Gospel Story Finder

Sister Dalton and her counselors have encouraged Young Women throughout the world to make a commitment to virtue, to follow the examples of virtue set by their leaders, mothers, and grandmothers. As a new presidency, they hiked up Ensign Peak, a foothill in the north part of the Salt Lake Valley overlooking the Salt Lake Temple. “We unfurled our banner calling for a return to virtue. We believe that if there is anything that keeps people away from the Savior and away from the temple it is not being worthy or pure and morally clean.”

In my mind’s eye I see Russell Nelson, Jr., newly arrived from his home in heaven and staring up into the eyes of his father as though to say to him (as Joseph Smith said to Newel K. Whitney), “You prayed me here; now what do you want of me?”
I do not know that his father, who is the general superintendent of the Sunday School and the father of nine daughters, wants him to become a famous surgeon. I believe he will lead his son wisely as to what his earthly vocation will be, but I am sure he will want this boy to go on a mission, that hope of great adventure which comes into the early life of all Latter-day Saint boys. If this is the father’s desire, he will start early to prepare his son.
The first prayers the baby will hear will be that he will grow up to go on a mission and to be married in the temple. Both of the words “mission” and “temple” he will not understand; but later, when comprehension comes, they will be so ingrained in his memory that they will be a part of his being. Later, as he lisps his own prayer, he will find the words “make me worthy to go on a mission” easy to say. Neither will he stumble over the words “marry” or “temple.”
If his father is wise, his boy’s early years will be filled with stories of the experiences of the missionaries of the past. He should begin by telling of his own ancestors, to give the boy knowledge that mission adventures are not the exclusive property of the leaders but that the followers had equally miraculous adventures. But, of course, he will want to learn of the heroic journey of Samuel H. Smith and his companion from Far West on an eastern missionary journey. He will want to learn of the missionary journey of Heber C. Kimball and Brigham Young when they, ill from fever, arose from their beds and started out, how Brother Kimball was poisoned and was saved by the loyal work of his companion, and how they miraculously found money in the purse, just enough for each day’s journey. But he will need to know, too, that today with our affluence he may not find money; he will find something far richer—the great joy that comes from seeing people’s lives miraculously changed as they accept the gospel.
He will need to know that he must develop physical stamina, not for athletics but for his mission. He will play basketball to develop wind and limb to serve the Lord.
As he grows, he will need to talk man-to-man, or rather boy-to-man, why all this should be. His father will say, “For your mission, son, you will need to learn by heart many things. And so we shall now start.”
Then his father will teach him the simple truths that are important. They will memorize the prophecy in the book of Nephi about the descendant of Joseph who, bearing the name of his ancestor, would do great things. And then his father will tell him the story of the modern Joseph, the fulfillment of that prophecy—what he did to be a great boy. He will learn that boys do not need to wait until they are men to be great.
He will thrill with the ancient prophecy of the angel who would fly through the heavens having the everlasting gospel to preach to all the world and how this prophecy was actually fulfilled through angelic visits to the young boy prophet.
In the same manner they will comb the scriptures, doctrine by doctrine, and learn those vital to missionary work. They will read together the great boy-literature of the world. The chivalry at the court of King Arthur will be mirrored in his treatment of girls and, later, young women. And he will learn the place of animals in his life when he runs the Trail of the Sand Hill Stag with Seton and will learn the immense power of nature as he survives a ride down a snow avalanche with Enos A. Mills.
He will also learn of the winter journey to rescue the handcart company, victim of the Wyoming blizzards. His father will see to it that he gets the feel of a real blizzard and the helplessness of the brave people who had only the Lord to depend on for deliverance. He will be taught these lessons at the home evening, at the dinner table, at bedtime, in camp, on hikes and journeys. And driven home at all these stages will be the theme that the greatest adventure a boy can have is to go on a mission and learn to depend on the Lord when faced with a bitter, cold, or hostile world, and that the greatest joy he can experience is to give of his all in the service of the Master in bringing souls unto him.
