Gospel Story Finder

One way to overcome difficulties is by serving the Lord. Service has connected me with the Lord and helped me listen to His voice and follow Him.
This past year, we had an FSY conference, and although I couldn’t attend in person, the couple directing the session invited me to make a video sharing my testimony.
In my video I shared about how no matter what is happening in my life, I have the desire to do my part and serve others. I received 571 letters from youth who saw my video and were encouraged.

Canby Second Ward
The Primary children of the Canby Second Ward, Oregon City Oregon Stake, enjoyed a missionary activity. They wrote letters to missionaries serving from their ward and accepted the challenge to give a Friend magazine to someone who is not a member of the Church. Returned missionaries shared mission experiences. The children continue to be successful missionaries by being great examples, sharing the gospel, and inviting their friends to Primary.

The first obstacle was finding a place for the trek. “We had no idea how hard it would be to find land that we would be allowed to cross,” said Marlene Meyer, the stake Young Women president. “In some ways it reminded us of the feeling the pioneers had when they were driven out of every place they tried to call home.”

For months the leaders scoured the state looking for a suitable site that could handle 150 people pulling handcarts and camping along the way. Because much of Alaska is covered in wetland, they knew they needed to find an abandoned road with dry campsites every 12 miles. Fourteen days before the event was scheduled to begin, the leaders were contacted about the possibility of passing through some land in a small area called Anchor Point. Miraculously, it had oil pad sites, areas covered in gravel and suitable for camping, positioned every 12 miles along an old road. With only days to spare, stake leaders got the permits and the trek went forward.

When I was a boy living here in Salt Lake City, most homes were heated with coal stoves. Black smoke belched forth from almost every chimney. As winter came to a close, black soot and grime were everywhere, both inside and outside of the house. There was a ritual through which we passed each year, not a very pleasant one, as we viewed it. It involved every member of the family. It was known as spring-cleaning. When the weather warmed after the long winter, a week or so was designated as cleanup time. It was usually when there was a holiday and included two Saturdays.
My mother ran the show. All of the curtains were taken down and laundered. Then they were carefully ironed. The windows were washed inside and out, and oh, what a job that was in that big two-story house. Wallpaper was on all of the walls, and Father would bring home numerous cans of wallpaper cleaner. It was like bread dough, but it was a pretty pink in color when the container was opened. It had an interesting smell, a pleasant, refreshing kind of smell. We all pitched in. We would knead some of the cleaning dough in our hands, climb a ladder, and begin on the high ceiling and then work down the walls. The dough was soon black from the dirt it lifted from the paper. It was a terrible task, very tiring, but the results were like magic. We would stand back and compare the dirty surface with the clean surface. It was amazing to us how much better the clean walls looked.
All of the carpets were taken up and dragged out to the backyard, where they were hung over the clothesline, one by one. Each of us boys would have what we called a carpet beater, a device made of light steel rods with a wooden handle. As we beat the carpet, the dust would fly, and we would have to keep going until there was no dust left. We detested that work. But when all of it was done and everything was back in place, the result was wonderful. The house was clean, our spirits renewed. The whole world looked better.

I think of a young man who was recently convicted of automobile homicide because he killed an innocent victim while driving drunk. He was a young man of great potential. There is no telling what he might have become, but today he sits in prison, not only in the misery of his surroundings but also in the torture of his conscience. Our Father in Heaven, who loves us, has reminded us of the evils of these things and has warned us against them.

Many in this vast audience of priesthood bearers are holders of the Aaronic Priesthood—even deacons, teachers, and priests. Young men, some lessons in life are learned from your parents, while others you learn in school or in church. There are, however, certain moments when you know our Heavenly Father is doing the teaching and you are His student. The thoughts we think, the feelings we feel—even the deeds we do in boyhood—can affect our lives forever.

