Gospel Story Finder

Adeltha Collyer (right) and Carol King
“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these … , ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).
Another couple in the area, Bertram and Adeltha Collyer, ran a produce stand in Waterflow, New Mexico, for 52 years. It provided a living for them and their six children. It also provided a lot of love to the neighborhood.
“We had 40 acres, and we employed more than 800 people off and on. We’d always find work for anybody going on or coming off a mission, mothers who needed income, or people who needed a job,” Adeltha says, now age 82.
“One day a lady up the road was taking a truck full of empty boxes to the dump. I told her we’d trade produce for boxes. She asked, ‘Can I give some to my neighbors who are in need?’ I told my helpers, ‘Let her have what she wants, no charge.’
“Carol King, a member of our ward who works for me, would help me make big boxes of surplus produce—squash, cucumbers, melons, corn, tomatoes, or chiles. Her son would take them to neighbors, Church members or not—it didn’t matter. It was a joy for us to give to people in need.”

Christopher filled his plate with food in the kitchen and retreated to his room. His sister Kaitlyn, a freshman in high school, was having a party for her friends before the stake dance began.
Christopher, two years older, had decided not to go to the stake dance. Instead, he would stay in his room and play video games or go online.
His parents would be attending the dance as chaperones, so he would be alone. He could hardly wait for everyone to leave. Even so, he had a strange feeling. It was the feeling you’d have walking along the top of a steep, ice-covered roof, knowing that, if you start to slip, it would be very difficult to keep from sliding off the roof.
“Not this time,” he said to himself.
He turned on his computer and checked his e-mail. He had two messages from friends he’d found on a chat line. He read each one and sent a reply. He had more online friends now than from school or church.
There was a knock at the door, and then Kaitlyn threw open the door and stuck her head in the room. Standing next to her was one of her friends. She was a good six inches shorter than Christopher, with a long narrow face and dark brown hair.
“Mom and Dad are about to leave. You coming with us?” Kaitlyn asked.
“I don’t think so.”
The phone rang. “I’ll get it!” Kaitlyn shouted, running down the hall.
Christopher stepped out of the room. He was relieved he hadn’t been looking at anything inappropriate, but at the same time, he was embarrassed that he could have been.
“Why is your face so red?” Kaitlyn’s friend asked.
“No reason.”
“You should come to the dance,” she said.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Hannah Banana Happy Piana.”
“That’s your name?”
“Not the Banana Happy Piana part, but my first name is Hannah.”
“Well, it’s always nice to meet one of Kaitlyn’s little friends,” he said sarcastically.
“How come you don’t want to come to the dance?”
“I don’t like to dance, and none of my friends will be there.”
“I’ll be there.”
“So?”
“You could dance with me.”
“No offense, but I’d rather stay home.”
“Stay home and what? Watch a computer screen? Do you know what computer images are? I just learned about it. They’re just a series of 1’s and 0’s. Would you rather spend time with 1’s and 0’s than talking to me?”
“Do you want an honest answer?”
She playfully slugged him on the arm. “Can a bunch of 1’s and 0’s do that?”
“Go away. You’re bothering me.”
“Come to the dance with us. I’ll teach you not to be so boring all the time.”
“Who says I’m boring?”
“Kaitlyn says you scare girls away because you don’t know how to talk to them.”
“That’s not true.” But even as he said it, he realized it had been a long time since he had spent much time with girls.
“I say it is. I say you’re totally hopeless. Anyone can see that.”
“Look, I doubt if you could teach me anything.”
“I could teach you that staying in your room playing with your computer when you could go to a dance is lame. All I’m saying is think about it, okay? We won’t be going for a few more minutes, so you can still change your mind.” And with that, she was gone.
He was glad to get rid of her and could hardly wait for everyone to leave. But at the same time, he felt some dread at what might happen after everyone left—what had happened at other times when he’d been alone.
It was hard for him now to stay away from some Web sites. He had been introduced to pornography at a friend’s house two years earlier. What he saw there was both disgusting and degrading. When he finally got a computer in his room, he had gone to a pornographic Web site just out of curiosity. And now he found himself returning again and again, until it was as if he had no ability to stop himself.
More than once he had promised himself he would never look at those things again. Sometimes he went a day or two, but eventually he found himself returning.
One Sunday, after his bishop had talked to the Aaronic Priesthood about the evils of pornography, he’d gone to his room and prayed. He had poured out his heart to God for help, but nothing seemed to change. And now everyone was about to leave for the dance, and he’d be alone again.
He closed his eyes. “Father in Heaven, please help me. I can’t keep doing what I’ve been doing.”
There was a loud pounding on the door.
“What?”
Hannah threw open the door. “It’s me again! Kaitlyn sent me here to get you for the dance. We worked it all out. You’ll dance every dance with one of us, except for Kaitlyn. She doesn’t want to dance with you. Come on, it’ll be fun.”
Suddenly he was looking at her in a new light, wondering if she could possibly be an answer to his prayers. One thing was for sure, he knew what would happen if he stayed at home.
He stood up. “Give me a minute. I need to change.”
Hannah called out into the hall. “He’s going! I won the bet, Kaitlyn!”
A few minutes later, he went into the living room, where six girls were waiting for him. They all ended up riding in the family van with Christopher’s parents. He sat in the middle with Kaitlyn on his right and Hannah on his left.
“What’s your favorite color?” Hannah asked him.
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, you’ve got to pick one.”
“Why?”
“It’s one of the first things I learn when I meet somebody. You can learn a lot about people if you know their favorite color.”
“What can you learn?”
“Well, for one thing, you’ll know their favorite color!” She started laughing hysterically.
“It wasn’t that funny.”
“It was plenty funny. My favorite color is orange. My bedroom is painted orange. Sometimes I wake up and pretend I’m living inside a pumpkin, like I’m one of the seeds.”
“You are a very strange girl.”
“I like to think of colors as if they had a personality. Like serene green, or true blue, or cheery red. Do you ever do that?”
“No, I never do.”
The dance seemed to have been frozen in time until Hannah showed up with her friends, with Christopher in the middle of them all.
