she said. “I’ve been watching for you. I was mad at myself for not coming out to help you when you drove up. Let me help you to your car. You’ve really got your hands full.”
Tears filled my eyes as I realized how quickly and how wrongly I had judged her. I had let my unhappy attitude determine the way I viewed her.
Since then, when tempted to judge someone’s motives, I remember that woman’s actions and try to expect the best.

All the years I was in Primary, I dreamed of receiving the priesthood. But by the time I was about to turn 12, I had become a bit anxious about it. I wasn’t nervous about priesthood service; what seemed challenging was setting an example.
As time went on, I especially felt a responsibility to be an example for my younger brother. When my brother was preparing to receive the Aaronic Priesthood, I had a hard time accepting the fact that I had to set an example for him. Why didn’t I have an older brother who could be an example for me? Then it dawned on me. I do have an Older Brother who is a perfect example—Jesus Christ. I could follow His example!
When I turned 16, I was ordained a priest. Then my brother turned 12, and I was asked to ordain him a deacon. I was nervous, especially about giving him a blessing as part of the ordination. But the words came to me, and I knew exactly what to say: “I bless you to be able to follow the example of your Older Brother, Jesus Christ.”
Yves P., Cergy, France

When residents of Bear Creek called for help, over 175 youth and leaders from the Dallas Texas Stake answered. They helped with the restoration and cleanup of the historic, 150-year-old area, the oldest black community in Dallas County.
The youth worked hard to help restore and preserve some of the historic homes in the area. They also prepared some of the historical buildings that will be moved nearer to a recreation center site.
The residents of Bear Creek expressed their gratitude for the “wonderful job” the LDS youth did in helping them clean up their homes and neighborhoods. They were amazed that so many could be brought together from such distant places in such a short time.

Frans and his family were part of a small group from Soweto who had embraced the restored gospel during the 1970s. At first they attended the Johannesburg Ward. Frans’s son Jonas remembered getting up on Sundays at 4:00 a.m. so the family could catch an early train into Johannesburg and then make the long walk to the chapel before the services started at 9:00 a.m. The family was always early—though sometimes it was difficult for the children to stay awake through Primary!

In addition to this Church work, Joseph Fielding Smith diligently assumed the responsibilities of husband and father. In April 1898, when he was twenty-two years old, he married Louie Emyla Shurtliff. After being married for only a year, he was ordained a seventy by his father on 12 May 1899, and left the next day for the mission field. Surely, making such a personal sacrifice was no easier for Elder Smith to do then than it would be for us to do now. He accepted his call, labored in the Nottingham Conference for two years, and returned home in June 1901.

As a teenager, I didn’t like going to church, so I didn’t know much about the Bible or about God, nor did I want to. When I was 17, a friend of mine told me she was a Mormon. I had no idea what a Mormon was. I told my friend, “If I want to know anything about that Church, I’ll find out on my own.”
Seeing that I wasn’t too concerned about religion, she gave me a Book of Mormon and asked me to read it and pray about it. She didn’t pressure me. Later that night as I opened the book, I noticed her testimony written in the front. As I read it, I felt that I should learn more about the Book of Mormon. So I started reading 1 Nephi. I could not put the book down. I needed to know more.
In a family home evening, her family taught me about the gospel of Jesus Christ. Everything seemed to make sense. Soon I was taught by the missionaries and baptized and confirmed a member of the Lord’s true Church. The gospel helped me know who I am, where I came from, and where I could go if I am faithful.
As I look back, I can see how the Holy Ghost helped me want to learn more. As I learned more, my attitude about church and God changed. For the first time in my life, I wanted to do what He wanted me to do.
The Book of Mormon changed my life, and I’m thankful for my friend who shared it with me. A true friend shares vital information such as this.

“Recently I have had a lot of personal accomplishments that have helped me feel good about my abilities,” wrote 18-year-old Brian Whitmer. “One night, though, I was reading Alma 26:12 where Ammon gives God credit for everything, and I realized I hadn’t been doing so. Then President Hinckley’s words reinforced my decision to give God credit—to thank Him for His help and blessings in my personal life. Since then I’ve noticed a change in my life as I’ve become more spiritual and more grateful.”

