Gospel Story Finder

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles tells this story about allowing others to grow: “I was told once of a young man who for many years was more or less the brunt of every joke in his school. He had some disadvantages, and it was easy for his peers to tease him. Later in his life he moved away. He eventually joined the army and had some successful experiences there in getting an education and generally stepping away from his past. Above all, as many in the military do, he discovered the beauty and majesty of the Church and became active and happy in it.
“Then, after several years, he returned to the town of his youth. Most of his generation had moved on but not all. Apparently, when he returned quite successful and quite reborn, the same old mind-set that had existed before was still there, waiting for his return. To the people in his hometown, he was still just old ‘so-and-so.’ …
“Little by little this man’s Pauline effort to leave that which was behind and grasp the prize that God had laid before him was gradually diminished until he died about the way he had lived in his youth. … Too bad, too sad that he was again to be surrounded by … those who thought his past was more interesting than his future. They managed to rip out of his grasp that for which Christ had grasped him. And he died sad, though through little fault of his own. …
“Let people repent. Let people grow. Believe that people can change and improve.”2

Recently, I was visiting with a family member who is struggling with his faith because of some things he saw on the internet.
“If you can find something better than the gospel of Jesus Christ or that makes you happier than the gospel, then go after it,” I told him. “But I know from experience that there is nothing better or that makes us happier than the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
I told him that some people say God does not exist and that the gospel is not true, but they don’t earnestly seek the truth. And there are others like the father of King Lamoni, who was so eager to know God that he prayed, “Wilt thou make thyself known unto me, and I will give away all my sins to know thee” (see Alma 22:17–18).
Loving and not judging are vital when helping someone who struggles with difficult questions of faith. My family member said he wasn’t going to attend church anymore, but he didn’t stop attending. I think he kept attending because we share a close relationship, and he feels that I understand his doubts.

I was at my friend’s house, and we were riding our bikes. My friend’s neighbors were riding their bikes too. We all decided to play cops and robbers. We played and played for about an hour. It was fun! Finally we were tired, so we put down our bikes and sat in the grass. I was so excited. I had made some new friends!
Then a kid picked up his cell phone. He scrolled through it. Then he said, “Hey, guys, look at this!” He showed us a funny video. It was really funny! And then he showed us another video. All of a sudden, I felt a bad feeling. They watched the video over and over. I felt worse every time. Again and again. Worse and worse. I was scared. If I left, my friend might not be my friend anymore. But if I kept watching, I wouldn’t be having faith.
Finally, I whispered to my friend, “I need to go home.”
He said, “Why?”
“I don’t like these videos.”
“OK, bye,” he said.
As I rode my bike back home, I felt the bad feeling slip away. An amazing feeling replaced it. I got the gift of the Holy Ghost a few years ago, and I felt it that day.
I had followed the Holy Ghost.

Certainly family concerns are real and should not be considered lightly. But we cannot meet our family challenges without the blessings of the Lord; and when we sacrifice to serve as full-time missionary couples, those blessings will flow. For example, one couple worried about leaving their youngest daughter who was no longer active in the Church. Her faithful father wrote: “We prayed for her continually and fasted regularly. Then, during general conference, the Spirit whispered to me, ‘If you will serve, you will not have to worry about your daughter anymore.’ So we met with our bishop. The week after we received our call, she and her boyfriend announced they were engaged. Before we left for Africa, we had a wedding in our home. [Then we gathered our family together and] held a family council. … I bore testimony of the Lord and Joseph Smith … and told them I would like to give each of them a father’s blessing. I started with the oldest son and then his wife and proceeded to the youngest … [including our new son-in-law].”
As we consider couple missionary service, it is appropriate to involve our families in the same way. In family council meetings, we can give our children the opportunity to express their support, offer special assistance we may need, and receive priesthood blessings to sustain them in our absence. Where appropriate, we may be able to receive priesthood blessings from them as well. As the faithful father in this story blessed his family members, his son-in-law felt the influence of the Holy Ghost. The father wrote: “By the end of our first year [the] heart [of our son-in-law] began to soften toward the Church. Just before we returned home from our mission, he and our daughter came to visit us. In his suitcase was the first set of Sunday clothes he had ever owned. They came to Church with us, and after we returned home he was baptized. A year later, they were sealed in the temple.”