Having seen and heard his father pray, he will want to pray too and will soon learn about the whisperings of the Spirit, which comes into his “feeling,” as Nephi pointed out to his rebellious brothers. (See 1 Ne. 17:45.)
He will need to learn also of the important principle of obedience. Teach him that the Lord Jesus Christ was completely obedient to his father and that if your son would be a successful missionary, he must be completely obedient to those in authority over him. Faithfully learning this lesson before he goes into the mission field will equip him for his work there.
Give him responsibility, and teach him to forget himself in service to others. These, coupled with obedience, will help him to find true humility—all of which are vital factors for his reception of the Holy Ghost.
And so, through his growing years he will apply the truth of all things. Lay the foundation well, Brother Nelson; it begins at birth and its effects cease not until the mission of life is complete.
Meanwhile, his mother will have a hand in his growth also. Faith-building begins in the cradle and ends not at the grave. In the formative years your boy will need to learn how to give and take, how to get along, how to put up with inconveniences, how to be patient and tolerant, how to resolve differences with playmates and, later, with missionary companions.
He will need long training in neatness and in the handling of his clothing. He will need to know the “rubbing board” techniques of washing his clothes and how to keep them white and clean. Ironing and pressing should be second nature. He will need to learn that bodily cleanliness goes with spiritual cleanness and that the body is the expression of the spirit.
He will need to know how to cook—how to make the food he prepares taste good and at the same time meet his many nutritional needs. Nothing will buoy up a missionary like a tasty meal. Why shouldn’t this boy learn to cook well? And while he is about it, he should learn that the dusty, ill-kept room with its unmade bed is the devil’s best means of discouragement.
Just as surely as he walks, his manner, his attitude, his clothing, his complete self will be concrete evidence of what he is in his soul. He cannot conceal himself. Teach him, then, that these things reveal his spirit and show what he really is and that the success of his mission will be found in how his spirit speaks to the spirits of those he meets.
In the process of his growing, make sure that he will learn how the Church came to be and where it has gone from there. And let him learn to know that faith in the Lord Jesus Christ will give men reason for their repentance from sin, which is the great doctrine that brings hope; that baptism by immersion is both a covenant and a sign of acceptance; and that the gift of the Holy Ghost is what makes him, and his father and his mother, different from the world; and that it will make those he converts different also.
He will not consider the Book of Mormon dull reading if you will make it live for him while he is growing. And if he learns that reading scripture by the Spirit with an open heart and a searching mind is indeed hearing the voice of the Lord, as the Lord told the Twelve it is (see D&C 18:34–36), you will have him on his way to becoming a missionary.
He began to prepare for his work here before he came to earth, when he repudiated Satan and all of his subtle sophistries. Now he is to prove that he can live in a body and control its earthly tendencies and temptations as he did as a spirit before his arrival here in mortality.
As with Russell Nelson, Jr., so it is with all boys—and girls too. Let us not leave out the girls—they also may go on missions. These young folks may become great of themselves, but with the faith and teaching of their fathers and mothers they will become greater. The Eternal Father taught his Only Begotten Son. He depends on us to teach our children truth that they may better serve the Father of their spirits and live.
To those who may not have had these training opportunities in their childhood, through humility and diligent effort in their teen years, they can still achieve the same thing.
Two years on a mission will give the experience and practice in the great virtues of which I speak. It will confirm that the Lord truly speaks in this day, for he will constantly whisper the truth of this great latter-day work into the soul of the valiant missionary.
Later he will know this whispering in the affairs of his adult years and, following it, will find the true entrance to the things which will give him eternal life in the kingdom of our Lord.
The Lord has said that to bring one soul to him brings joy and that to bring many souls gives proportionately greater joy. The prepared youth will find that joy on his mission. It will sustain him through his life.

