Gospel Story Finder

Mariela came home from school with a frown on her face. “What’s wrong?” Mom asked as she planted flowers in the garden.
“Sonia promised she would play with me, and then she didn’t,” Mariela said. She plopped down in the dirt next to Mom.
“I’m so sorry,” Mom said. “It’s important to keep promises. Next week when you are baptized and confirmed, you will make some very important promises called covenants.”
“Really?” Mariela asked. She was excited to be baptized.
Mom put some yellow flowers in the ground. “You promise to obey the commandments. You also promise to take the name of Jesus Christ upon you. What does Heavenly Father promise if you do these things?”
Mariela thought about what she was learning in Primary. “That I’ll have the Holy Ghost with me.”
“That’s right,” Mom said. “You’ll also become a member of Jesus’s Church. How can you keep your promise to obey the commandments?”
“I can be kind, and I can tell the truth,” Mariela said. “What does it mean to take Jesus’s name upon me?”
“It means that you try to be like Him and do what He would want you to do,” Mom said. “What can you do to be like Jesus?”
Mariela twirled a purple flower between her fingers. “I can sit with the new girl at school. And I can try to be nice to Sonia,” she said.
“Those are great ideas,” Mom said. “And when you take the sacrament, you can remember your promises.”
Mariela smiled. “I know another promise—to water the flowers so we can have a beautiful garden!”

The workbook, Addiction Recovery Program: A Guide to Addiction Recovery and Healing (item no. 36764), outlines the 12 steps and the principles associated with them. Each step has a scripture study section with questions to ponder and space for writing. One participant says that the straightforward approach of the 12 steps gave him hope. By the time Clifford awoke from a coma caused by a drug overdose, his marriage and career had ended. He wondered how he could ever put his life back together. “To have the gospel in little bite-sized steps, 12 of them—I could do that,” he says.
Many say that steps four and five, which focus on personal inventory and confession, are the most challenging. But it depends on the individual. Paula, who struggled with compulsive eating and overdependence in her relationships, worked hardest on step eight—forgiving and restoring relationships—as she tried to forgive her abusive father. She says now, “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this miracle in my life: to love and forgive.”
The change that has happened to me is I’m not miserable all the time. Sometimes it’s not easy. Perhaps the Lord doesn’t see fit to take it all from me right now, but He strengthens me so I can bear it patiently and cheerfully, and I can progress. He lightens it just enough that I learn the most that I can.
The gospel teaches that grace comes through the Atonement of Jesus Christ (see Ether 12:27). Grace is an enabling power that makes recovery possible. It is “divine means of help or strength” that helps us do good works we wouldn’t be able to do or maintain by ourselves.2
Suzanne, who went through the program herself before becoming a Church-service missionary, says, “I knew that God could tell me what to do, but I never knew He had the power to help me do it. Now I understand the grace that comes through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.”
Through grace, participants regain the hope they have lost. One participant, Edward, grew up in the Church, but his childhood insecurities left him feeling that he wasn’t as good as other people. He says, “I didn’t understand the Atonement, and I didn’t love myself, so nothing really mattered.” When he was in his 20s, he started drinking and using drugs in an attempt to dull his negative feelings—a pattern that continued for 20 years.
When he was arrested a second time for drunk driving, he was ordered to get treatment. In the Church’s program, he learned that receiving forgiveness and regaining a sense of self-worth were possible. He attended church every Sunday, studied the 12 steps, and applied these gospel principles and actions to his life. He became willing to turn his life over to Heavenly Father and, in the process, learned how to love himself and how to let the Atonement work in his life. “I couldn’t overcome all these things by myself,” he says. “The Savior can do for me what I can’t do for myself.”
Those who struggle with addiction aren’t the only ones who can experience a mighty change: loved ones find that as they apply the 12 steps to their own lives and attend recovery meetings, they can experience the blessings of the Atonement in regard to their own grief. In some areas the addiction recovery program provides support groups for family and friends, who discover that the Savior can heal them of the pain, anger, and guilt that loved ones sometimes feel.
When Deborah learned of her son’s drug addiction, she was plagued by feelings of guilt as she thought about how she could have been a better mother. Then she discovered that she could apply the steps to herself. She says, “What I learned in the program is that no matter how my son is doing, I can still be happy and have Heavenly Father in my life.” She adds, “On the outside I look the same, but my life has completely changed on the inside.”
Shannon, whose husband faced a pornography addiction, attended the support group for spouses. As she participated, she noticed a change in herself as well. At first she focused on the pain she felt over her husband’s addiction. But then, as she started learning and applying the steps, a miraculous change occurred. She says, “I began talking less and less about my husband and more about what I had learned from each step. I began to see how the Lord was working in my life.”
In the past I was able to abstain for periods of time. I’d get myself back in good standing with the Church and serve in callings, and everyone would tell me how great I was. But I didn’t feel great on the inside at all. And that’s why abstaining is just one part of it. True recovery is not doing it and not wanting to do it because our nature is changed.
Mark learned that through the Atonement, individuals can not only stop their addictive behaviors but also heal the underlying causes of their addiction. And with the help of their priesthood leaders, they can repent and bring the blessings of the gospel back into their lives. Doug LeCheminant of LDS Family Services clarifies the objective of the program: “Our end goal for those in the program is that they will be able to make and keep temple covenants—not just stay sober.” The sweetest fruits are activation, baptism or rebaptism, priesthood advancement, temple ordinances, and restoration of blessings.
Steve, who found himself in jail wearing his church suit, says, “Today I’m clean and sober because of my Heavenly Father and the 12 steps.” His activity in the Church is especially meaningful to him. “I am a father. I am a priests quorum adviser. I am also a facilitator because I want to give back to a program that gave so freely to me.”
Every day I seek my Heavenly Father in prayer and through the scriptures. In the morning I read books about recovery, and I write my feelings and my impressions. I call a support person in the program to help clarify my thinking. I go to the meetings. I try to serve. And I have never relapsed on a day that I have done those things.
Those daily tasks keep Mark spiritually well. Others who have been through the program have discovered the same truth: maintaining spiritual strength requires continuous effort. No one is completely safe from relapse, but through daily gospel living, those who struggle with addiction come unto Christ and receive strength and hope.
“I’m learning bit by bit, precept upon precept,” says Mark. “My nature is changing, and it’s the first time since this started that I can say I have hope. I truly believe that I never have to relapse again.”