“We’re here, everybody!” Hannah called out. She grabbed Christopher’s hand. “I get the first dance because I got you to come.”
They went out on the dance floor and waited for the next dance to start. The music began. Christopher shuffled his feet.
“Okay, Christopher, start dancing,” Hannah said.
“I am dancing.”
She smiled. “Well, that’s a start. Let me give you some pointers. Watch carefully.”
He watched her dance. It was totally unpredictable.
“You got it?” she asked.
“Got what?”
“Look, just do what I do, okay?”
A few minutes later they returned to the other girls. “Okay,” Hannah said, “now dance with Melissa. You’ve got 10 minutes, and then it’s Sarah’s turn.”
Melissa wasn’t as spontaneous as Hannah, so within a few minutes neither she nor Christopher was saying anything.
He realized he used to be better at talking with girls, but not anymore. Just after an episode with pornography, he felt such guilt that he avoided any wholesome interaction with a girl. But then as time went on and he became tempted again, he couldn’t look at a girl without thinking of her in ways he knew he shouldn’t. It was a vicious cycle that kept repeating over and over again with the net result being that he pulled into himself. Hannah was able to draw him out—but Melissa was a little shy, and he couldn’t seem to make the personal contact by himself.
“Time out!” Hannah shouted. She came out to them. “Melissa, I need to talk to Christopher for a minute, but I’ll get him back to you soon.”
Melissa returned to her friends.
“What’s the deal? You didn’t even talk to Melissa. Okay, we’ll practice. I’ll be Melissa, and you be you. Talk to me.”
“Don’t you think that Hannah is the strangest person in the whole world?” he asked.
Hannah wasn’t amused. “Very funny! Okay, you be Melissa, and I’ll be you.”
“It’s easy to be Melissa,” he said. “All I need to do is stare at the floor and not say anything.”
“Melissa, how many brothers and sisters do you have?” she asked, trying to mimic his voice.
“Four brothers, two sisters,” Christopher said in his highest voice.
“And what are their names?”
“Winken, Blinken, and Nod, Donner, Comet, and Blitzen.”
“Do you have any hobbies, Melissa?” Hannah asked Christopher.
“Yes,” he said in his high voice. “I collect boilers from condemned schools.”
Hannah tried her best not to laugh. “How interesting.”
“I have them in my room.”
“Big room, huh?”
“Yes, and it’s always warm.” They both laughed.
Hannah said, “Do you see how easy it is to carry on a conversation with a girl? You just keep asking questions about her life. But you need to be interested in the answers she gives. Okay, let’s go back in there and see how you do.”
For the rest of the evening, Hannah let him practice what she’d taught him. He danced with Hannah, Kaitlyn, and all their friends. Two hours later the dance was over.
On the way home Kaitlyn turned to Christopher.
“Thanks for being so good with my friends,” she said.
“I had fun,” Christopher responded.
At home they had family prayer and hugged each other, and then everyone separated to get ready for bed. A few minutes later, Christopher entered his room. The first thing he noticed was the computer on his desk. It seemed more like an enemy than a tool.
“Maybe I should check to see if I have any e-mails,” he thought. He sat on his bed and tried to decide what to do. In the past, something as innocent as checking his e-mails late at night had led to him ending up on pornographic Web sites.
“How am I going to make it through the night?” he thought. “And what about tomorrow and the next day and the day after that?”
Out of nowhere, in his mind, he heard Hannah, in her upbeat, cheerful way: “What’s your favorite color?” The thought of asking one of the women on a pornographic site a question like that seemed ridiculous. They wouldn’t answer such a question, and he wouldn’t ask it. They existed in a one-dimensional world where only one thing mattered. And that one thing promised a thrill but gave nothing back but guilt and remorse.
He went to his desk and began to write in his journal:
“From now on I will spend my time with real girls, not with virtual images on a monitor. I’ll ask them what their favorite color is. I’ll ask how many brothers and sisters they have. I’ll ask them what their hobbies are. I’ll dance with them, joke with them, tease and get teased by them, and I’ll laugh with them. I will stay away from virtual girls for the rest of my life.”
He signed it, looked up, and glared at his computer on the desk. He quickly began disconnecting all the cables. A few minutes later, he had set up his computer in the kitchen where anybody coming into the room could see what was on the monitor.
His dad heard him moving about and came into the kitchen. “What are you doing?”
“Dad, do you have a few minutes? There’s something I need to tell you, something I need help with.”
“What is it?”
Christopher lowered his head. He wasn’t even sure he could say the word to his father. He fought to stay in control.
“I need to know so I can help,” his dad said.
Christopher sighed. “It’s pornography, Dad. That’s my problem. I’ve been looking at it in my room, but I want to quit. It’s tearing me apart.”
“Is that why you brought your computer in here?”
“Yes. At first I thought I could just tell myself I wasn’t going to look at it anymore. But that hasn’t worked. The truth is I can’t seem to stop.”
His dad put his hand on Christopher’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you for telling me this.”
“No, Dad. There’s nothing to be proud of when it comes to me.”
“I disagree. You could have gone your whole life trying to hide this from the rest of the world, but you knew you couldn’t live a lie. To me that shows character.”
“I’m out of control. I need help.”
“I’ll be glad to help.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“You’ll need to work with the bishop, too. Because of his calling, he can help you in ways I can’t.”
“He’ll be really disappointed in me.”
“I think he’ll be pleased you want to get rid of this evil in your life.”
They talked until two in the morning. They made a list of actions they could take. Christopher’s dad made it clear that there were some things he would need to keep doing. Things like praying and reading the scriptures, filling his time with positive activities and positive thoughts. An addiction like his isn’t overcome easily, and not without help.
Christopher asked, “Dad, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to or if I’m too unworthy, but could you give me a priesthood blessing?”
“I would very much like to do that.”
“I didn’t know if I should even ask. I haven’t felt much like praying either.”
“Heavenly Father will never turn away from us, no matter what we’ve done.”
After the blessing, they hugged each other and said good night. Christopher returned to his room. It seemed a much safer place without the computer. He knelt once again in prayer and then, a few minutes later, slipped into bed.
He remembered Hannah’s question, “What’s your favorite color?” He smiled. “I know the answer to that question now. My favorite color is true blue.” He felt better at that moment than he’d felt in a long time.