The people of French Polynesia watched with dismay the damage and destruction in Tonga caused by the volcanic eruption and tsunami on 15 January.
Members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints throughout French Polynesia offered prayers and fasting on behalf of their fellow Saints in Tonga, sending messages of support through social media.
After other natural disasters around the world, many members and friends of the Church have responded by donating generously to the Church’s humanitarian fund or other charitable organizations.
“There were strong feelings among our leaders that we needed to help, but the question was what more could we do to help Tonga,” said Elder Frederic Riemer, Area Seventy.
“We asked everyone to pray earnestly to find the best way we could help our brothers and sisters in Tonga.”
The answer came with the announcement by the president of French Polynesia, Edouard Fritch, that the government would charter the ship Tahiti Nui to carry relief supplies to Tonga, the same ship that had taken supplies to Fiji when it was hit by a cyclone last year. He called on the people of Tahiti to again show their customary generosity for their Polynesian neighbours.
Elder Riemer said that this felt like an answer to their prayers. Meeting in an emergency council, he and the nine stake presidents of Tahiti unanimously made the decision to mobilize: the congregations were invited to collect donations of food, clothing, hygiene products and water. The Fariipiti Stake center, located in Papeete, would be the Church’s gathering point for everything.
Members of the Church responded spontaneously with generosity to Elder Riemer’s call for support in this token of love.
Under the supervision of the bishops of the respective wards, numerous volunteers collected, sorted, and packed the donations. Missionaries also joined in to collect the donations, label them and load them into trucks headed for the port.
Friends of other faiths, entire communities and local associations also took part and deposited their donations at the different chapels around the islands of Tahiti and Moorea and directly at the Fariipiti sorting center. Private companies also contributed goods and offered to transport Church donations free of charge due to the large volume of materials being collected.
All of the donations were joined with materials provided by the government and taken to the port of Motu Uta in Papeete.
In the end, more than 250 cubic meters of equipment and supplies weighing over 300 tons were loaded onto the ship. This included water tanks, tarpaulins, wood, sheets, chainsaws, dehydrated food, water bottles, clothing, cleaning and maintenance products, brooms, brushes, and diapers. It also included 30 tons of water.
As the final items were being loaded onto the ship, President Fritch thanked the entire population for their generosity and responsiveness.
“The spirit of unity that characterizes our peoples of the Pacific has lived up to its reputation for generosity in the most difficult situations. And it is in these moments that we see that despite the thousands of kilometers that separate us, the ties with Tonga are real and powerful. It’s because we belong to the same family, that of the great people of Oceania.”
President Fritch added: “There is much more than material in the hold of this ship; it also carries the token of our love and the expression of our solidarity.”
Elder Riemer said, “Just with what the Church has collected, we can see all the generosity and the benevolent love of the Polynesian people. We are grateful for every gesture made, every donation given, no matter how small, which responds to the exhortation of Jesus Christ: ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of these least of my brethren, ye have done it unto me’ (Matthew 25:40).”

During the cold and gray days of the Great Depression I remember a wonderful servant of the Savior by the name of C. Perry Erickson. Brother Erickson, a contractor, had a difficult time finding work. He could have shut himself up. He could have become bitter and angry. He could have given up. Instead, when I was 12 he was my Scoutmaster. He spent countless hours helping me and others my age to learn, to grow, and to approach every difficulty with confidence and optimism. Without exception, every one of C. Perry Erickson’s Scouts received an Eagle award. I knew then.

Yes, the testimonies of priesthood leaders and faithful ward members helped me to know.
I remember the words of my mother and father. I remember their expressions of faith and love for their Heavenly Father. I knew then.
I knew the reality of the Savior’s compassion when, at the request of my father, the bishop of the ward, I delivered food and clothing to the widows and poor of the ward.
I knew, when as a young father, my wife and I gathered our children around us and expressed our gratitude to our Heavenly Father for our many blessings.
I knew last April, when I heard from this pulpit the words of our prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, who called Jesus his friend, exemplar, leader, Savior, and King.
President Hinckley said: “Through giving His life in pain and unspeakable suffering, He has reached down to lift me and each of us and all the sons and daughters of God from the abyss of eternal darkness following death. He has provided something better—a sphere of light and understanding, growth and beauty.”

Now, I would like to bear my testimony—I know that Joseph Smith saw what he said he saw, that the heavens opened and God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, appeared to an unlearned youth reared in the backwoods of New York.
As a special witness of the name of Jesus Christ in all the world, I promise you that if you seek the Lord, you will find Him. Ask, and you shall receive.
I pray that you may do so and testify to the ends of the earth that the gospel of our Lord and Savior is restored to man! In the name of my friend, my exemplar, my Savior and King, Jesus Christ, amen.