In my graduate program, my major professor spent summers working in Antarctica, in Alaska, or in the islands of the Arctic. I signed on to work with him in Svalbard, a group of islands about 500 miles north of Norway. It was a spectacular and wonderful place. Four of us were deposited on the shore of an island called Spitsbergen.

During the first month we worked in teams of two as we examined the rocks and collected samples. The Norwegians who transported us to the island warned us to be on the lookout for polar bears (and for seals, the polar bears’ main food). They explained that almost every year someone in Spitsbergen was killed and eaten by a bear.

Needless to say, we were always looking out to see if a bear was approaching. We were particularly cautious when seals came into the bay. We carried rifles and revolvers wherever we went and slept with them at our sides. There was no place to run or hide if a bear decided that we would be its next meal.

About midway through the field season, three of us students were left to work for a month on our own. The problem was that we needed to work in different areas about 25 kilometers apart. The decision was made that the other two would pack out together to work for two weeks in the more distant area and leave me by myself.

I was doing pretty well and feeling that being alone wasn’t all that bad when one evening the fog rolled in off the ocean. As I lay in bed, the sounds of the ocean, which were usually so pleasant and comforting, were now muffled by the fog and seemed different. My mind began to interpret them differently. I was sure I heard something moving along the beach. Fear slowly crept into my heart and soul. I was sure the sounds were the padding of a polar bear coming along the beach.

I sat up in a state of panic, with the rifle in one hand and the pistol in the other, waiting for the inevitable to happen. It was then that I remembered I was not alone. I bowed my head and prayed fervently to my Father in Heaven to calm me and protect me. And He did. His Spirit engulfed me, the fear was gone, and I lay down and fell into a peaceful slumber. Once again the test had worked. I opened the door, and He entered.

“When I took this picture of the Sacred Grove, I felt peacefulness around me and the rays of sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves above. The hymn “Joseph Smith’s First Prayer” [Hymns, no. 26] came to mind, and it was as if the birds were testifying of what had occurred in this sacred place.”
Naomi S., Texas, USA

When you grow up on a farm, you learn that everyone has a job. As a 10-year-old, my job was taking care of our chickens.
At first the baby chicks were cuddly little balls of yellow fuzz. But then they grew into chickens. Whenever I fed them, they’d peck at my ankles. It really hurt!
My father was serving as stake president. During that time, Elder L. Tom Perry came as the visiting General Authority. He and his family visited our home, and we loved listening to his inspiring words.
But the magic of the moment was broken when my mother asked, “Bonnie, have you fed the chickens yet?”
I had completely forgotten about those chickens and didn’t want to leave. But Elder Perry brightened up and asked, “Does someone need to feed chickens? Lee and I can help you!”
I couldn’t believe it! An Apostle would actually help me feed chickens!
I grabbed my flashlight, and Elder Perry, his son, and I started walking. I knew the way, so when we came to a ditch, I knew I had to jump. But Elder Perry didn’t know it was there, so he stumbled into the ditch and got his shoe wet. I was horrified.
He was very kind, and we kept going. Soon we reached the coop, and the three of us fed the chickens.
On the way back home, Elder Perry asked if he could hold the flashlight.
“Bonnie,” he said, “now I can see where I’m going too. Walking with your light, I couldn’t see very well, so I fell. In a way, this light is like our testimonies of Heavenly Father. Each one of us needs our own testimony.”
What a perfect lesson from a wise and loving Apostle! It is one I will never forget.

One day on the way home from school, “T” took exception to the way his cousin George was treating Joe, “T’s” younger brother.
“I finally said, ‘If you do that once more, I’ll hit you one that you’ll remember.’ He went ahead and as a result we had a real fist fight. During the encounter, I brought blood from George’s nose, and we had quite a struggle in the dirt.
“It finally ended, and George went home as we did. When I arrived home Mother noticed the blood on my hands and on my shirt and asked what had happened. Of course, I explained. She didn’t chastise me for defending my younger and smaller brother, but she did say, ‘T,’ I’m right out of yeast. I want you to go over to Aunt Lulu’s (George’s mother) and get a start of yeast.’ I said, ‘Mother, don’t ask me to do that after I’ve had this encounter with George.’ She said, ‘That makes no difference. I need the yeast and I want you to go through the field and get the start.’”
Needless to say, “T” learned more about settling disputes than a lecture could have taught him.

Last month in the area of Salt Lake City, a fellow Aaronic Priesthood bearer, Zachary Snarr, was brutally and senselessly murdered. Among the many wonderful things said about him by family and friends was that he rarely missed a day without telling his mother how much he loved her. His cheerful and loving nature around their home leaves them with priceless memories. Your mothers need you to be a champion of them. Never should a bearer of the Aaronic Priesthood be guilty of saying anything discourteous or disrespectful to his mother.