Missionaries also experience that same homesickness and loneliness and uncertainty. Stephen writes about being at a branch party in Taiwan at the end of a rough day. “Tons of people came. Tons of food was served. But even sitting down among all the food and being surrounded by people didn’t ease the feeling of loneliness in my heart. As a matter of fact, I think it was making it worse. I missed home. I missed speaking a language that could easily be understood. It all came to a head at this supposedly happy event. I gave up. I couldn’t fight it anymore, and I sat there just defeated and alone eating my now cold noodles. A funny thing happened next. I looked up with that blank, defeated look on my face and saw Brother Kang. He turned, looked at me, smiled, and gave me a tilt of the head. Despite my desire to give up and conviction that I wouldn’t be comforted, I smiled and nodded back. A thought came into my head, ‘Hey, maybe I’m not alone.’ I looked to my right to see members of our little branch all over the big room. I knew and loved them all. They all knew and loved me. They were my family and surrounded me in a way that I felt like I was in the middle of a big force field of love, almost like a hen after having gathered her chicks, would hold them tight in the warm embrace of her wings. The Savior had me in His wings that night, and I couldn’t even get up to get a drink without being blitzed by warm smiles and the Taiwanese sweet way of sharing their love.”

Like many of you, I have shared the gospel with some who are soon baptized or activated, and others—such as my nonmember friend Tim and his less-active wife, Charlene—take much more time.

For over 25 years I engaged Tim in gospel conversations and took Tim and Charlene to temple open houses. Others joined the rescue; however, Tim declined each invitation made to meet with the missionaries.

One weekend I was assigned to preside at a stake conference. I had asked the stake president to fast and pray about whom we should visit. I was shocked when he handed me the name of my friend Tim. When Tim’s bishop, the stake president, and I knocked on the door, Tim opened it, looked at me, looked at the bishop, and then said, “Bishop, I thought you told me you were going to bring somebody special!”

Then Tim laughed and said, “Come on in, Merv.” A miracle occurred that day. Tim has now been baptized, and he and Charlene have been sealed in the temple. We must never give up.

Having confidence in the presence of God is a powerful blessing and relates directly to the second part of the pattern pray always. Prayer is an opportunity for us to enter the presence of the Lord. The Hymn Sweet Hour of Prayer expresses the thought beautifully. " Sweet hour of prayer, sweet hour of prayer that calls me from a world of care and bids me at my fathers throne, make all my wants and whishes known" The Lord asks us not only to pray but to pray always. I would like to relate two experiences that taught me somewhat of the meaning of pray always. In 1991 I was playing on a ward softball team that was participating in the local city league in Manhattan, Kansas. Before each game we would gather as a team to have a prayer. At one particular game for some reason we forgot to pray before the game. I was playing second base and in the second inning when we were in the field the first baseman said to me Hey we didn't have a prayer before the game. I responded, yes you are right. But silently I clearly remember thinking. "Ah so what, nothing ever happens at these games". Two innings later we were in the field again. The first batter up hit a hard low line drive directly at me. I could tell by the flight of the ball that it was going to hit about 5 feet in front of me. It was going to be a one hopper, one of the easiest infield plays. Now, I am a fairly coordinated person, and I have played a fair amount of infield. To this day I do not know how I missed the ball but I missed it. It hit me right in the mouth and knocked me to my knees. My very first thought was, I sure hope I still have my teeth. After checking my teeth my second thought was, I guess we should have had that prayer. My lip was split from the bottom of my nose all the way down. It took two hours in the emergency room and 15 to 20 stitches to patch me up. You can draw your own conclusions but I believe that I was taught a lesson that day. Regular prayer makes a difference. Even those prayers we say routinely such as at the beginning of activities or sporting events or meetings. God is paying attention and we should pray always with the understanding and faith that He is paying attention. Answers to our regular daily prayers are not often immediate but we should continue to pray regularly with the faith that the Lord will bless us. Whenever we pray we are approaching the throne of God and our attitude should be one of reverence and faith. Remember the brother of Jared. In Ether 2:14 we read "It came to pass at the end of four years the Lord came again unto the Brother of Jared, and stood in a cloud and talked with him and for the space of three hours did the Lord talk with the Brother of Jared and chastened him because he remembered not to call upon the name of the Lord." These are not lessons I have applied perfectly in my life but they are lessons I will always remember because I a reminded of them every time I shave.