Every year since he was three years old, Tommy Tipana had gone into the wilderness with his grandfather, Utak, for a short period of time to learn the old ways of his people. Tommy’s father, however, was a modern Eskimo who lived in a sturdy wooden house and had a snowmobile. He did not approve of the old ways, but he allowed Tommy to learn what he could from Utak.
The year Tommy was ten, Grandfather Utak invited him to go on a trip through Anaktuvuk Pass by dogsled. So, early one morning Tommy waved good-bye to his parents, then snuggled down under a bearskin robe on his grandfather’s sled. Utak cracked the long whip that sent the dogs bounding toward the snowbound tundra, and the journey began.
At the end of the day, Utak and Tommy stopped the team and fed them strips of caribou meat. Afterward Utak tapped on the snow with his ayoutak (long stick used for probing), and they listened for a deep, resounding squeak. “A good spot,” Tommy said, pointing.
His grandfather smiled and nodded. “Yes, the snowdrift is firm and deep here, Grandson. It will make a good igloo. You learn well.”
Together they cut out blocks of snow and stacked them. Then they packed the joints and cracks with loose snow, leaving only a small doorway for them to enter. They built a fire, and all was warm and cozy for the night. Next they cut a hole in the ice and fished for arctic charr. As Tommy and Utak ate their meal, Utak smiled in the light of the fire, for he was pleased with his grandson. “It is good that you learn the ways of our people,” Utak said encouragingly. “Soon there will be few who remember, and the new ways are wrong.”
“Father lives the new ways,” Tommy said, bewildered. “How can they be wrong?”
“Your parents go to the store to buy their food and clothes. They have forgotten how to fish and hunt and tan hides and sew. They have no dogsled, but ride on a snowmobile. All that we need is outside our igloo, Tommy, if we know how to use it.”
Utak slept, and Tommy sat curled in his bearskin, watching the fire. Outside, he could hear the whistling snow as it covered everything with a white blanket. He wondered which way was best—the old way or the new way. Tommy liked them both.
Early in the morning, Tommy and Utak ate and dressed quickly, for the fire was low. Tommy coiled thongs of caribou skin around his boots to make them skid proof. Pulling the hood of his fur coat closely around his face, he crawled out into the blazing whiteness of the new day. The dogs, shaking the snow from their coats, barked and strained at their tethers while Tommy threw them strips of frozen blubber. When they were through eating, Tommy helped them into their traces and waited for Utak. But Utak did not come out of the igloo.
“Grandfather!” Tommy called, kneeling at the doorway. “The dogs are ready.”
“Tommy, come here, Son,” came his grandfather’s faint answer.
Tommy crawled back into the igloo. His grandfather sat leaning against the wall amid their belongings. His hand was massaging his chest.
“Grandfather,” Tommy whispered, “are you ill?”
Utak motioned for Tommy to come closer. “You must leave me here, Tommy. I am a sick old man, and it is the old way to deal with my sickness.”
“I cannot leave you!” Tommy cried. “You are my grandfather.”
“Adjornarmat (that is life),” Grandfather said, shaking his head slowly. “Now do as I say! Leave me here. Take the sled and return to your parents … but do not forget the old ways.”
“I will not leave you, Grandfather,” Tommy replied. “There is much I do not know yet, and you are the only one who can teach me.”
Tommy hurried outside to get a wide strip of baleen (whalebone) from the sled and bring it into the igloo.
“Here, Grandfather, let me help you.” Tommy helped Utak onto the baleen, then pulled his grandfather to the sled. Slowly Utak climbed onto the sled, and Tommy wrapped him in bearskins. Then Tommy packed their few belongings and turned the dogs toward home. His grandfather slept.
The dogs knew Utak was not driving them, and they growled, refusing to pull. Finally, Tommy lifted the heavy whip and commanded them as his grandfather had done so many times before. The whip cracked sharply in the frozen morning air; the lead dog growled one more time, then began to pull. They had a new master now, but he had learned much from their old master.
Back along the frozen tundra the sled raced, mile after mile, without Grandfather to guide it. Nevertheless, the boy remembered all he had learned and drove the sled in a straight line. Late that night, they arrived home.
The next morning Utak awoke in a hospital bed with white sheets. There were curtains at the windows. A nurse was leaning over him.
“Your grandson saved your life, Mr. Tipana,” she said, smiling. “Would you like to see him?”
Utak nodded, and Tommy walked into the hospital room, followed by his parents. He bent and hugged his grandfather gently. “Thank you, Grandfather,” he whispered.
“You saved my life and yet you thank me?” Utak was puzzled.
“For the old ways,” Tommy said and smiled. “If I had not known them, I would not have been able to bring you to the new ways that have saved your life.”
Tommy’s father frowned. “Utak! You must give up the old ways—the new ways are better and safer.”
Tommy simply smiled to himself as his father and grandfather argued about the old and new ways. He wondered why they did not understand as he did that both ways were good. Tommy knew he would live somewhere between them, for he had learned to love them both.