Annette swung her blue vinyl scripture carrier back and forth as she ran down the sidewalk and leaped up the steps of the church. Even though she couldn’t read yet, she had wanted her own scriptures, and today she was bringing them to Primary for the first time. “Look, Sister Harris! Look what I got for my birthday!” she said excitedly, waving her scriptures.
“That’s great! We’ll be using them in Sharing Time today,” Sister Harris said, smiling.
Annette watched curiously as Sister Harris carried a big blue dishpan of water, some building blocks, and various other things into the classroom. Annette couldn’t wait for Primary to begin.
“Today,” said Sister Harris, “we are going to learn about some Book of Mormon people called the Jaredites. They lived in a place called Babel. Wicked people there thought that they could get to heaven by building a high tower instead of by keeping the commandments.”
Sister Harris placed a red block on a green one, then added blue and yellow ones to make a tower. “Heavenly Father was angry with what they were doing,” she said, “so He made it so that the people couldn’t understand each other. Voulez-vous m’aider?” she asked, motioning toward the blocks and looking around the room. “Personne ne me comprend?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
All the children giggled. “What are you saying?” Annette asked.
“I was asking if anyone would like to help me build the tower. You couldn’t understand me because I was speaking French,” Sister Harris explained. “That’s like it was in Babel. The people couldn’t understand each other, so they stopped building the tower. The Jaredite family was righteous, though, and Heavenly Father allowed them to keep their language. He told them that He would lead them across the ocean to a promised land.”
Sister Harris picked up a round plastic container with a snap-on lid. It was painted brown to look like a boat.
“The Lord told the brother of Jared exactly how to build eight barges. Each barge, which is a kind of boat, was built to be strong and tight—like this container—and each had a closable hole in the top and bottom so that whichever hole was out of the water could be opened.”
Sister Harris put the container in the pan of water and pushed it under to make big waves go over its top.
Annette looked puzzled. “But how did they see when it was dark?” she asked.
“Good question, Annette,” replied Sister Harris. “They didn’t have electricity like we do, so the Lord told the brother of Jared to think of a plan. The brother of Jared prepared sixteen small clear stones, one for each end of each barge.”
Sister Harris counted to sixteen as she took some tiny rocks out of a box. “The brother of Jared asked the Lord to touch the stones with His finger so that they could give off light. He did as He was asked, and the Jaredites were able to travel safely to the promised land.” She swished her hand in the water until the container reached the other side of the pan, then dried her hands on a towel and picked up her scriptures. “The story about the Jaredites is in the book of Ether, near the end of the Book of Mormon.”
Annette’s teacher helped her carefully turn the pages of her new scriptures till she found the right place. “Now,” she said, “to help you always find the story of the Jaredites, draw a picture of a barge right in your scriptures. Then your mom and dad can read it to you.”
Annette chose several of Sister Harris’s colored pencils. She drew a purple boat, squiggly blue lines for water, and two tiny yellow circles inside the boat for the stones of light. Then she drew a finger so that she would remember that the Lord had touched the stones.
After Primary, Annette hurried to the Relief Society room to find her mother. “Look, Mom,” she said, opening her Book of Mormon right to the picture she had drawn. “I can find the story of the Jaredites all by myself now! Will you read it to me right after dinner, please?”

My FSY experience was amazing. I loved every bit of it. I made many friends, I had a lot fun, I learnt several lessons that I believe are going to help me so much in my life and I felt the Holy Ghost. We watched a video one morning about families. I was very inspired by the things I saw, felt, and heard. It was a feeling of warmth and peace and love. Sister Marley told me it was the Holy Ghost manifesting and testifying of truth to my heart. I was glad. Very glad.
—Martha A., age 16, Tema Stake

Three African men walk more than 300 miles (480 km) to attend a district conference, pay tithing, and obtain copies of the Book of Mormon.