The second experience happened some years earlier. We were living in Salt Lake City, our oldest daughter Lisle was 2 and Sandee was pregnant with our second daughter Monica. And I was about to lose my job. Within a few short weeks we would have no income and no health insurance. About this time a large well established company in Massachusetts began recruiting me for the position of customer service representative. They were very positive about my chances. The entire family would fly to the east coast on a Friday and spend the week-end in looking for a place to live. On Monday I would visit with representatives of the company and we would finalize the deal. Surely this was a blessing waiting to happen. On the day before the trip Sandee asked have you prayed about this. I said no, it seemed fairly obvious to me that the Lord was going to bless us with a job on the East coast. She said, I think you should pray. As usual Sandee's counsel was wise. I agreed and sought out a quiet place to pray. I knelt down and no sooner did I begin to ask the question than the Spirit whispered to me, as clearly as it ever has, they will offer you the job but you should not take it. I would like to be able to report that I immediately stood up and announced to Sandee that the Lord had counseled that I not take the job. We were going to have to find something else. What actually happened is I thought "there must be some mistake. This can't be right. We had better go to Massachusetts and check this out", So off to Massachusetts we went. The entire week-end was one long stupor of thought. On Monday morning I sat down with the Vice President. We had talked for no more than a minute when he said "you don't want this job" and I said you're right I don't. At that point I felt like a burden was lifted. Later, sitting in our rental car in the company parking lot, Sandee and I discussed our situation. We did not know how the Lord would bless us, but he did. The way was made possible for me to go back to school and study librarianship. One of the lessons that I learned from that experience does not specifically fit with what I have been discussing but I will share it anyway. That is you can have no greater blessing in life than an eternal companion who loves the Lord and is full of faith and has an obedient heart. Sandee is all of that and I am greatly blessed because of it. What may seem like the most obvious path to choose is not always the right path. We should seek the counsel of the Lord through prayer and he will lead us in the direction which is best for us. And when the Spirit whispers to us we should be believing.

A few years ago, I taught a family home evening lesson on faith. My family had been spending lots of time talking about faith because my older brother had questions about why we need faith. I planted a seed I saved from a cantaloupe in a little cup. I told my family that faith was like a seed. If you took good care of it, the seed would grow.
We had never had much success growing gardens. But I hoped I could make this plant grow and that I could be a good example of faith. I put the cup in the window and took care of it. I waited and prayed for my seed to grow.
I had almost given up, but after a week I finally saw some green sprouting up. It grew in the window for another week. Then my parents helped me find a place to plant it in a backyard flowerbed.
I took good care of my plant. I watered it and kept the weeds away. It kept growing bigger and bigger. I was so excited!
After weeks went by, I noticed flowers, and then small fruit began to sprout. We watched seven cantaloupes grow on the vine from my one little seed. To me it was a miracle and an answer to my prayers. The fruit was sweet, just like it says in Alma 32:42: “And because of your diligence and your faith and your patience with the word in nourishing it, that it may take root in you, behold, by and by ye shall pluck the fruit thereof, which is most precious, which is sweet above all that is sweet.”
This experience made me very happy and taught me and my family that faith is a true principle of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Tammy walked slowly down the sidewalk. She pushed her hands deep into her pockets and looked up and down the street. There was not a sign of anyone to play with. Her foot kicked a stone, and it skittered and rolled along the walk. “Sarah has gone to visit her grandmother, Jennifer has a dental appointment, and Tim went somewhere with his dad,” she grumbled.
Tammy kicked the stone again, then ran after it as it rolled. There was a heavy chalk arrow on the sidewalk pointing straight ahead. She followed the direction and then saw other chalk arrows pointing the way to go. One reminded her of a snake. It pointed to a chalk circle around a hole in the sidewalk. Inside was a pretty blue marble. Tammy smiled. She picked the marble up and put it in her pocket.
Then she saw more arrows in a wiggly line and followed them. One pointed to a fire hydrant, on top of which was balanced a bright yellow marble. She looked at it closely, rolling it back and forth between her thumb and first finger. This will make a good shooter, she thought, and put it in her pocket.
Tammy looked around and found another arrow leading to a paper cup. She looked down into the paper cup and saw a cool green marble to put into her pocket. Ahead were more arrows and more marbles—a milky white one and a “cleary.” May be the next one will be a steelie or a cat’s eye or an aggie, she thought. The next marble was nested in the corner of the sidewalk where it turned and led to a house. “A sparkly red one!” she shouted, picking it up.
Tammy heard a laugh and looked up. A freckle-faced boy just her size was standing by a tree. He held a bag of marbles in one hand and a piece of chalk in the other. “Hi,” he greeted her. “I’m lonesome and would like a game of marbles.”
“I’m lonesome too,” said Tammy. “Let’s play!”