When I was a deacon, I loved baseball. In fact, I still do. I had a fielder’s glove inscribed with the name Mel Ott. He was the premier player of my day. My friends and I would play ball in a small alleyway behind the houses where we lived. Our playing field was cramped, but all right, provided you hit straightaway to center field. However, if you hit the ball to the right of center, disaster was at the door. Here lived Mrs. Shinas, who, from her kitchen window, would watch us play; and as soon as the ball rolled to her porch, her large dog would retrieve the ball and present it to her as she opened the door. Into her house Mrs. Shinas would return and add the ball to the many she had previously confiscated. She was our nemesis, the destroyer of our fun—even the bane of our existence. None of us had a good word for Mrs. Shinas, but we had plenty of bad words for her. None of us would speak to her, and she never spoke to us. She was hampered by a stiff leg which impaired her walking and must have caused her great pain. She and her husband had no children, lived secluded lives, and rarely came out of their house.
This private war continued for some time—perhaps two years—and then an inspired thaw melted the ice of winter and brought a springtime of good feelings to the stalemate.
One evening as I performed my daily task of watering our front lawn, holding the nozzle of the hose in the hand as was the style at that time, I noticed that Mrs. Shinas’s lawn was dry and beginning to turn brown. I honestly don’t know, brethren, what came over me, but I took a few more minutes and, with our hose, watered her lawn. I continued to do this throughout the summer, and then when autumn came I hosed her lawn free of leaves as I did ours and stacked the leaves in piles at the street’s edge to be gathered. During the entire summer I had not seen Mrs. Shinas. We boys had long since given up playing ball in the alleyway. We had run out of baseballs and had no money to buy more.
Early one evening, Mrs. Shinas’s front door opened, and she beckoned for me to jump the small fence and come to her front porch. This I did. As I approached her, she invited me into her living room, where I was asked to sit in a comfortable chair. She treated me to cookies and milk. Then she went to the kitchen and returned with a large box filled with baseballs and softballs, representing several seasons of her confiscation efforts. The filled box was presented to me. The treasure, however, was not to be found in the gift but rather in her words. I saw for the first time a smile come across the face of Mrs. Shinas, and she said, “Tommy, I want you to have these baseballs, and I want to thank you for being kind to me.” I expressed my own gratitude to her and walked from her home a better boy than when I entered. No longer were we enemies. Now we were friends. The Golden Rule had again succeeded.

Last January my sweetheart, Grace, and I received an assignment to visit the members in the Philippines who were devastated by a major earthquake and a super typhoon. We rejoiced because the assignment was an answer to our prayers and a testament to the mercy and goodness of a loving Father in Heaven. It provided some closure to our longing to personally express to them our love and concern.
Most of the members we met were still living in temporary shelters like tents, community centers, and Church meetinghouses. The homes we visited had either partial roofing or no roofing at all. The people did not have much to begin with, and what little they had was swept away. There was mud and debris everywhere. However, they were full of gratitude for the little help they received and were in good spirits despite their very difficult circumstances. When we asked them how they were coping, everyone responded with a resounding, “We’re OK.” Obviously, their faith in Jesus Christ gave them hope that everything would work out eventually. Home after home, tent after tent, Sister Teh and I were being taught by these faithful Saints.

One day I was helping my mom do family history work. We were looking at some old documents that were hard to read. When we came to one name that we could not completely read, we decided to take a break. My mom asked me to keep thinking about what the name might be. Later, I was sitting with my little sister when the name came to me—Reba! When I told my mom, we checked the records and found out I was right. My mom told me that the Holy Ghost helped me identify the name. I am glad that I can listen to the promptings of the Holy Ghost.

I helped with a project at school to make “bottles of love,” which are plastic bottles filled with single-use plastics. These are items that are used once and thrown away, like plastic bags. Each family made bottles of love and took them to school. The bottles were sent to an organization that made them into plastic bricks. The bricks could be used to build outdoor benches and houses for people in need.
I realized that my family uses a lot of plastic daily, which is a real environmental problem. I wanted to start caring for the environment. But I couldn’t do it alone. So I decided to ask people at church to help too. I spoke with my leaders and the bishop of the ward. He asked me to talk about the project in a meeting. Many people joined the project. After a few months, we collected more than 100 bottles of love!
The project continues today. When I collect a lot of bottles, I go with my family and Primary friends to the drop-off area. We leave the bottles there to be turned into building materials.
I like this project. It makes me feel that I can really help this world that God created for us. It helps me value and respect nature and animals. Taking care of nature is one way I can follow the Savior. I also like that it’s a way to help others.
Sometimes it’s not easy to take the time to make the bottles of love. But I feel that we can change and choose to do small, good acts daily. I also learned that to do something “big” we need the help of others. We can impact others and help them join the change. I believe this is an important part of the gospel of Jesus Christ: to change, help others, and do good in the world.