“Here we are,” Dad said softly as he turned off the car.
“Do I have to go in?” Lucy asked.
“No,” Mom said. “Not if you don’t want to. But this might be the last time you get to see Great-grandma Irma. She is very sick.”
Lucy thought about what Mother had said for a few minutes. She couldn’t imagine not seeing her great-grandmother, whom she called Grandma Irma, again. She had always liked to come here and visit. When Lucy was smaller, Grandma Irma read her the story of Pocahontas saving John Smith’s life. Lucy remembered how it felt to sit on Grandma Irma’s lap, all warm, soft, and safe.
Lucy swallowed hard. “I’ll come in,” she said.
“Good for you!” Mom told her.
Granny, Grandma Irma’s daughter and Lucy’s grandma, met them at the front door. She looked like she had been crying, and in her hand was a brush.
“Come in,” she said. “Mama isn’t doing very well today. She hasn’t had her hair combed for a while, and she says I can’t do it because I pull too hard and it makes her head hurt.”
The house smelled like the nursing home Lucy’s Primary class had visited at Christmastime.
Grandma Irma was sitting in the easy chair by the bookcase, just as she always did, but she looked different. She was smaller, thinner, and very pale. Lucy wasn’t sure what to do. Usually she skipped up to Grandma Irma’s chair for a hug and a kiss. But this time she went and sat down on the flowered couch.
“Hello, Grandma,” Lucy’s mom said, taking Grandma Irma’s hand.
Grandma looked up at her, frowned, and asked, “Who are you?”
“I’m Jane,” Lucy’s mom said.
“I knew that,” Grandma Irma said. Then she pulled her hand away and looked down at her lap.
Granny and Lucy’s mom started talking quietly in the corner of the room. Lucy’s dad sat down beside Lucy on the couch. They didn’t talk. Lucy kept glancing up at Grandma Irma. Her throat felt thick, like she was going to cry, and she wished there was something she could do to help.
Grandma’s hair was free of the long braids she usually wore wrapped around her head like a crown. Her white hair floated around her wrinkled face. Lucy thought she looked lost.
When Lucy had visited her in the past, she had watched Grandma Irma comb her hair. Lucy loved to watch her unbraid it and comb it until it hung down to her waist. Next, Grandma parted it down the middle and sectioned each half into three parts. As she braided, she flipped a piece of her hair over her shoulder with each twist. Then she wrapped her braids around her head, one in front and one behind, and fixed them there with funny, U-shaped silver hairpins. Over the braids went a hairnet as fine as cobwebs.
While she watched, Lucy liked to tell her about school and what she was doing with her friends. Grandma always told her that someday she was going to cut all her hair off so that there would be less of it to take care of, but Lucy knew that she’d never do it. On clear days, the sunshine came in through the window and touched the black-and-white picture of Grandpa Eddy that sat on the dresser. He had died a long time ago.
Slowly Lucy got up from the couch. The house was so quiet that she felt like she had to tiptoe and whisper. She crept up to Grandma Irma’s chair and put her hand on Grandma’s soft arm.
“Can I comb your hair for you?” she asked.
Grandma Irma turned her head and looked into Lucy’s face. She didn’t say anything.