Promised blessings vary from person to person according to need. Sometimes it may even seem that the blessings promised could not ever be fulfilled, but we need to remember that our Heavenly Father sees things from a different perspective than we do. For example, Elder Thomas S. Monson, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, tells this story:
“Several years ago a patriarch gave a blessing to a teenage girl … who lived in Poland. In the blessing he felt impressed to promise her that she would marry in a temple of the Lord. He hesitated to give that promise, for there was absolutely no way for her to leave Poland allowing her to marry in a temple. But he responded to the whisperings of the Spirit and gave the girl the promise.
“After giving the blessing, the patriarch came to my office and asked, ‘Did I do the right thing?’ I indicated that a man always does the right thing when he responds to the whisperings of the Holy Spirit. He said, ‘But I have bestowed a promise which cannot be fulfilled.’ I replied, ‘Let us trust in the Lord with all our hearts …’ Within a period of two years, a pact was signed between Poland and Germany that permitted those of Germanic origin to return to West Germany. That lovely teenage girl moved to Germany where she would be free to go to the temple of the Lord when the time came for her marriage.” (Scandinavian Area Conference, August 1976, page 10.)

Some people called him “Old Man Christiansen”; others called him “Deaf Christiansen.” I usually called him the “Willow-Whistle Man.”

It’s true that Mr. Christiansen was old—he and his wife were both over eighty. And if he could hear anything at all, he never acknowledged it. To make matters worse, he could speak no English. However, enough people in our town understood his Danish so that he got along fine. If he needed anything special, his daughter would get it for him.

Most of us were emigrants from Denmark and hadn’t been in this country very long, so Danish was the language that we spoke at home. But when I tried to talk to Mr. Christiansen in my best Danish, he always said, “I can’t understand English.”

Every spring I’d see him come past our place, going toward the mountains. Later I would see him coming back, carrying a bundle of willow branches. I knew what was coming, and I could hardly control my anticipation. I knew that it would be but a short while before Mr. Christiansen would knock on our door and present me with a willow whistle that he had just made.

Usually I didn’t wait for him to bring it. As fast as I could, I’d run over to his workshop in back of his house. I’d watch him cut the willows to the size that he wanted, then cut a notch marking the place where the sound would come out. He made an angled cut for the mouthpiece. Next, after he’d cut through the bark all the way around, he’d tap the bark gently all over with the knife handle. Then, at the right moment—known only to him—he’d hold the willow branch firmly and twist off the bark. The insides of the whistle had to be shaved a little to allow for air movement. When he finished the whistle, he smiled and handed it to me. I blew hard, and a wonderful sound came out.

I loved watching him, and I loved the special smell of the bark and the slick feel of the wood as he took off the bark and shaved the inside wood. I was always amazed at how quickly he could finish one, and I was especially pleased that the first whistle that he made each spring was mine. I hoped that someday Mr. Christiansen would invite me to go with him to hunt for the willow branches.

He had five grandsons, and, of course, he made a whistle for each of them. You can be sure that the day that they came to get their whistles, there was a lot of whistle blowing and tooting. They would run all over the yard, blowing like fury.

From the sixteen-year-old to the four-year-old, each had powerful lungs, and they really gave it all they had. Then I’d get my whistle and join them, each of us trying to blow the loudest and shrillest blast. It’s a good thing that Mr. Christiansen was so hard of hearing.

And then, wonder of wonders, one spring day Mr. Christiansen asked me to go along with him to search for willow branches. I felt especially honored because, as far as I knew, no one had ever accompanied him on these treks—not even his grandsons.

We walked about a mile toward Cottonwood Canyon, to where several clumps of willows grew along a fork in Cottonwood Creek. Pointing to the left, Mr. Christiansen told me to go look for suitable willow branches. He started up the creek to the right. I began cutting willows and soon had an armful. But when he came back and looked over my pile, he said, “No good—throw them all away.”

I started to protest. In fact, I made quite a long speech in Danish.

“You know I can’t understand English,” he told me with a faint smile.

When we got back to his workshop, I watched him go over the willow branches that he’d gathered, carefully selecting the best ones. And as before, he handed me the first whistle that he made.

I resolved that one day I’d learn to select the proper willow branches and make whistles for myself, and, if I became good enough, I’d make some for my friends too.

The next spring Mr. Christiansen didn’t gather any willow branches. During the winter both he and his wife had become very ill, and their daughter had moved them to her place. Mr. Christiansen passed away in early February. Mrs. Christiansen was alive in the spring, but she was still very ill.