I’ve spent quite a bit of time as a visitor at the Utah State Prison. Some of the best friends I have ever made were made there. I like to go there because every time I go, I learn something. I learn about personal pride. I learn something about performance. I learn something about people.
One day, when I was talking with the warden at the prison, I asked, “How many prisoners do you have here in the prison who might be classified as ‘impossible’?” I knew that the prison was over-crowded—over 800 prisoners in buildings large enough for only 600, and I knew also that there were a lot of prisoners who presented problems for the prison officials. I remember one day being in the prison yard with some of them and seeing a tattoo across the chest of one man that said “A Born Loser,” and he was out to prove it. So I was impressed when the warden said that, of all the prisoners at the Utah State Prison, there was only one whom he would classify as being really impossible or unreformable.
I asked him to tell me about the man. He said that that prisoner has to remain in his cell 23 hours and 40 minutes every day. He cannot be with anyone else. He isn’t insane; he’s just hardened. “We can’t give him any freedom,” the warden told me. “His meals are served in his cell through iron bars. He has toilet facilities and a bed, and that is where he stays all but about 20 minutes of the day, when he is taken out for a shower. The last time he was allowed to be with other prisoners he put a knife through another prisoner. He would do the same again if he were allowed any freedom.”
No personal pride. No worthy performance. No patience. The only thing he is accomplishing in his life is being number one—number one in impossibility.

Our first son was stillborn in 2017. Nine months before the Durban South Africa Temple was dedicated in 2020, our second son was stillborn.
At the time, I felt like Hannah of the Old Testament. I “was in bitterness of soul, and prayed unto the Lord, and wept sore” (1 Samuel 1:10).
I felt helpless and angry, and I was in excruciating pain. I struggled emotionally, physically, and spiritually. Holding on to the rod felt like holding on to a thread that was gradually slipping from my hands. I was truly burning in “the furnace of affliction” (Isaiah 48:10).
I am so grateful that I received help and healing from my family, the scriptures, and prayer. I also received help from counselors. The culmination of my healing, however, came in the temple.
As I began serving in the temple, I began to be filled with increased light. I felt at home there. I also felt a deep assurance that the Lord loves me and is mindful of my struggles.
As I continued serving in the house of the Lord, I began to look at the names of my ancestors in a different way. They weren’t just names. I realized, for example, that one ancestor was a daughter, a mother, a grandmother, an aunt, a sister, a niece. Her passing must have been hard for surviving relatives. But the blessings offered this ancestor in the temple through sacred vicarious ordinances constitute a great and sweet joy that surpasses any pain her living relatives might have felt at her passing.
This understanding has blessed me as I have thought about our precious boys, the eternal nature of our spirits, and Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation. Losing our boys prompts me to do my best to live the gospel.
Some days are still harder than others. But holding on to my covenant promises makes those days easier.
To borrow the words of President Russell M. Nelson, “We miss our [sons] greatly. However, because of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, we do not worry about [them]. As we continue to honor our covenants with God, we live in anticipation of our being with [them] again.”1

In spite of Talica’s happy smile and cheerful attitude, she has known sadness. When she was ten months old, unusual circumstances made it necessary for her parents to send her to live with her grandmother, who lived on a small island with only one village. Talica loved village life, and she grew up thinking of her grandmother as her mother. Then, when she was four years old, her parents reclaimed her. It was a difficult adjustment for both Talica and her brothers and sisters, and there were some painful times for the homesick newcomer. But she has a large heart and has learned to understand the feelings of others.

One young Latter-day Saint in Mayagüez says, “When I was 15, I started smoking because my friends pressured me. After two weeks, I knew this was not what I wanted to do.” Kneeling by his bed, this young man poured out his heart to Heavenly Father and asked for help to quit smoking and to be able to deal with peer pressure. He stopped smoking immediately, but the tormenting of some of his friends continued. “I guess I’ll always have pressure from my friends at school,” he says, “but now I know the Lord will help me to deal with it.”

Some single adults may worry that marriage will prohibit reaching their career or educational goals. “We were both worried about school and careers before we got married,” says Thekla Schenk of Mililani, Hawaii. “When we were first married, I wanted things to go my way. We were married on the condition that I would go to school.”
Sister Schenk prayed and asked Heavenly Father to help her finish college. She felt impressed that it would happen when it was supposed to, although she didn’t know how.
Although both are currently in school, the couple has determined that they will focus on Grayson’s education and career first so that Sister Schenk will be able to stay home with their future children. “We turned it into an ‘us’ thing instead of a ‘me’ thing,” Sister Schenk says.
She and her husband have sought happiness in marriage by trying to make each other happy. “It’s difficult to learn to put someone else’s needs first,” she says. “We need to strive to be spiritual enough to listen to promptings about what to do.”