Jenelle heard her best friend, Michelle, ask Rebecca to her birthday party on Sunday. Michelle’s parents had planned a swimming party to celebrate her eleventh birthday.
Michelle had already invited Jenelle, but Jenelle had told Michelle that she’d have to let her know. Jenelle knew that she wouldn’t be going to the party, but she didn’t want to say that in front of the other girls.
The two girls had been friends since they were six years old. But after Jenelle’s family had become members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints nine months ago, things had changed between them. Jenelle wanted Michelle to understand that becoming a Latter-day Saint didn’t change what Jenelle felt for her friend, but Michelle was having a hard time accepting that.
After school, Jenelle trudged home more discouraged than ever because Michelle had announced that everyone else she’d invited to her party would come. At least Mom will be home, Jenelle thought. She’ll know what I can do. I always feel better after talking things over with her.
At home, she quickly found her mother in the kitchen. “What am I going to do?” she asked once she’d told her mother the whole story.
Mom put her arm around Jenelle’s shoulders. “You have to decide what’s more important to you—going to your friend’s party or obeying the commandments.”
Jenelle sighed. She knew what she should do. That didn’t make it any easier, though. She didn’t want to hurt her friend’s feelings. And more than anything, she wanted to go to the party. Almost more than anything, she thought. She couldn’t break one of the commandments, especially when the prophet had spoken about the importance of keeping the Sabbath Day holy in a general conference talk.
She knew what she had to do. After school the next day, she hurried home and wrapped the present she’d made for Michelle, then walked to her friend’s house.
“I made you something special for your birthday. I’m sorry I can’t come to your birthday party. It’s because it’s on a Sunday.”
Michelle tore open the paper and held up a birdhouse. “This is great! You made this all by yourself?”
Jenelle nodded. “At Primary activity day.” She told Michelle about Primary and the activity days for girls her age.
Michelle showed Jenelle the bathing suit she had bought for the party.
Jenelle looked at the pretty aqua suit and smiled. She had looked at the same one last week while shopping with her mother.
“So what’s the big deal about your going swimming on Sunday?” Michelle asked after putting the suit away. “We’ll be going in the afternoon, after your church lets out.”
“The prophet said that we need to keep the Sabbath Day holy.”
“What does that mean?” Michelle asked.
“It means we don’t shop on Sunday or go swimming or to ball games—stuff like that.”
“What do you do?”
“We go to church, spend time with our families, listen to music. Read the scriptures.” She smiled, remembering last Sunday. “Sometimes my mom and dad take a nap.”
Michelle frowned. “Who is this prophet? Why do you have to do what he says?”
“He’s the President of the Church.”
“So he’s like the boss?”
Jenelle smiled again. She’d never heard the prophet described as a boss, but she supposed it made sense to people who weren’t members of the Church.
“What makes the prophet so special?” Michelle asked.
“He teaches us things Heavenly Father wants us to know.”
“You mean he talks with God?”
“Yes,” Jenelle answered firmly. She knew that a lot of people had a hard time understanding that.
“Does he have a name?”
“Right now the prophet is Gordon B. Hinckley.”
“Do you have to do everything he says?”
“We don’t have to. We choose to,” Jenelle said, hoping Michelle understood.
“Could you come to my birthday party next year if it was on Saturday?”
Jenelle hugged her friend. “I’m already counting the days till then!”