Every time my family goes to visit Grandpa, he pinches his fingers at me and says, “Come here and let me tweak your nose.”
I say no, and I hide behind Grandma.
Dad laughs, and Mama gives Grandpa a hug.
When Grandpa’s not looking, I sneak up and tweak his nose.
Then he says, “Grandma and your mama are fixing a delicious supper, and you can’t have any.”
“Yes, I can,” I tell him.
“No, you can’t. Everybody’s working for their supper today. Your mama’s cooking and your dad’s wiring the new ceiling fan. You’re the only one who doesn’t know how to work,”
“I know how to work,” I tell Grandpa. “I help Dad in the garden.”
Grandpa says, “You’ll have to show me.”
We pick up a little basket from the garden shed.
In the garden, Grandpa ruffles the straight row of radish leaves. “These strawberries look big enough to eat,” he says.
“Those are radishes,” I tell him. And I pull one to show him.
“No. They’re strawberries,” he says. He wipes the radish clean, snaps off the root, and takes a bite. “Oh, it’s sweet. Have one.”
I laugh and say, “I don’t like radishes.”
Grandpa laughs too. He always tells me radishes are strawberries.
While I pick radishes, Grandpa pulls green onions.
When the basket is half full, he says, “Take these to Grandma. We’ll have radish sandwiches for supper.”
I run to Grandma with the basket. I tell her, “Grandpa says we’re having radish sandwiches for supper.” I try not to make an awful face, but I can’t help it.
Grandma and Mama laugh. Mama says, “He told me the same thing when I was little.”
“Honey,” Grandma says to me, “we’re having chicken.”
I feel much better about supper. Grandpa tells me, “Chicken takes a long time to cook. I think I’ll go to the park and swing.”
“You don’t swing,” I say. “I do.”
When we get to the park, Grandpa asks, “Are you ready to watch me swing?”
“You can’t swing,” I say. “You have to push me.”
“Push you? I’d rather sit on a park bench.”
“OK,” I say. “Sit on a bench. I’ll push myself.”
Grandpa sits and watches as I stretch toward the sky, going higher and higher. “Who taught you that?” he asks when we’re walking to the car.
“Mama taught me.”
“How could your mama teach you that?” Grandpa asks. “She doesn’t know how.”
“Yes, she does,” I tell him. “She said you taught her.”
“I bet she won’t teach you to play baseball.”
“She’s already teaching me.”
“When your mama was in grade school, she played baseball in this park.”
“That must have been a long time ago,” I say.
Grandpa’s quiet on the way home. When he stops the car, I ask, “Are you very old, Grandpa?”
“Sometimes,” he says, “but not when I’m with you.” He reaches across the car to me. “Come here and let me tweak your nose.”
I jump out of the car and run to the house. Grandpa follows me with his arm stretched out and his fingers pinching.
When we get to the back door, I let him catch me and tweak my nose. Then I run in the house, holding my nose and hollering, “Grandpa tweaked my nose!”
And everybody laughs.