Their house stood vacant. The blinds had been pulled down, and the walks hadn’t been swept. Through the window of Mr. Christiansen’s workshop, I could see his tools all hanging neatly, just as he’d left them. The barn was empty. It was as if the buildings were silently dreaming of the past and wanted no one to interrupt their dreams.

Yes, I did go out to try to find some good willow branches, and I even brought two home and tried to make them into whistles—but it didn’t work. For one thing, my heart wasn’t in it. I kept thinking of Mr. Christiansen standing near the fork in Cottonwood Creek the year before and saying, “You know I can’t understand English.” I missed him a lot!

I was too young then to realize how fortunate I had been. There was a difference of about seventy-five years in our ages, yet we had been good friends. And though few words had ever been spoken between us, I had learned a valuable lesson from him: In anything worthwhile that you attempt to do in this life, you must first prepare yourself mentally. Then you must obtain the correct equipment and materials for the job. Whether you are running a business or finding the correct willow branches for whistles, it still makes good sense.

Lance looked around the Scout camp at the beautiful scenery—jagged mountains, green forest, and the still surface of the lake. His view was interrupted as Cooper, a new member of his Scout troop, walked by lugging his gear. Cooper hadn’t said a word during the drive up to the camp. Lance thought Cooper seemed secretive. Did he have something to hide?
“Maybe it’s just because he’s new to the troop and doesn’t really know anyone yet,” Lance thought.
But he couldn’t help wondering if Cooper could be trusted. Earlier, Cooper had taken another Scout’s pocketknife. The knife’s owner, Cameron, stopped him. “Hey, that’s my knife,” he said.
Cooper looked down. “I have one just like it,” he said. “I thought it fell out of my bag.”
“Why don’t you check your bag?” Cameron suggested.
Lance thought Cooper pretended to look surprised when he found his own knife in his bag. “Oh, sorry,” Cooper said. He handed Cameron’s knife back to him and walked off.
Even though Lance could hardly wait until the next morning to start earning more merit badges, he was also excited about the large cave they were going to sleep in. In the light of the flickering campfire, Lance lay in his sleeping bag admiring the badges he had already earned. He had badges for Environmental Science, Archery, Climbing, Leatherworks, Swimming, and Rowing. While at Scout camp, he planned on earning badges for Fishing, Canoeing, and—
Out of the corner of his eye, Lance noticed someone watching him. It was Cooper. He was lying apart from the others in the dimness of the cave, eyeing Lance’s badges. Lance folded his merit badge sash and put it next to his backpack. Then he turned his back on Cooper and went to sleep.
The next morning, Lance’s Environmental Science and Archery badges were missing! He wished he had zipped his sash inside his bag. Then he remembered how Cooper had been looking at the badges the night before. Lance looked around, but Cooper was nowhere to be seen.
Lance’s heart beat quickly as he searched through Cooper’s backpack. The badges weren’t there. “He probably hid them in a less-obvious place,” Lance thought.
The more Lance thought about it, the angrier he got. He had gone on Scouting activities with the other boys, and nothing like this had happened before. Lance knew Cooper had taken his hard-earned badges.
Outside the cave, Lance saw the Scout leader, Brother Maxwell. Lance approached him and asked him where Cooper was.
“He just went through those trees to take pictures of the sunrise,” Brother Maxwell said. “Can I help you with something?”
Lance explained what had happened. “Cooper has been acting suspicious ever since we got here. First he took Cameron’s pocketknife, but Cameron got it back. Now he’s taken two of my badges. I know it was him because of the way he was staring at them last night. He’s so quiet, like someone who has something to hide.”
Brother Maxwell laid a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “We can’t accuse anyone without proof, Lance. Maybe he’s shy because he’s new to the group. And maybe he was staring at your badges because he’s looking forward to earning some of his own. Let’s go take a look in the cave and see what we can find.”
“I already did, Brother Maxwell,” Lance said. “I looked everywhere, including in Cooper’s stuff. He’s probably taking that walk so he can hide the badges until we’re ready to leave.” Lance suddenly saw Cooper step out of the trees, carrying a camera. “There he is,” he said. “Let’s go ask him.”
“Not yet, Lance,” Brother Maxwell said. “First we’re going to have a look in that cave.”
Inside the cave, Brother Maxwell examined Lance’s sash and studied the area around Lance’s backpack and sleeping bag. “Well,” he finally said, “you’re right about there having been a cave bandit here last night, Lance. But I think you’re wrong about who it was.”
“What do you mean?” Lance asked.
“Judging from the tiny paw prints in the dirt, those merit badges were probably chewed off your sash by a pack rat.”
Lance’s mouth dropped open. “A pack rat?”
Brother Maxwell nodded. “They like to collect objects such as watches, buttons, or, in this case, merit badges.”
“But I’ve got to find those badges!”
The Scout leader smiled. “If we can find the rat’s nest, we’ll most likely find your missing badges.”
After breakfast, everyone searched the area. Before long the bandit’s nest and Lance’s badges were found.
Lance apologized to Brother Maxwell. “I was wrong to accuse Cooper, and to judge him. It must be hard to be the new kid in the group.”
When Lance went back to the cave, Cooper was inside. Once again, he eyed the badges as Lance tucked them inside his bag.
Lance straightened up and turned to Cooper. “I’m going to try to earn my Canoeing badge today. Want to come?”
Cooper looked at the ground, but there was a shy smile on his face. “Sure. I’d like to try too,” he said.
Lance grinned as he and Cooper ran out of the cave into the bright summer afternoon.