“Hey cuz, you still shootin’ for that celestial kingdom you told me about?” my cousin asked.
Her unexpected question took me off guard. I stammered for a moment, trying to figure out what she was talking about. Then I remembered. Last summer, during our visit to California, my cousin and I had been talking late at night, as was our habit, when the subject of the Church had come up. My cousin is a nonmember and knows very little about our church, so when she asked me to tell her about it, I gladly agreed. I told her what I could: the Joseph Smith story, our beliefs, my dreams, and my fears—including my goal of reaching the celestial kingdom. I bore my testimony to her, and told her I knew the gospel was true. I told her how I wanted to live forever with at chosen mate, and to have my family with me. She listened carefully and asked me a lot of questions which I answered as best I could. We went to sleep that night, her wondering and me feeling pretty pleased with myself.
Now seven months later, I was amazed that she remembered what I had told her.
“Well?” She was looking at me expectantly, waiting for an answer.
I swallowed hard and stared out my window at the falling snow, watching each individual snowflake merge with millions of others. If only life were that simple.
“Am I still reaching for it?” I asked myself. I thought back over the last few months and knew I hadn’t been trying very hard. I had just broken up with my boyfriend, my grades weren’t as high as they should have been, my best friend wasn’t my best friend anymore, family relationships were strained, and most important of all, I was gradually pulling away from the Church. As I sat there, I took a new look at my life and realized how empty it had been. I turned and looked at my cousin and said quietly but firmly, with my eyes full of tears, “Yes, I am.”
Oh how thankful I am to have a Father in Heaven who loves me enough to remind me of my goals. With his help I can reach the celestial kingdom. And when I doubt myself, I just remember those three words, “Yes, I am,” and I know that my Father in Heaven is with me.

When we arrived at our missionary apartment that evening, my companion went in before me and slammed the door. I parked our bikes and went in after him. Our voices became loud and harsh as we argued about the events of the day. He, an American, claimed that we didn’t get along because I, a Filipino, was prejudiced against him. That wasn’t true, and his saying it only made me angrier. He stormed into the kitchen. I went into the other room. Silence reigned after that, but the fire of our anger still raged.
I sat in one corner of the room, crouched like a child, wanting to cry or shout—I wasn’t sure which. I felt empty and afraid, as if I were driving on a dark, winding road without headlights. Everything we had done that day—teaching discussions, playing with children, talking with investigators—seemed like a charade. When we had taught a discussion about living a Christlike life, I felt tormented inside: How could my companion and I teach about Christlike love when we had built a wall of hostility between us?
In the darkness of the room, I remembered the words of my stake president when he set me apart as a full-time missionary. He had said that I would have many trials on my mission and that some would appear insurmountable. He also spoke of two “Goliaths” that I would have to face—weaknesses in myself and problems with my companion. He then promised, “The power within you is greater than the obstacles in front of you.”
However, I didn’t feel ready to face my Goliaths; I wished instead for a transfer. I had thought companionship problems would be easy to resolve, but this was more like sailing in a raging tempest. I knew I needed to turn to my Heavenly Father for help, so I knelt to pray. I struggled because I did not feel worthy to talk to him. I couldn’t do anything but cry.
I sat in silence until, through my tears, I noticed the scriptures on the ironing board. I opened them and looked through them until I came to this verse: “First, be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift” (Matt. 5:24). I knew this was the answer that I had been seeking. I felt the still, small voice tell me to make reconciliation with my companion. I also knew that Heavenly Father would help remove the wall of hatred between my companion and me.
With this assurance, I went to talk to my companion. I was surprised when he broke the silence first: “It was my fault, Elder. I’m sorry.”
I grabbed my chair and sat beside him. “No, no, no,” I insisted. “It wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry, too, because I wasn’t able to hold my temper.”
He smiled and said, “Do you know that Satan wants to destroy our friendship and to stop this sacred work? And do you know that it is past our bedtime?” He laughed, then gave me a big hug.
After that, we knelt down together in prayer and felt the Spirit of the Lord heal our friendship.
I hardly slept that night, for joy. I was surprised to see the darkness fade as sunlight crept into our room. I opened the window so the light could enter freely. From where I stood, I could see the silhouettes of the coconut trees, the nipa huts, and the mountains. At that moment, I felt a desire to share the light of the gospel with the entire world.

I once ran in a Warrior Dash. A Warrior Dash is a 5k race with all kinds of obstacles mixed in—climbing ropes, wading through water, jumping over fire, and sliding through mud.

It was a lot of fun. In my heat, I was in the front with another guy when we got to the first obstacle—a 4-inch balance beam on an incline. I was a bit surprised when he ran around the beam while I teetered my way across. I felt a bit of vindication, though, when a course marshal told the guy he had to go back and do the obstacles.