One man who had committed himself to do everything he could to share the gospel with others walked out of his office one day and saw a man running down the hall. He learned this man had stapled his finger. He reached into his big pocket, pulled out Merthiolate and a Band-Aid, and dressed the wound. The shocked individual asked in amazement why he did this. He responded: “I am a Mormon, and Mormons do these things.” This man was prepared to help another whenever possible.

I remember sitting in the mission home at the end of my mission, sharing a testimony meeting with 13 elders and one sister who were also going home. I don’t remember what I said. I don’t remember what the other elders said. But I will never forget Sister Thorpe’s testimony. She explained that in the interview with her stake president 18 months earlier she had revealed a secret desire: “I want to see miracles on my mission,” she had confided to him. Then, almost apologetically, she had asked him if it was wrong to seek miracles. He had assured her it was not wrong. After relating this conversation to us, she testified, “I’ve seen miracles on my mission.”
I suddenly realized I had also seen miracles, but I hadn’t sought them or expected them. I had just let them happen. By failing to seek them and expect them, I probably prevented quite a few. Miracles come by faith, and faith has something to do with expecting certain things to happen and actively working to bring them to pass.

One man I met lived simply in a tiny, little town in the middle of the Amazon. After being baptized with his family, he could hardly wait to complete a year’s membership in the Church so he could take his wife and children to the temple. The São Paulo Brazil Temple is very far from the Amazon. It usually takes four days by boat and four days by bus to get to the temple—about a week’s travel. This man was a cabinetmaker. How could he save enough money to pay for himself, his wife, and his children? Although he worked hard for many months, he made very little money.

When the time came to go to the temple, he sold all his furniture and appliances, even his electric saw and his only means of transportation, a motorcycle—everything he had—and went to the temple with his wife and children. It required eight days of travel to reach São Paulo. After spending four glorious days in the temple doing the work of the Lord, this family then had to travel seven more days to return to their home. But they went back home happy, feeling that their difficulties and struggles were nothing compared to the great happiness and blessings they had experienced in the house of the Lord.