The Dauphins’ mother, who is single, isn’t a member of the Church, and she often has to be at work on Monday evenings. So Marco and Rosenelle hold family night, complete with a game, songs, prayers, and a lesson. Sometimes the full-time missionaries are invited. It’s a challenge to coordinate their efforts, but all the Dauphins say it’s worth it.
“Joining the Church was a real relief for us,” says Marco. “When we have the Spirit in our home, we feel closer together. We just feel better.”

The most widespread and valuable use of sea bottles has been to trace ocean currents so that ships may avoid an opposing current and take advantage of a favorable one. One dramatic example of this use was made by the Colonies’ deputy postmaster general, Benjamin Franklin, before the Revolutionary War. Puzzled as to why British mail packets usually took a week or two longer than Yankee ships to make the Atlantic crossing, Franklin talked to Yankee whaler captains. He found that bottles loosed in the Gulf Stream arrived in North America faster than those simply thrown in the sea anywhere. Thereafter, British ships followed that current.

Elder Adam S. Bennion once told me of an incident that occurred when he was visiting the Utah State Penitentiary. If you will, speculate for a moment how difficult it is to speak at such a place with six to eight hundred or a thousand inmates. You cannot address them, “My dear brethren, I am glad to see so many of you here this morning.” You cannot address them as fellow citizens because they are not while they are felons. About every other manner of address seems quite as inappropriate.
This great teacher stood before them and said, “Now, I am going to talk with you. I am going to ask you some questions, and I want you to get up and answer me. What was it that brought you here as inmates of this penitentiary? I am frequently a speaker at various gatherings of young people and at graduation exercises, and I would like you to tell me so that I can warn them.”
With the adroitness of a skilled teacher, he finally had them on their feet, and they began to answer. Do you know what they said, almost without exception? “We are here in the state penitentiary because there came a time in our lives when we were made to feel that nobody cared what happened to us.”
As a young boy I was out on a farm away from our home waiting for my father to finish his day’s work. I was playing about, manufacturing things to while away the time, when I saw over the fence in the neighbor’s yard some broken-down buildings with the sheds caving in and with rotting timbers. I imagined as a young boy that that might be a castle I should explore, so I went over to the fence and started to climb through.
Then I heard a voice as distinctly as you are hearing mine: “Harold, don’t go over there.” I looked in every direction to see where the speaker was. I wondered if it was my father, but he couldn’t see me; he was way up at the other end of the field. There was no one in sight. I realized that someone was warning me of an unseen danger—whether there was a nest of rattlesnakes, or whether the rotting timbers would fall on me and crush me, I don’t know. But from that time on, I accepted without question the fact that there are processes not known to man by which we can hear voices from the unseen world, by which we can have brought to us visions of eternity.