“Grandpa,” Joey said, “I can only stay for a while this morning. I promised Brother Hurdy I’d help him tap some trees this afternoon. He’s trying to help out a friend who’s in the hospital. Brother Hurdy hasn’t done it for a long time, and I thought maybe you could give me some tips while I help you.”
Grandpa was glad Joey wanted to help him in his sugar bush, a woods consisting of sugar maples. He could use a good strong boy, and Joey was a good worker.
Joey followed Grandma into the kitchen to get the spouts and the pails that she had already washed and stacked for carrying. He made several trips from the kitchen to Grandpa’s stoneboat.
A stoneboat, which looks like a small raft, ordinarily is used to haul stones from fields so that crops can be planted there. When Joey saw Grandpa hitch his horse to the stoneboat, he asked, “How come you don’t use your tractor?”
“Well, Joey,” Grandpa answered, “Dolly is just right for this job. She doesn’t get mired in spring mud like my tractor. Besides, she needs the exercise.”
The day was getting warm fast as the sun rose higher, and the snow was melting on the dirt trail that led to the sugar bush. Joey walked beside Grandpa. He liked to be with him because Grandpa knew so many things. Whenever Joey asked questions, Grandpa would explain things so that Joey could understand them.
“How many years have you been tapping maple trees?” Joey asked.
“I started to help my father when I was about your age,” Grandpa said, “and I’m eighty-one now. But tapping trees was a lot different when I was a boy. For one thing, we didn’t have metal spouts and pails.”
“You didn’t? What did you use?”
“Sumac twigs for spouts and hollowed-out butternut logs to catch the sap,” Grandpa answered. “We made the spouts by pounding short twigs, about three-quarters of an inch thick, into bored holes. Then we sliced off the top third of the twig’s bark and took out the core. We hollowed out logs with an adz to make the pails. An adz is a hand tool with a sharp, curved blade,” he explained.
“How big were the log pails?” asked Joey.
“Oh, big enough to hold ten to twelve quarts of sap. We emptied them into wooden barrels on a stoneboat.”
“Wow!” exclaimed Joey. “Hollowing out logs must have been a lot of work.”
“It was,” agreed Grandpa. “Buying pails sure beats making them.”
“You must have bought new pails,” said Joey, pointing to the stacks of shiny pails on the stoneboat.
“No,” Grandpa said, “I’ve had them a long time.”
“How come they don’t have rusty spots like Brother Hurdy’s?” Joey asked. “He has to get new ones.”
Grandpa chuckled. “Your grandma gets credit for that. When the maple-tapping season is over, she always washes them and oils them before storing them away.”
When they reached the sugar bush, Grandpa asked Joey which he’d rather do—drill holes or pound in spouts. Joey said he wanted to learn to drill holes.
Handing him the drill, Grandpa said, “Be sure the trees you drill are at least a foot in diameter. Find the side with the most branches and roots, then bore a hole straight in an inch and a half deep about two feet above the ground. But don’t bore into any of last year’s tapholes.”
Joey found a tree that looked large enough, and he saw last year’s taphole on the side with the most branches and roots. Placing his drill bit a few inches away from the previous taphole, he asked, “How deep did you say?”
“An inch and a half.”
“Is that all?” Joey asked. “Brother Hurdy said he thought we were supposed to bore them four to five inches deep.”
“Sap travels just under the bark, so an inch and a half or so is deep enough,” Grandpa explained.
After a while Joey said, “This is great! It would have been a lot harder to bore deeper holes. I’ll have to tell Brother Hurdy.”
“It’s a lot easier on trees, too,” Grandpa said. “Deep tapholes leave brown scars in lumber. But when holes are shallow, scars tend to disappear as the tree grows.”
When Joey came to a large tree, he turned to Grandpa and asked, “Where should I bore in this tree?”
Glancing over at the tree, Grandpa answered, “Same place, on the side with the most branches and roots.”
“It’s so big, don’t you want to hang another pail on it?”
“No,” Grandpa said. “Just one. Trees need sap for their own use. They need it to stay healthy and to help them grow and mature.”
“Don’t you ever put more than one pail on a tree?” Joey asked.
“Only if it’s a lot larger tree than that one,” Grandpa answered, “and then only two.” Seeing Joey’s questioning face, he continued, “Oh, it may not hurt a tree to have two or even three pails for a season—or maybe even for three or four seasons. But you can spot a sugar bush that’s been overtapped if you see that the tops of the trees are dying.”
When Joey had to leave, he discovered that the stoneboat had no more empty pails in it. As Grandpa turned Dolly and the stoneboat around and started home, he said, “Thank you, Joey. You have been good help. You listen and you follow instructions well. I hope that what you’ve learned will help Brother Hurdy too.”
A pleased Joey looked up at Grandpa and said, “Thank you, Grandpa. I’m sure it will.”

“Will you accept a call to be elders quorum president?” On the surface, the request was simple enough. But for Robert D. Hales, then a graduate student working toward a master of business administration degree at Harvard University, there was no simple answer. In his heart, Robert was willing to accept the call, but he knew that professors discouraged students from any outside activities because of the intensity of the graduate program. He also knew he needed to talk it over with his wife, Mary.
The Hales family lived in an apartment with their two small children. As Robert and Mary discussed the call, they knew it would be extremely difficult for Robert to keep up with his master’s program and to serve as elders quorum president. However, after much prayer and discussion, Mary said, “I’d rather have an active priesthood holder than a man who holds a master’s degree from Harvard. We’ll do them both.” The next day when Robert came home from school, he discovered that Mary had walled off a section of the unfinished basement in their apartment. This small office would give Robert a place to study and help them both serve the Lord.
“I put myself in the Lord’s hands when I made that decision,” says Elder Hales now, nearly 40 years later. “That decision was much harder to make than when, years later, I accepted the call to serve as an Assistant to the Twelve and left my business career behind. Some people may have trouble understanding that, but I believe you really show the Lord who you are and what you are willing to become when you make those hard decisions as a young person.”

For several years I was assigned to home teach an older sister in my ward. She did not have an easy life. She had various health problems and experienced a lifetime of pain due to a childhood accident on the playground. Divorced at age 32 with four young children to raise and provide for, she remarried at age 50. Her second husband passed away when she was 66, and this sister lived an additional 26 years as a widow.
Despite her lifelong challenges, she was faithful to her covenants to the end. This sister was an avid genealogist, a temple attender, and a collector and writer of family histories. Though she had many difficult trials, and without question she felt at times sadness and loneliness, she had a cheerful countenance and a gracious and pleasant personality.
Nine months after her passing, one of her sons had a remarkable experience in the temple. He learned by the power of the Holy Ghost that his mother had a message for him. She communicated with him, but not by vision or audible words. The following unmistakable message came into the son’s mind from his mother: “I want you to know that mortality works, and I want you to know that I now understand why everything happened [in my life] the way it did—and it is all OK.”
This message is all the more remarkable when one considers her situation and the difficulties this sister endured and overcame.