“Oh, Mom,” Melissa moaned, “I already have enough friends!”
“But, Melissa, it’s just two weekends a month,” Mom pleaded, “and Vernika is new in the Church and so lonely. Her dad died in a car accident just last September—you remember the day that the fog hung so low and thick that it never lifted. And her little brother is so sick that her mom needs to spend every minute with him. If they could afford a nurse, it might be different.”
Melissa nodded. Of course she felt sorry for Vernika, but it didn’t change the fact that she already had enough friends. “Why can’t Vernika’s grandparents take her to church?”
Mom smiled, “Darling, Vernika’s grandparents aren’t members. Besides, they live too far away. This way Vernika can walk home with you after school on Friday and go to the Merrie Miss activities Saturday mornings and to sacrament meeting and Primary on Sundays.”
Just then there was a crash in the living room, and two-year-old Justin squealed in delight. The twins, Johnny and Jase, toppled over each other as they raced up the stairs, each claiming that he had nothing to do with whatever just happened. Melissa moaned again.
“Anyway,” Mom sighed as she hurried out of the room, “with this house full of boys, it will be nice to have another girl around.”
Friday came, and Melissa tried to keep her distance while Vernika smiled and skipped rocks with the twins all the way home from school. Well, at least Johnny and Jase will have a good weekend, Melissa thought.
Then came the moment Melissa was dreading. She would have to share her beautiful room, the only spot in all the world of her very own, with someone who wasn’t even her friend. When she opened the door, Vernika’s whole face lit up. It was as sunny as the yellow room. “I’ve never seen a room this pretty before,” Vernika gasped. “You must feel like a princess beneath such a beautiful flowered quilt!”
“Well, I guess we’ll both be princesses tonight,” Melissa replied coolly, “because you’ll be sleeping in here with me.”
“Oh. Then I shall rename you the ‘Princess of the Yellow Quilt’ and pretend that I’m a princess from a faraway land who has come to visit. I’ll tell you about my deeds of sorrow and high adventure, while you tell me about Jase, Johnny, and Justin, your three little jesters.”
In spite of herself, Melissa giggled and entered into an evening of bright imagination. As they said their prayers that night, Melissa overheard Vernika thank Heavenly Father for helping her find a friend at last. Maybe Vernika isn’t so bad, after all, Melissa thought.
Two months passed. It was a cold, windy Friday, and nothing was going right. The Merrie Miss activity had been canceled, and Vernika had to stay home to help with her sick baby brother. To top it off, Johnny, Jase, and Justin were pestier than ever and had just barged noisily into her room.
“Can’t you read? It says ‘No boys allowed!’” Melissa yelled as she picked up a sign that had fallen on the floor and tacked it up again on her bedroom door.
“We just wanted to borrow your crayons,” Johnny complained as he walked out of the room as slowly as was humanly possible.
Melissa thought about how the boys never seemed so terrible when Vernika was there. Melissa smiled, remembering the stories from the Book of Mormon storybook that Vernika had told the boys two weeks ago. The boys had been wide-eyed and pin-dropping quiet as Vernika had ended each story, then folded her arms and declared, “And the best thing is that it’s true!”
That night, while Melissa was sleeping, she vaguely heard the telephone ring and then the truck pull out of the driveway. A couple hours later, Melissa awoke to the sound of muffled sobs. There was Vernika rocking back and forth on the edge of the bed, tears streaming down her cheeks!
“I’m sorry I woke you,” Vernika quavered. “Your daddy brought me here after they took my brother to the hospital. He can hardly breathe. Oh, Melissa, what if Henry dies, like Daddy did?” Vernika sobbed.
Melissa couldn’t find words as she thought about her own little brothers. They did get on her nerves, but how upset she would be if anything really bad ever happened to them. She wrapped her beloved, yellow quilt around Vernika’s shoulders and held her hand. They sat quietly for a long time as Vernika’s tears slowly subsided.
“Let’s say a prayer,” Melissa finally whispered, adding, “I’ll offer it.” She prayed as she had never prayed before, asking Heavenly Father to help Henry get better. She prayed for Vernika to remember that Heavenly Father and Jesus loved her and were close by. After the prayer, Melissa noticed that Vernika had stopped crying. Silently the girls curled up under the yellow quilt as a still sleepiness closed their eyes.
The next morning the rain came down in icy sheets as the temperature dropped. Then the phone lines went dead, and the electric power went out. Everyone looked like Eskimos as they wore their winter coats around the house, trying to keep warm. Daddy told Vernika that he and the bishop had given her baby brother a blessing last night. “Try not to worry,” he said as he lit a fire in the fireplace. “The hospital has an emergency generator for electricity.”
That evening he brought all the sleeping bags into the living room. With no heater, everyone would sleep around the fireplace—just like the pioneers. Johnny, Jase, and Justin let out shouts of glee. Then Daddy took out his Book of Mormon and read 3 Nephi 17 [3 Ne. 17], which told about Jesus healing the Nephites and blessing the children. It also told of Jesus’ weeping out of love for the people. Melissa saw tears on Vernika’s cheeks once again—but this time they weren’t frightened, panic-filled tears. They were the kind of tears Melissa had seen in people’s eyes during fast and testimony meeting.
Morning came, and Daddy woke everyone up. “I have something to show you,” he said as he took Melissa and Vernika down the hallway and opened the front door. Sunlight splashed in, and the girls gasped in wonder. They had never seen the world after an ice storm before. Every tiny branch of the great oak tree and every solitary needle on each evergreen was coated in its own case of smooth, shimmering ice. The day glistened as though everything in it was made of diamonds!
“Oh! It’s like magic!” exclaimed Vernika.
“Yes,” Daddy said. “It’s strange how sometimes the most terrible weather yields the greatest beauty. And, Vernika,” Daddy added, grinning, “your mom called and said that Henry is breathing easily and is out of danger.”
Vernika shouted with joy and danced out onto the porch and all around it.
“Vernika, I’m going to rename you the ‘Dancing Princess of the Diamond Morning,’” Melissa declared, beaming.

I went through a time when I began to wonder if the Church was really the only true church on the earth. My friends all seemed to believe that their churches were true, and they are good people with high standards.
I set a goal to gain a testimony. I knew it would take time. I prayed, studied the scriptures, and made sure I attended all my Church meetings and activities. I really listened and asked questions, and I thought about all my parents had taught me. After I truly understood the gospel, I began to learn more about my friends’ churches. As I talked with my friends, I realized how fulfilling the gospel is in my life. As I shared with them my beliefs, I realized that I did know that the Church is true. A feeling came over me that was so great.
Don’t ever give up. A desire to gain a testimony is a sign that you are building one already.
Kerianna Copeland, 14Franklin, Pennsylvania

Youth in South Bend, Indiana, know how to put in a hard day’s work. They spent part of their youth conference planting flowers, painting buildings, and pulling weeds for two charity organizations in their area. They had a lot of work to do at the beginning of the day, but the youth came through—despite the intense heat and humidity.
“The service projects were really fun. There was a lot to do, but with everyone’s help we successfully finished it all,” says 15-year-old Kristen Woolf.
This group may be small in numbers—about 65 in all—but they know how to make a big difference.