In our family, Monday nights have always been special, as it is when we come together to hold family home evening. With the Come, Follow Me curriculum, every night became special, as our family scripture study became daily. My children started to like the scriptures more. It is a wonderful experience for my husband and me to see our children’s enthusiasm for sharing the New Testament and Book of Mormon stories! I feel that my children are beginning to gain their own testimonies of the Savior and of His restored gospel through our daily study of Come, Follow Me.
Recently, I was at home with my 4-year-old daughter, Romana, and we were both in my bedroom. I left the bedroom and went to the living room, leaving her alone in the bedroom. A few minutes later, I called out to her: “Romana, you are alone in the bedroom, come to the living room to be with me and your dolls.”
Without hesitating, she replied: “Mom, I am not alone, God is with me! We are never alone, remember?” I was so touched to hear my little girl saying those words. A few days earlier, during our family study, my husband and I had taught our children that our Heavenly Father and our Savior are always with us, despite our weaknesses and challenges. We are never alone!
By studying Come, Follow Me as a family daily, we are applying what Nephi taught when he said, “And we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins” (2 Nephi 25:26). Now my children speak more about God and Jesus Christ and are always looking forward to the daily studies of Come, Follow Me.
A few weeks later, we asked our eldest son, Melqui, 9 years old, to conduct the family study. As he began, he asked his sister to say the opening prayer. After the prayer, he opened the Come, Follow Me manual and then asked the following question: “What are some things that you didn’t believe in and came to believe after you joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?” My husband and I were surprised with that question! My husband shared about prayer, saying that before he knew the restored gospel, he didn’t believe that God answered prayers. Then I shared that before I knew the restored gospel, I didn’t believe that there were living prophets.
We are so grateful for the wonderful experiences we have studying Come, Follow Me. In addition to helping us create a home centered on Jesus Christ, it also strengthens our testimonies and brings us closer together. Like my little girl, I bear my testimony that we are never alone. Our Heavenly Father and our Savior are always with us.

I lived in Salt Lake City for nine years, and all my friends were members of the Church. I got the idea that just about everybody was a Mormon. I was always taught to choose good Mormons for my friends, and finding them was never a problem. But then my family moved to Virginia and things really changed.
Our first Sunday there I found there weren’t any fellows my age in my ward. That whole summer I shot baskets out on my driveway by myself. Finally at the end of the summer, two new boys moved into the ward, and we became good friends.
In September I really felt alone when I found out I was the only Mormon in the freshman class in high school. My two Church friends went to a different school, but almost every day after school we would get together. If it hadn’t been for them, I would have been really lonely.
At first I didn’t try to make friends at school because I was uncomfortable around nonmembers. They had different habits and beliefs. But when I became involved in sports, I began to make friends at school. Soon everyone knew I was a Latter-day Saint. My nickname came to be “Mormon.” Everywhere I went someone would say “Hey, Mormon!” or “How’s it going, Mormon?” Soon I became very used to the fact that to my school friends I was “The Mormon.” I was proud of the fact that I was a Latter-day Saint, so my nickname didn’t bother me at all.
Because everyone knew I was a member of the Church, I had a great responsibility to set the right kind of example. It wasn’t always easy to do this. I was on the varsity football and track teams. If you have ever been in a locker room, you know what kind of bad language and shenanigans often go on. I always watched myself to see that I never took part in anything I knew was wrong.
Soon everyone came to know I didn’t smoke, drink, tell dirty jokes, or swear. After I began dating some of the girls at school, they all soon learned that I tried to carry my Church training into every facet of my life.
Still most of the activities I participated in were with my Church friends. I didn’t hang around with school crowds too much except in classes and practices because their morals were different from mine. When I did go out with them, I found they got most of their excitement from smoking, drinking, and being immoral, so I stayed around my Church friends.
One day one of my closest school friends came up to me and said, “Dayle, you’re one of my best friends, but what do you ever do for excitement?” That statement really made me think. It helped me realize that even though I was trying to live God’s commandments, I wasn’t setting a good example because I never showed my nonmember friends how much joy you can have from living the commandments. To my school friends it seemed like I had a boring life because they had never seen me having fun.
After thinking about this for awhile, I set myself a new challenge. I was going to show my school friends there were more fun ways than theirs of having a good time. I wanted to show them it wasn’t really necessary to smoke, drink, tell dirty jokes, or swear to have a great time.
I started by inviting everyone to go swimming after track practice one night. We all had fun cliff diving, swimming, and rope swinging. Later I had a few get-togethers—without liquor—at my house after some of our football games. I invited some of the kids to the Church dances. Now and then I went on double dates with some of them and had really good times. I tried to set an example by being with them and showing them how I enjoy life.
After awhile I got very close to some of the kids at school. They were really great friends. They respected me for my beliefs, and I didn’t ever look down on them for what they did. A couple of them even made up a song during my senior year. Whenever I walked into the locker room, they would bunch together and pretend they were the Tabernacle Choir. Half of them would stand in a row on the locker room bench and the other half would make a row on the floor. The leader would hum to get them in tune and then, directing with his hands, would say, “Ready, begin.” They would sing a song that went like this:
We are Mormons, Woo-Woo-oo, We are Mormons, Woo-Woo-oo.
We do not smoke; we do not drink;
We do not swear; we do not cheat;
We do not lie; we don’t even play with women.
We are Mormons, Woo-Woo-oo, Woo-Woo-oo.
After each performance I would just turn red and laugh with them. That tune really helped me remember who I was.
At the end of the season, one of my friends who had made up the song told me that he respected me for living my religion, and he wished he was that strong. It made me feel great to hear him say that. I told him it wasn’t a matter of strength; it was more a matter of getting into certain habits and resisting temptation.
I never converted any of my friends, but I showed them that you really can be happy living God’s commandments. Maybe someday the missionaries will come to their doors and reach them. I hope they remember the fun and active lifestyle that is possible through living a clean life.