“Grandma,” Lucy’s mom said, “This is Lucy. Do you remember?”
“Lucy?” Grandma Irma looked surprised. Lucy remembered that a long time ago Grandma Irma had had a baby girl named Lucy, who had died. “My Lucy?”
“No,” Lucy’s mom said softly, “she’s my Lucy.”
“Can I comb your hair, Grandma?” Lucy asked again.
“Yes,” Grandma Irma said. Granny handed the brush to Lucy. She took it and lifted a long bunch of Grandma’s hair and carefully started brushing. Her hair smelled like apricots and hair conditioner. It was hard to brush, with lots of knots, so she had to do it slowly.
After a few minutes, Grandma lifted her bony hand and put it on Lucy’s to stop her from brushing. “I’ll tell you a secret,” she said, sounding just like she used to. “If you hold my hair above where you are brushing, it won’t pull so much.”
“OK, I’ll try it.”
Grandma sighed. “That’s better.”
Lucy brushed and brushed. Grandma’s hair got softer and softer. Lucy thought about the day she had come to Grandma Irma’s house to visit and they had decided to drive over to the post office and get the mail. When they arrived home, Grandma discovered that she had locked the keys in the house. So they pushed out the screen in the bedroom window, and Grandma hoisted Lucy up. Lucy had climbed in the window, trotted through the house, and unlocked the door. When they found the keys on the kitchen table, they laughed until their tummies ached.
When Grandma’s hair was all combed out, Lucy parted it in the middle and then divided each section into three. She was glad that she had practiced braiding on her friends at school. But Grandma Irma’s hair was lots longer, so it was harder to braid. While she worked, she hummed a song that Grandma Irma used to hum while she watered all her plants.
“‘She Wore a Yellow Ribbon,’” Grandma Irma said.
“What?” Lucy asked.
“That’s the song you are humming,” Granny told Lucy. “Mama used to sing it really loud when she went out to milk the cow when she was a young lady. Then my daddy, who lived next door, would hear her and come and milk the cow for her.”
“‘She Wore a Yellow Ribbon,’” Grandma Irma said again, and smiled.
Lucy finished one long white braid and secured it with an elastic. Then she moved to the other side of Grandma’s chair and started on the other side.
“It’s time we left,” Dad said. “Are you almost finished there, honey?”
She nodded, concentrating on getting the braid smooth and even. When she was done, she put the brush on the armrest of the chair.
“I love you, Grandma,” she whispered.
“I know,” Grandma said, turning her head slowly to look at her.
Lucy watched while her mom and dad hugged Grandma good-bye. Mom was crying.
Lucy moved around to the front of Grandma’s chair and leaned over to hug her. Grandma lifted both her trembling hands and cupped Lucy’s face. Lucy tipped her chin down and Grandma kissed her on the forehead. Only Grandma Irma gave forehead kisses.
“Bye, Grandma,” Lucy said.
By the door, Granny put her hand on Lucy’s shoulder and said, “Thanks so much. You really helped out, more than you know.”
Lucy looked back at Grandma Irma. She was still slumped in her chair. She still looked tired and thin, but now her hair was hanging smoothly in two braids on either side of her face. As she watched, Grandma slid her fingers down one braid. For some reason, Lucy suddenly felt better. She smiled, hugged Granny, and skipped out into the sunshine.