Service requires unselfishness, sharing, and giving. My wife and I learned a valuable lesson during our time of service in Africa. We were assigned to a district conference in Jinja, Uganda. Early Saturday morning before our meetings began, we took the opportunity to tour a new chapel in the area. As we arrived at the building, we were greeted by a young boy of three to four years of age. He had come to the Church grounds to see what was going on. Struck by his broad smile, Sister Snow reached in her purse and handed him a wrapped piece of hard butterscotch candy. He was delighted.
We spent a few minutes touring the chapel before returning outside. We were met by more than a dozen smiling children who each wanted to meet the new neighborhood candy lady.
Phyllis was heartbroken, as she had given the boy her last piece of candy. She disappointedly gestured to the children there was no more. The small boy who initially greeted us then handed the candy back to Sister Snow, gesturing for her to unwrap it. With a heavy heart, Phyllis did so, fully expecting the boy to pop the butterscotch candy into his mouth in full view of his envious friends.
Instead, to our great surprise, he went to each of his friends, who stuck out their tongues and received one delicious lick of the butterscotch candy. The young boy continued around the circle, occasionally taking his own lick, until the candy was gone.
Now, one can argue the lack of sanitation with this gesture of sharing, but no one can dispute the example set by this young boy. Unselfishness, sharing, and giving are essential to service. This child learned that lesson well.

The Nagoya Saints held their first Sunday School meeting in January 1950. To attract more people, Toshiko and the missionaries placed flyers in a local newspaper. The next Sunday, 150 people showed up at the lecture hall. Latter-day Saint meetings often drew crowds in post-war Japan as many people sought hope and meaning after the trauma they had experienced.1 But for most, interest in the Church was temporary, especially as the country grew more economically stable. As fewer people felt a need to turn to faith, attendance at the meetings declined.2

After Joseph Smith had completed translating the Book of Mormon, he still had to find a publisher. This was not easy. The complexity of this lengthy manuscript and the cost of printing and binding thousands of copies were intimidating. Joseph first approached E. B. Grandin, a Palmyra printer, who refused. He then sought another printer in Palmyra, who also turned him down. He traveled to Rochester, 25 miles (40 km) away, and approached the most prominent publisher in western New York, who also turned him down. Another Rochester publisher was willing, but circumstances made this alternative unacceptable.

Weeks had passed, and Joseph must have been bewildered at the opposition to accomplishing his divine mandate. The Lord did not make it easy, but He did make it possible. Joseph’s fifth attempt, a second approach to the Palmyra publisher Grandin, was successful.

I am nine years old, so when I went to the temple for the first time, I waited outside with my father. We walked around the temple to see how it was built. We visited the beautiful waiting room and enjoyed the peace and quiet there. We talked quietly about the life of Jesus Christ and His Apostles then and now. As I sat with my father, I felt that the temple is a very special place.
Raphael R., age 9, Switzerland

This legacy began about 10 years ago when some Aaronic Priesthood holders in the Canyon View Seventh Ward in the Orem Utah Canyon View Stake decided they wanted to earn the Genealogy merit badge, so they worked with the ward’s family history consultant to research their families and get names ready for the temple.
“We had so many names we couldn’t do them all in one trip!” their former Scoutmaster, Lani Hatch, remembers. “We had to go back four or five times to finish up the family file cards from that merit badge project.”
Young Women in the ward also became interested and found opportunities to help with family history research and to go to the temple.
Today many of the young men from that first Scout troop have already returned from their missions. Others are preparing to serve. And with each new Beehive or deacon, the interest in the temple continues.