Though his memory shines especially bright during this Bicentennial year, Abraham Lincoln had lost some of his luster for citizens in Spokane, Washington. It seems the city’s statue of the nation’s 16th president needed a facelift after prolonged exposure to the rainy northwest climate. It was the Explorers of the Spokane First Ward who provided the manpower to clean up the statue.
Accepting President Kimball’s challenge that each American devote 24 hours of service to his community, the Explorers scrubbed the statue with a vinegar solution and polished it up with naval jelly.
It was a great birthday present to the country, and both the Explorers and Abe have reason to stand tall.

It’s Saturday! You’ve been looking forward to today all week long. You and some friends have big plans to go mountain biking. However, despite the sunny forecast that had been predicted, it’s raining buckets outside. What do you do?

Go back to bed and pull the covers over your head. Life’s not fair!

Contact your friends and see if they’d be up for something different. They now want to go roller-skating, but you’ve never tried that before. It sounds kind of boring. What do you do?

Tell them no thanks. Spend the rest of the day complaining about the weather.

You head to the roller rink, and skating is actually kind of fun. You’re about to go home when your cell phone buzzes. Your ward needs help with a last-minute service project to help a family moving to the area. Can you come?

You’d rather not. Normally you like service projects, but your plans were already thrown out of whack today. You turn down the offer and head home.

Sure thing. You spend the next hour helping the family unload their moving truck. You notice the teenager in the family has hardly said 10 words the whole time you were there. He seems kind of shy. What do you do?

While you know it can’t be easy moving to a new area, you could really use some time to just relax. You say good-bye and spend the rest of the night watching a movie on your own.

You invite the new guy over to shoot some hoops. You plan on it being a quick visit, but you soon realize he’s pretty cool once you get to know him. You spend the next two hours talking while you play ball.

“So, how was your day?” What’s your answer?

“Today was GREAT!”

“PRETTY GOOD, overall.”

“It was OK. Could have been better.”

“LOUSY. Worst Saturday ever.”

John Nelson, of Lodi, California, received the Scout of the Year award for his area at the National Eagle Scout Association annual dinner.
John was cited because of his Eagle project. The Lodi cemetery offices had burned, destroying the records of those interred in the mausoleum. John’s project was to record all the names, birth and death dates, and location on cards. Some of the work involved having Japanese characters translated. After the information was alphabetized, it was typed, microfilmed, and microfiched.
John is an honor student and has received special awards in chemistry. He has also lettered in band and track. He was first assistant in the priests quorum in the Lodi Third Ward, Lodi California Stake.

Whitney is a very bright 14-year-old girl who joined the Church about a year ago. It was a magical moment as I looked at the girls’ soccer team who were there for her baptism. They had been there for each other many times. That’s the way it is with teams, and this team was one of the best, in soccer—and in life. Each girl was a Beehive, setting an example, standing as a witness of goodness, even on the playing field. Whitney liked being part of that. It felt good.
After her baptism, Whitney stood before us with her friend Elizabeth. Their faces were glowing, their eyes were bright, and their smiles sincere as they repeated these words they had learned by heart: “We are daughters of our Heavenly Father, who loves us, and we love Him. We will ‘stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.’” Whitney already had the whole Young Women theme memorized. In fact, it was because Whitney’s friends had stood as witnesses that we were all there on that memorable day to welcome a beautiful daughter of God into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

President Benson, I’m proud to say that Primary children have this year read and discussed the Book of Mormon. Nine-year-old Matt in Wisconsin spoke in the children’s sacrament meeting presentation in his ward recently about something he had learned that brought him peace. He said:
“When my father told our family that we would be moving from Denver to Wisconsin, my mother reminded us of Lehi’s family. Like them, I was leaving the only home I had known, all my friends, my school, and my ward. Luckily we got to bring all our possessions with us, though they were in storage for three months, and we missed having a house and our ‘precious things.’
“My mother reminded us of how Nephi accepted this challenge—willingly—knowing that the Lord would ‘prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.’ (See 1 Ne. 3:7.)
“I have learned that I can do without things, but not without my family. My brothers and sisters and I have tried to be more like Nephi than his complaining brothers. I am grateful for the things that the Book of Mormon teaches us.”