The trip to Mexico could be made by train, but several of the children became ill with scarlet fever on the way and one of them, Claude, died of pneumonia soon after reaching Colonia Juarez, Mexico.

The teens from Christine’s Orem ward walked to the cove last, after they had already walked the majority of their trek. “Once we got up there it hit us that this was really the place where they couldn’t go anymore, where they had to stop, and where so many died. It was amazing to be up there after doing the rest of our trek. It was kind of quiet and peaceful and spiritual.”

Although many of our activities are the same as those of other boys around the world, we get to see and do different things because of the unique land we live in. For example, a few weeks ago the Cub Scouts and the Boy Scouts hiked through Wadi Kelt. A wadi is a riverbed at the bottom of a valley that is usually dry except during the rainy season. This wadi winds through part of the Judean wilderness, and is it hot! All you can see for miles around are bare, rocky hills and clear blue sky.
Many people believe that Wadi Kelt is the place where Elijah, an Old Testament prophet, was fed by ravens when he sealed the heavens so that no rain would fall.
After hiking through this wadi, I can see why Heavenly Father had to provide food for Elijah—there is nothing out there to keep a person alive! So before we started, we made sure that we packed a lunch and filled our canteens full of water. Our Cub Scout leaders kept reminding us to drink lots of water so that we wouldn’t get sick from the heat.
Our hike began fifteen miles away from Jericho and took us about four hours. We had lots of fun as we followed the wadi through the desert. Some of the boys spotted ibex on the steep cliffs. They look like wild goats, with huge horns that they butt with.
My friends and I also saw a bedouin shepherd with a herd of goats. Bedouins are desert people who live in tents and wander from place to place. Many of them still wear long robes and veils to protect them from the scorching sun.
About an hour after we had started, we came to a small waterfall that tumbled into a green pool below. Swimming in it was my favorite part of the hike, because that’s my best sport, besides basketball. The cool water felt good after our climb down the hillside, and before long we were all in the pool, splashing around and sliding down mossy rocks.
Ryan and Shaun Dennett, two friends in my den, found some dead crabs in the water. They scared some of the boys when they threw the crab legs at them. We also found some frogs, only they weren’t dead.
We sat on big rocks in the sun and dried off while we ate our lunches. Boy, did the cheese sandwich my mom packed taste good! I was starving! Just as I finished my last mouthful, Joel Galbraith, one of the older Scouts, called out, “Time to go. We still have a lot of hiking to do.”
As we climbed deeper into the dry valley, Shaun, Aaron, and I pretended that we were in the army. Aaron was a general, Shaun was a sergeant, and I was a colonel. We ran ahead and hid and dropped off cliffs, scaring the others as they came by.
Sometimes we would march along in the wadi, which was full of water from desert springs. The bottom and sides of it were slippery, and we pretended that we were ice-skating. At times the water was flowing so fast that it would push us along. The moss along the bottom was great to throw, and we had the best water and moss fight. We called it slime fighting.
Some parts of the hike were really steep, and a lot of us slipped on the loose rocks on the path. Joshua Rona, another Cub Scout, fell and hurt his foot. But Ian Boyd and Steve Rona, two older Scouts, made a foot brace for him out of a bandanna. It was pretty tricky.
The last part of the hike was the hardest. The sun beat down on us, and my feet hurt. But I continued to run ahead and look for the place that marked the end of our hike—St. George’s Monastery.
On my way I saw a man and two donkeys by the side of the wadi. The wadi is the only place where desert people can obtain water, and donkeys and camels are the only means by which water can be carried from the wadi to their tents.
At last I saw the great monastery, built on the side of the cliff. It sure looked neat, but I was just as interested in getting to the top, where a stand with cold drinks and ice cream was waiting.

Last year six Latter-day Saint high school sophomores had the exciting experience of meeting in New York City with two youth representatives from each of the 50 states, the District of Columbia, and 11 foreign countries at the week-long Hugh O’Brian Youth Foundation International Leadership Seminar. The purpose of the seminar, which has been held annually since 1968, is to inspire young people to more fully express their citizenship through personal leadership. Each year a different topic is emphasized, and last year’s was “America’s Incentive System.”
The students attended five seminars per day, where they met or heard from presidents and corporate executives of leading businesses, economists, government representatives, media leaders, and sports figures while exploring issues pertaining to the American free enterprise system. Among those they met with were Andrew Young, the United States Ambassador to the United Nations; Juanita Kreps, Secretary of Commerce; James Schlesinger, Secretary of the Department of Energy; William Batten, the chairman of the New York Stock Exchange; and newscaster Walter Cronkite. Topics discussed included, among others, “Computers, Automation, and the Future”; “Advertising and the Consumer”; and “Energy—the Crisis is Real.” In addition to the lectures, the representatives visited Carnegie Hall, the New York Times building, the United Nations, the New York Stock Exchange, the Statue of Liberty.
The LDS representatives included Darren James Cooper of the San Manuel Second Ward, Tucson Arizona Stake; Patricia Stone of the Modesto First Ward, Modesto California Stake; Jona Ka Elleman of the Blackfoot Tenth Ward, Blackfoot Idaho South Stake; Sidney Thornton of the McCall Ward, Weiser Idaho Stake; Steven Swapp of the Las Vegas 35th Ward, Las Vegas Nevada Stake; and Bruce Nelson of the Monument Park 13th Ward, Salt Lake Monument Park Stake. John Haws of the Lehi Fifth Ward, Lehi Utah Stake (a 1970 delegate from Utah) attended as a counselor.
Patsy summed up the feelings of the LDS representatives by saying: “I learned so much more about the economics and social issues facing us than I could have without attending the seminar. People don’t usually get that kind of chance!”