Chi Yun blew the cloud out of her mouth. Surely it was cold enough now in northeast China to make the cloud turn to ice. But it wasn’t. However, the thought of her breath turning to drops of ice made her giggle, and the muted sound filled the miniature ice pagoda. “Even the sounds are cold in Harbin,” she said and giggled again.
Humming a melody Papa had taught her, she slid across the ice floor. The sun, about to go down, sparkled through the side of the pagoda, making the ice bricks look like diamonds.
“We must go.” Papa interrupted her thoughts.
Chi Yun hated to leave. There was something magical about being alone inside walls of ice. But she knew that she would be back. Tonight the colored lights, frozen into the ice blocks, would be turned on to make rainbows of ice.
Her own name, Chi Yun, meant “rainbow in the sky.” Mama always said that Chi Yun was her rainbow that made all the storms worthwhile. Mama said that everyone needed a rainbow to carry in his heart so that dark, stormy days would be better.
“Come,” Papa called again.
“Yes, Papa.” Chi Yun left the dreamy ice pagoda and entered the smoggy world of Harbin.
Papa was already walking away. Chi Yun hurried to catch up to him. All around were palaces, cathedrals, animals, and dragons of ice.
At the edge of the park, they exited through the ice fence. Taxis honked, and bicycles jingled past trolleys that buzzed along electric cords. Chi Yun almost forgot about the magic of the ice carvings, but the cold air filled with Chinese voices more animated than usual reminded her that she was not the only one excited about the Ice Lantern Festival. Near the gate, vendors were setting up boothes of bing tanghulu (a sugared fruit on a stick), bear paws, salmon, nose of camel deer, and, of course, ice cream.
But Papa was starting up the road on his bicycle. There was no time for treats. If she didn’t hurry, she’d be left behind.
Chi Yun jumped on her bicycle and pedaled after Papa. It was frightening to travel the crowded streets, but today she kept her thoughts on the ice festival so that she wouldn’t think about the fear.
They rode past the Songhua river from which the blocks of ice had been cut to make the sculptures. At one hole, people in bathing suits were diving from stacks of ice blocks into the water. Chi Yun shuddered to think about it, but Papa had told her stories of the summers when he yearned for the cold winter swim and how much fun it was.
When they reached their small apartment, Mama was waiting. “Is it finished?” she asked. “Is it beautiful?”
Chi Yun was surprised that Mama was excited. Usually Mama was much to busy to be excited. “Oh, yes, Mama! Papa has built for his company the best ice pagoda of all. You will be proud.”
“We must hurry,” was all Papa said. “The lighting ceremonies are to begin soon.”
They ate quickly, then bundled and rode their bicycles back to the park. It was dark and without any magic at all. Chi Yun huddled close to Mama while Papa hurried ahead to the pagoda. Outside the gate, vendors shouted, crowds pushed, and taxis honked. It was difficult to even think of bing tanghulu in the shadowy dark.
But after a speech that Chi Yun could not hear, a rainbow of lights suddenly punctured the night. Red, blue, yellow, green began to blink in the ice with a brilliance that chased away the darkest of shadows. The magic was back!
Chi Yun walked around with Mama to see the beautiful sculptures. When they came to the replica of the old Russian church, Mama took her picture there. Chi Yun’s heart skipped as they passed the huge dragon, now alive with color. It had been magical this afternoon—now there was no word to describe its beauty. Soon they arrived at the pagoda. Papa was greeting visitors and telling them about how he had made it and about his company.
Waiting until no one else was inside, and closing her eyes, Chi Yun walked through the small door to where she had danced in the afternoon. She made her way to what she thought was its center, then opened her eyes. The sight took her breath away. She was enfolded in a rainbow.
She tried to memorize every ice brick and colored light so that the sight would still be hers long after it melted. She savored the chill around her and the scent of bear paws floating on the cold air. It was like a dream in which every happy dream she’d ever dreamed had come true. “It’s perfect!” she whispered aloud. “And when it is no longer perfect, this ice rainbow will still be in my heart. Its light will chase away the dark!”
“That’s right,” a voice behind her said.
Chi Yun jumped. She’d heard no one enter. She turned and saw Mama standing in a halo of yellow and red lights. “Always seek the light and keep it within your heart,” Mama said.
Chi Yun ran to Mama and hugged her tightly. “I will. This will be my rainbow memory.”
“Like you are mine, my little Chi Yun!” Mama smiled, adding, “And now it is time for bing tanghulu.”

In early 1965, I was assigned to attend stake conferences and to hold other meetings throughout the South Pacific area. This was my first visit to that part of the world, and it was a time never to be forgotten. Much that was spiritual in nature occurred during this assignment as I met with leaders, members, and missionaries.
On the weekend of Saturday and Sunday, February 20 and 21, we were in Brisbane, Australia, to hold regular conference sessions of the Brisbane Stake. During meetings on Saturday, I was introduced to the district president from an adjoining area. As I shook his hand, I had a strong impression that I needed to speak with him and to provide counsel, and so I asked him if he would accompany me to the Sunday morning session the following day so that this could be accomplished.
Following the Sunday session, we had an opportunity to visit together. We talked of his many responsibilities as district president. As we did so, I felt impressed to offer him specific suggestions concerning missionary work and how he and his members could help the full-time missionaries in their labors in his area. I later learned that this man had been praying for guidance in this regard. To him our visit was a special witness that his prayers were heard and answered. This was a seemingly unremarkable meeting but one which I am convinced was guided by the Spirit and which made a difference in that district president’s life and administration, in the lives of his members, and in the success of the missionaries there.