“I have to do all the obstacles?” the guy asked, somewhat incredulously. “I just want to run!” [46]

So, when I hear of people complain about how restrictive the Honor Code is, or I see people openly rebelling against the Dress and Grooming standards, I think of that guy at the Warrior Dash who was upset he wasn’t able to make his own rules.

Paul uses another sports analogy to remind Timothy of this concept: “And if a man also strive for masteries, yet is he not crowned, except he strive lawfully.” [47] We only get the prize if we follow the rules of the contest.

Malcolm Tent was still a young man when he began putting rocks in his pockets. It started one day when his boss, Mr. Gump, got angry at him for something that wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t yell back at his boss, because he might lose his job. In fact, there wasn’t anything he could do except be angry inside. “But,” he thought, “I’m not going to forget this. No way.” On the way home from the bus stop that night, he thought to himself, “I’ve got to remember how angry I am. I don’t want to forget in the morning.” Suddenly he had an idea. There was a small rock on the sidewalk in front of him. He picked it up and said softly to himself, “I’ll keep this rock in my pocket to remind me of how unfair Mr. Gump was.”
And that’s what he did. That night he put the rock on his dresser with his keys and comb. The next morning, when he got dressed to go to work, into his pocket went the ugly gray rock.
All that day and the next, the heavy bulge in his pocket reminded him that he should be angry at Mr. Gump. Strangely, Mr. Gump seemed to have forgotten about the whole thing. But not Malcolm Tent. Oh no. In fact, during the next two weeks, Mr. Gump made Malcolm angry several more times, and Malcolm decided he’d better get a rock for each time so he could keep better track of these things.
And so it was that Malcolm Tent’s trousers began to look baggy and strange. But at least he remembered not to forgive Mr. Gump or be friendly or anything like that.
Maybe if Malcolm had only collected rocks when he got angry at Mr. Gump, this thing might have died out and been forgotten. But there was the taxi driver who drove right by and left Malcolm standing in the rain. Into his pocket went a shiny, rain-slick pebble from the gutter. (Of course, Malcolm had no idea of the taxi driver’s name, but it didn’t matter.) Then there was the grocery clerk who shortchanged him. And the newspaper delivery boy who threw his paper into a rain puddle. And the neighbor whose dog barked late at night. And … well, Malcolm discovered that there were all kinds of people and things in the world that can bother you.
Speaking of discoveries, Malcolm also discovered that when all of your pockets are full of rocks, a belt won’t hold up your pants. (He discovered that fact while his arms were full of grocery sacks.) So he made himself a sturdy pair of leather suspenders to help hold up his pants.
But soon the time came when he didn’t have enough pockets in his pants, so he had to wear a jacket everywhere he went—the kind of jacket with lots of pockets. And it wasn’t long before the jacket looked as funny as his trousers. And smelled just as dusty. And got even heavier because it had more pockets.
Anyone else might have given up at this point, but not Malcolm. He bought one of those big sturdy briefcases like salesmen use. After all, when you start to look for them, there are all kinds of things in life that can bother you. And when you are always tired from carrying so many rocks around, you get angry even easier.
Years went by, and Malcolm’s collection of reminder rocks spilled out of his pockets and briefcase and all over his house. He had rocks on the kitchen sink, and in his closets, and all over the floors. A few times he even put a rock in his bed so he could remember to be angry during the night. Let’s face it. Malcolm had become a strange, unpleasant man. And most people avoided him when they could, which made him even touchier. Rocks are not very good company. They are hard and dusty, and in the winter they are very cold.
Now, Malcolm might have gone on to become a mean old man completely buried in rocks. But one day he received a telephone call from a geology professor at the university. Dr. Igneous had heard of Malcolm’s large rock collection (who hadn’t?), and he wanted to bring his geology class on a visit to see it.
“Well,” thought Malcolm, “at last here is someone who appreciates my rocks. Wait until they see all of these reminders of how often people have wronged me.” An appointment was made for the next Saturday, and Malcolm spent the next few evenings dusting and arranging.
At last Saturday came, and at two o’clock in the afternoon the doorbell rang. There, on the porch, stood Professor Igneous and seven of his best students, all dressed in their best outdoor clothing. Several had rock hammers dangling from their belts, and one or two carried cameras. And everyone carried a notebook and pencil.
Professor Igneous himself looked rather ordinary. But he had a ready smile. And his face was deeply tanned from spending years out of doors. As a matter of fact, there was something about his eyes, too. They looked deep and dark, but they had a sparkle that said he enjoyed life. And when he looked at you, it was the same look he gave mountains and rock formations—as though he were trying to peer inside. This was a scientist who liked people at least as much as he liked rocks.