A friend called me one evening while I was driving home from work, and when he asked how I was doing, all kinds of emotions bubbled to the surface. I had been feeling concerned about some questions I was having. Certain aspects of the Church didn’t seem to be adding up for me. I felt frustrated that answers to my questions hadn’t been made clear. And even though I’m not typically an angry person, I felt mad and upset. I had been wrestling with my questions for a while, and I didn’t know what to do.
As I pulled into my driveway, I spit everything out. I told him about the questions that were bothering me and how I had been feeling. After our conversation, I felt a lot better. And it wasn’t because he had all the answers for me—he didn’t. However, he was willing to just listen to me. He validated how I was feeling and helped me to know that I wasn’t the only person with questions. My questions weren’t a reflection of a lack of faith on my part, and it was OK to be unsure.
I still don’t have answers to all my questions. One of the biggest things my friend helped me to do was to realize that I don’t have to have all the answers right away. As time has passed, answers have come to me in bits and pieces. I trust that God has the answers and that He is watching out for me. I have hope that answers will come when I need them. And that’s enough for me right now.

I have less hope for those who choose impressive-sounding occupations but along the way lose that inner fire necessary to make them successful at their work. In fact, successfully adapting to changes in the workplace will be one of the prime attributes your generation will have to develop to cope with the future.

What I mean when I say Jesus meant his presence to be felt in the intimate circle of each of our families may be depicted in the lives of two sisters, friends of ours, who live in two widely separated stakes. One sister married out of the Church. She had hoped to convert her husband and then be married and sealed in the temple. She had developed one of the most lovely and spiritual personalities. Her husband, however, has never caught the spirit nor acknowledged the truth of the gospel and has been a passive influence in the religious life of his family. Nevertheless, this sister set a beautiful example for her family and drew the children to accompany her in the performance of their church duties and responsibilities. She and the children, despite what could have been a ready excuse for neglect and indifference, exemplified the admonition of Jesus when he said, “Let your light so shine before men, that [others] may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.” (Matt. 5:16.)

The second sister married a fine man who was a faithful Latter-day Saint. As the years sped by, they carelessly omitted what they had at first intended conscientiously to do—worship together in the name of Jesus that he might be in the midst of their family activities. Although always admiring the Church and its principles, they had forgotten that they were now in fact the salt of the earth that had “lost its savor.” (Matt. 5:13.)

In a conversation about their children, the second sister said to the first, “Why have your children turned out so well and why are they so active in the Church despite the fact that you married out of the Church?” The first sister replied, “I took my children with me to Sunday School and sacrament meeting.” Surprised, the second sister said, “I sent mine.” And the first sister answered with greater emphasis, “But I took mine!” Hers was a case, as Jesus said, of “where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them,” and this can be true for all of us wherever we may be, at home or elsewhere.

I had a lot of newfound free time while waiting for my service mission assignments. I have grandparents who live in a different state than me. I found that talking to them on the phone is a good way to stay connected. I believe that service doesn’t always have to be a huge gesture but can be as simple as a phone call.
Aubrey Stolle, Returned Service Missionary

My 86-year-old mother’s health had been declining for several months, and I feared that she would not be with us much longer. My husband and I had planned to travel to Lille, which was 80 miles (130 km) away, for stake conference, but I worried about leaving my sister alone to care for our mother.
I pleaded to Heavenly Father that all would be well while we were gone. Immediately the lyrics “Peace, be still” (“Master, the Tempest Is Raging,” Hymns, no. 105) came to mind, and my fears diminished. We left for the conference feeling calm and reassured that the Lord had heard my prayer and was watching over my mother.
Everything did go well while we were gone.
Some time later, my sister called to ask if my husband, Yves, could come help lift my mother into bed. Shortly after he arrived at my sister’s home, my mother passed away.
Not wanting to relay this news over the phone, Yves called me and said only that my sister was panicked. He suggested I gather some personal belongings because he would be home soon to pick me up.
I began packing my suitcase expecting that I might stay with my sister for a while to help care for our mother. As I began, I felt guided by the Spirit that packing was no longer necessary. I knew that my mother had died. But I also felt peace, just like I had before leaving for stake conference.
Yves arrived home, and he struggled to explain what had happened. To ease his burden, I told him I already knew that Mother was gone.
Knowledge of the gospel continued to support me, and I was able to comfort my sister as we grieved for our mother. Many times I prayed for peace, and each time I felt reassured that Heavenly Father and my Savior Jesus Christ were helping me through my sorrow and pain. Through our faith and prayers we found what the sacred hymn invokes: “Peace, be still.”
Nicole Germe, Pas-de-Calais, France