It is a typical Saturday morning along the Salt Lake Valley’s Jordan River. The sun’s rays shimmer as they reflect off calm waters, the birds’ warbles create a peaceful harmony, and the squirrels’ chatter echoes through the trees. Suddenly, the usual tranquility of the early morning is interrupted as large clusters of people round a bend in the smooth trail that runs along the river. There are 500 people of all ages and denominations. What’s more, they are laughing and talking together.
Maybe this isn’t such a typical Saturday.
It was last April that Brighton High School senior Gweneth Thomas decided that she needed to get more involved in service. So she approached a representative of Church World Service, an interfaith organization dedicated to helping fellow Christians in times of need. She soon became at least 80 hours immersed in service as she agreed to become the organization’s first youth coordinator of the annual Christian Rural Overseas Program walk.
CROP walks are worldwide fundraisers for struggling countries in times of crisis. Volunteers are asked to pledge money and then walk a six-mile course to help them appreciate the hardships of fellow Christians all over the world.
The theme of the 1996 walk was “We walk because they walk,” referring to the individuals in many developing countries who must walk five or six hours a day to find food and water.
Besides raising money for the needy, Gweneth and her co-chair, Max Freeman, had a very specific goal in mind for the 1996 walk. They wanted members of the ten participating religions to work to break down the barriers between each other and move from intolerance to acceptance, from acceptance to respect, and finally from respect to love.
But before any of this could happen, Gweneth and Max felt they needed to get teenagers involved as well as adults. They started in their high school cafeteria. Fellow Brighton High students Alina Stay, Brenna Flynn, and Mindy Pitts observed their classmates’ reactions to Gweneth’s pleas for donations.
“What doesn’t seem like a lot of money to me will feed a lot of people [in another country],” says Mindy.
Brenna, a convert to the Church, was especially concerned with helping Gweneth and Max create peaceful interfaith relations through the walk.
The most exciting part of the event for her was seeing that goal fulfilled as “people from other faiths shared testimonies and showed the true spirit of Christianity without the normal my-church-is-better-than-your-church attitude,” she says.
“Build up trust and gain a respect for each other,” says Max.
And not only did the teens spur these good relations between denominations while donating money; they walked as well.
Perhaps it was the strenuous six-mile walk. Perhaps it was the wooden signs along the trails with poignant messages. Perhaps it was the experience of associating with people of many different faiths. Whatever the case, the mood at the picnic afterward was reflective.
Everyone seemed to sense what Gweneth put into words, “One person can make a big difference.”

On a cold November day, a question from an American missionary asking for directions to the local postal office caught Takashi Wada off guard.
The 15-year-old had been warned by his father to avoid Mormons, who had been visiting with people on the streets of Nagano, Japan, just three minutes from their home. But Takashi was impressed with the American elder’s Japanese.
A few days later, another missionary stopped Takashi. He had not been in Japan long. In broken Japanese, he tried to share the story of Joseph Smith.
Takashi did not understand everything, “but I felt that I should listen,” he recalled.
The missionaries taught him the steps to prayer and the lessons. He attended Church meetings and was touched by the testimonies of local members. Feeling constrained by the expectations of his Buddhist family, Takashi kept telling the missionaries, “I can’t join the Church, but I would like to learn more.”
Two years later, before Takashi left to study in the United States at age 17, his parents consented, and he joined the Church.

Shortly after the NCAA finals, Britton announced his decision to serve a mission. The decision came at no small sacrifice. Many people, including Utah head coach Rick Majerus, say Britton has tremendous NBA potential, but leaving the game for two years may jeopardize his pro chances. “Coach was saying everything he could to get me to stay,” recalls Britton. “I’ve been told that if I stay for all four years in a row, I’d definitely go pro.”

For the first time in his life, Britton began to question whether he should go on a mission. Majerus told the press that if Britton were to go after being benched all year, “his pro chances are null and void and his chance for a college career is really in peril. He can’t sit three years.”

In the end, Britton’s coach supported his decision. “It is with regret and sadness from a basketball standpoint that Britton departs, but I am pleased because he seems to be so at peace and happy about the decision,” said Majerus. “I’m proud to be a coach of so many young men who felt so good about a religious experience that they would want to sacrifice their basketball.”

I remember hearing one such story when I was a young man. It was about President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985), and I had heard it so many times that I figured I could probably tell it in my sleep.
One stormy night, President Kimball saw a pregnant young mother and her two-year-old daughter in an airport. The mother couldn’t pick up her child because of the threat of miscarriage, so she scooted the sobbing child along with her foot.
Grumpy passengers looked at her judgmentally and said unkind things under their breath, but President Kimball immediately offered to help.
With the mother’s permission, he picked up and consoled the child and gave the girl a piece of gum. Then he kindly spoke to those in line and asked if the young mother could move to the front. The once-grumbling passengers immediately agreed. He spoke with the clerk and got them on the next available flight, ensuring them a safe and much faster trip home.