As the professor and students stepped into the rock-filled living room, Malcolm expected to hear oohs and aahs. You know, like you hear at a fireworks show. Instead, there was an uncomfortable silence. The group just stood there looking around, nudging a few of the rocks with their toes. Then the students looked at their professor, waiting for him to say something. After all, this was not the collection of beautiful gems and minerals they had expected. These were ordinary hunks of limestone and sandstone and quartzite. Why, there were even chunks of broken asphalt and concrete!
Finally, Professor Igneous spoke: “Ahem,” he cleared his throat. “Perhaps you would be so good as to explain your collection to us, Mr. Tent. I can honestly say we’ve never seen another collection quite like it.” In the background, his students nodded in agreement.
“Well,” Malcolm began nervously, “I, uh, well … that is . …” It had been a long time since he had said much of anything to anyone.
Professor Igneous could see how nervous Malcolm was. The poor man kept swallowing so hard his Adam’s apple was bobbing up and down. (Some of the students thought he was trying to swallow one of his rocks.)
Trying to help, the professor said, “Why not begin by telling us why you chose these rocks.” He picked up an ordinary gray rock that looked like most of the others. “Why did you choose this particular piece of limestone for your collection?”
“Oh, is that what it is? Well, I think that’s the one I picked up when the laundry didn’t have my shirts ready on time. Wait! No, I think that’s for the time my favorite television show got canceled. Or was it the time I ran inside to answer the phone, and the caller had the wrong number? Or … “Here he paused to search his memory. There were so many rocks! And they were so much alike—gray, hard, cold, dusty. Suddenly, Malcolm realized that that was all Professor Igneous and his students could see. To everyone else these were just plain old everyday rocks. Malcolm had to explain, to make them see.
“There’s more to these rocks than you might think. Every one of these rocks represents a time somebody made me mad, or wasn’t very nice to me, or hurt my feelings. I picked up these rocks as reminders.”
Now the professor and his students were really amazed. They all began to speak at once: “I never heard of such a thing.” “How long have you been doing this?” “Can I take a picture of you with your rocks?” “Some field trip!”
Professor Igneous spoke again, and everyone became quiet. “Well, Mr. Tent,” he began slowly, “I must admit you’re the first person I ever met who collected rocks for that reason.” He paused and looked around. “You’ve been very kind to invite us into your home. And we don’t want to take up too much of your time. But do you suppose that while we are here we might see your other collection?”
A blank look came over Malcolm’s face. “I don’t have any other collection.”
“Oh, I see. I just thought you might have collected something to remind you of the nice things people have done and said. But, well, never mind. Perhaps we ought to be going now. Thank you so much for allowing us to come into your home. I think my students have learned something important.”
He gathered his students around him, and they moved toward the door. Then, turning to Malcolm once more, the professor said, “We still have some time left this afternoon. Could you perhaps direct us to some of the other people with similar collections?”
Once more Malcolm was unready with an answer. “I don’t know of any other collections like mine.”
“Oh. I just thought that perhaps some of the people you know would have collected something when you … I mean … if you ever … uh … annoyed them.” Then, quickly, he added, “Yes, well, good-bye, and thanks again.”
Without waiting, the professor and his students turned and marched off down the sidewalk.
Long after they were gone, Malcolm stood there, looking just like one of his rocks—cold and gray and very still. Within him, the professor’s words echoed. Around him, the house was silent. Too silent. He suddenly realized how pleasant the students’ friendly chatter had been. How long since he had had a friendly talk with anyone? Come to think of it, did he even have any friends anymore?
Then, before he could stop it, the thought came into his mind: “I’m becoming just like my rocks.” As Malcolm sat alone in the dark, he finally realized what unpleasant companions rocks are. And how unpleasant he … Well, some thoughts are hard enough to think without actually saying them.
For several days, for hours at a time, Malcolm sat still as a rock, thinking rock-hard thoughts. You might have thought he had finally become petrified. But deep inside him, something was waking up and beginning to grow, like a seed in the spring soil.
If you think it’s hard to find a home for extra kittens or such, you should try finding someone who wants a bunch of very ordinary, dusty, gray rocks. In fact, just try gathering them up when they are scattered all over. Malcolm tried to hire cleaning ladies. They all told him the same thing: “I don’t do windows, and I don’t pick up rocks!” A “Free Rocks” sign in his window brought no results. Finally he realized that this was something he would have to do himself.
The neighbors still talk about the time Malcolm backed a rented trailer up to his front porch, and about the tremendous cloud of dust that rose as the rocks were shoveled out into the trailer. They also talk about how much better Malcolm looks, how his clothes fit so much better (has he lost weight?), and how he actually smiles now.
Malcolm’s neighbors also point with pride to his attractive yard, with trees and flowers and bushes planted everywhere. They don’t have any explanation for his sudden interest in gardening. But one neighbor, Mrs. Kratz, did notice that after she had taken a piece of cake to him, Malcolm went out to the flower bed and planted a single seed.

I saw him riding the bus every day on my way home from the university. He always wore the same baggy T-shirt, worn-out tennis shoes, and big smile. And he always sat by himself. He was a special passenger, though, because he was mentally challenged.
Every day the Spirit prompted me to say hello to him. Every day, however, my pride stopped me. I was afraid that someone might see me associating with someone different from everyone else. After all, I had a reputation to keep.
One winter afternoon, when the Spirit was especially strong and my courage was a little greater, I got on the bus, saw him in his usual spot, and sat down next to him—not too close in case I chickened out. When I was almost to my stop, I closed my eyes, said a silent prayer, and turned to him.
“Hi,” I said in an insecure but friendly voice, “I’m Ashley.”
When he smiled at me, my fear and pride immediately melted away.
“I’m Lenny,” he shyly replied.
With those few words, we began a bond of friendship.
The next day I sat next to Lenny again, but it was easier—we were friends. As I sat down, he reached into his backpack and pulled out a handmade Valentine’s Day card. It was addressed to “The pretty girl I see on the bus every day.”
Valentine’s Day was long passed, but Lenny had made this special card for me and had been patiently waiting for the opportunity to give it to me. I couldn’t keep the tears from trickling down my cheeks. How grateful I was that the Spirit hadn’t given up on me and that I had finally put aside my pride and faced my fear of talking to Lenny.
Now he comes to Sunday dinner every week and has become like another member of my family. Every day Lenny helps me remember the blessings that come from forgetting pride and having courage to do what is right. Seeing him every day reminds me of 1 John 4:18: “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear.”

Joseph F. Smith was called to serve a mission to Hawaii in 1854 when he was 15 years old. Although young, he had already lived a lifetime of experiences. The last time he saw his father Hyrum and his uncle, the Prophet Joseph, was as they were riding on horseback out of Nauvoo when he was a five year old. He led a wagon team to Salt Lake at seven with his mother and sister. His mother passed away when he was 13 of an illness, leaving Joseph and his sister orphans. He was watched over by Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball. And then at 15 he left school after stopping his teacher from whipping his sister. President Young felt it was time for a special experience for Joseph and he was sent as a missionary to Hawaii. He served three missions: Hawaii, England and he later returned to Hawaii. When the Church’s storehouse burned down in 1856 he lost his clothing, family photographs, personal papers, and copies of the scriptures that had belonged to his father Hyrum.

After his first mission he returned to Utah by way of Los Angeles. That year Johnston’s Army was on the move for Utah, and there was much excitement and bitterness concerning the “Mormons.” Just after the little train of wagons had traveled only a short distance and made their camp, several anti-mormon toughs rode into the camp on horseback, cursing and swearing and threatening what they would do to the “Mormons.” Joseph F. was a little distance from the camp gathering wood for the fire, but he saw that the few members of his own party had cautiously gone into the brush down the creek, out of sight. When he saw that, the thought came into his mind, “Shall I run from these fellows? Why should I fear them?” With that he marched up with his arm full of wood to the campfire where one of the ruffians, still with his pistol in his hand, shouting and cursing about the “Mormons,” in a loud voice said to Joseph F., “Are you a Mormon?” And the answer came straight, “Yes siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through.” At that, the ruffian grasped him by the hand and said, “Well you are the (blanket-blank) pleasantest man I ever met! Shake, young fellow. I am glad to see a man that stands up for his convictions” (Gospel Doctrine 518). Joseph F. had learned how to lead.

Mob persecution forced the Snow family to move often, leaving homes and friends. On one occasion, during the move to Far West, all the family’s food froze. So they soaked thinly sliced frozen bread in fresh warm milk from the cow for their meals. Eliza met hardships bravely and uncomplainingly, and she helped to shelter and care for her elderly parents, who would later die on the journey to Winter Quarters.

On the day of my baptism, I was a 22-year-old college student. I was part of a small group that assembled at a swimming pool in Brussels, Belgium. We didn’t have a chapel at that time. There was no baptismal font, no bishop, just two missionaries and a few branch members to support us. I had no family members with me. I had a sure testimony of Jesus Christ, our Savior and Redeemer; of Joseph Smith, a prophet; of the Book of Mormon; and of the Church, the only true one.
Three months passed before I was interviewed and ordained a deacon. That Sunday morning I stood in front of the sacrament table to distribute the emblems of the atonement of the Lord Jesus Christ. I still remember the surroundings: the dining room of a home had been transformed into a meeting hall for sacrament meetings that were attended by a few members. It was my first opportunity to magnify my priesthood calling. Nine months later, I was ordained a teacher and learned how to teach and to watch over the few members of the branch.
Another four months passed, and I was ordained a priest. Now I stood on the other side of the sacrament table. The decor was the same, but I felt different. It impressed me that now I was blessing the emblems of the Atonement and memorizing “that they may eat in remembrance of the body of thy Son, and witness unto thee, … and always remember him and keep his commandments … ; that they may always have his Spirit to be with them” (D&C 20:77).
Two years passed after my baptism, and the day arrived for me to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood and to be ordained an elder. The mission president once again laid his hands upon my head. The higher authority and power to act in the name of the Lord were given.
The Church is a divine institution led by the authority of the priesthood. I testify that Jesus lives, that this is the only true church, that the priesthood of the Son of God is vested herein, and that the prophets, seers, and revelators who preside over this church are appointed to preserve the pure doctrine of Jesus Christ and the authority of his priesthood for the salvation of his people.