“Blast that girl!” said Arnie to himself. “Blast me, too! And blast everything that has to do with that stupid art show.”
He glanced upward towards heaven. “Why?” he asked. “Why on the day before the biggest art show of my life does she have to come to my school? What did I do wrong? What did I do to deserve this?”
Not receiving any answer, Arnie looked down at the pad he held in his hand. The beginnings of a little boy playing in the sand were sketched lightly in blue. Oh, yes, the picture would be a good one, one of his best. It would make a nice finale to his entry in the contest. But it was nothing compared to Jana Lee Smithy’s paintings in oil!
Arnie grimaced. If only she had arrived two days later! Then the judging would have been over and the art student-of-the-year award would have been his. After that Miss Jana Lee could have been the best art student in the school; it wouldn’t have mattered. But no. There she was. And she was brilliant.
Arnie threw down his pencil and groaned audibly. He glanced around the small park where he drew many of his sketches and collected ideas. What a waste of a beautiful day! But how could he be content to turn in just four drawings? Jana Lee Smithy was going to show four completed oil paintings, each a vision of color and light. When her paintings were unveiled in the morning and the school compared hers to his slight “sketches,” Arnie knew how his classmates would react. “Well,” they would say, “Arnie’s not quite as good as he makes out to be, is he?” And people would nod in assent and then never stop talking about what a genius Jana Lee was.
Arnie looked at the small boy who was unknowingly modeling for his sketch. Hurriedly and quietly the boy was building himself a castle. Tiny hands moved quickly and knowingly through the granules of yellow dirt. Wary of sand too dry or sand too wet, the boy’s small fingers gathered piles of sand together and molded them into turrets and walls. Broken twigs served as posts and pillars and flags for the castle.
Arnie wasn’t sure what everything the boy made was, but it was certainly immense. When Arnie began his drawing, the little fellow had just begun the main building. Now stables, dogs’ houses, an armory, and finally a great wall had been formed. The child was amazing. Or, thought Arnie, he would be until something better came along. Then the castle would be merely a trifle, something to be forgotten—like Arnie would be after tomorrow.
Arnie frowned and looked at his drawing. Despite its unfinished quality, he felt tempted to just leave it as it was. Nothing could help him now. Numbers of drawings couldn’t change the quality of Jana Lee’s work. Finally, discipline got the better of him. He picked up the blue pencil and finished the final details of the picture.
After another 45 minutes the picture was finished. Arnie smiled at the little figure in the drawing. The contentment on the child’s face was contagious, and Arnie grinned. It was a futile effort, he knew, like the sand castle whose immortality would lie in the little boy’s heart rather than in the park. But, like the child, Arnie felt a glow at having done a good job. The glow wasn’t big enough to fill the emptiness he felt at being a failure, but it was nice nonetheless. He gathered up his pencils and put them in their case. Carefully, he stood and, with a nod to the little boy, headed for home.
By the time Arnie reached his street, the slight high that finishing the drawing had given him was gone. Even the coziness of the familiar, flower-lined path that led to his front door had no effect. There’s not much that can make a failure happy, he reflected. The sounds of family that echoed in the air didn’t help, either. In fact, the thought of seeing his hopeful mother, proud father, and admiring sister made him want to hide. They’d all had such high hopes for him. And now he was letting them down. Arnie stood on the doorstep for a second trying to decide whether or not to tell them that he’d seen the winning entries, halfway hidden behind Mr. Olsen’s desk, and they weren’t his. Arnie shook his head. He didn’t want their sympathy. He opened the door.
“I’m home,” he called.
Sheryll, his sister, bounded past him on her way to the kitchen. “You don’t say?” she laughed over her shoulder. “I never would have guessed.”
Arnie grimaced at her. Sisters. Freshmen. Two deadly ingredients when combined. He put his supplies down on the floor and headed for the stairs. His mother’s voice caught him two steps up.
“You’re not going to leave your things here in the hall, are you?” He turned around and looked into his mother’s warning brown eyes. Arnie grinned sheepishly.
“Me?”
She nodded. “My visiting teachers are coming over tonight.” Arnie looked knowingly at her. “Not,” she said, raising her voice as well as her eyebrows, “that that should make any difference.”
“Of course not, Mom,” Arnie replied. He gathered his things up and took them with him to his room. Carefully, he put the drawing on his desk and his kit on the floor. Shutting his door carefully behind him, he made his way to the bathroom where he washed his hands. As he did so, he tried to smile in the mirror. It didn’t do any good. His brown hair looked unruly, his eyes dim, and his face ruddy. What a depressing sight! If my eyes looked any redder … He shrugged off the thought. What had he to complain about? He wasn’t hoping to make a living with his face, just his hands.
“Which,” he said to the face in the mirror, “are proving to be betraying assets.” Arnie went down to dinner.
As the family took their places after the prayer, Arnie’s father looked over the mashed potatoes at his son.
“So, are you ready for tomorrow, Arnie?” he asked. Arnie choked on a pea.
When his coughing had subsided he replied, “About as ready as I’m going to get, Dad.”
“Then you should be plenty ready,” said his mother.
“What were you doing this afternoon?” asked Sheryll.
“I was drawing at the park.” Arnie looked down at his plate. “I thought one more piece might help me in the contest.”
“That smacks of overkill,” said his father.
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” said Arnie.
“Besides,” said Sheryll, “everybody in school knows how good he is. All my friends like his stuff. One more drawing will be …”
“One more drawing,” interrupted Arnie. “Enough. Isn’t there anything else to talk about?”
His mother looked at him with concern. “Are you feeling all right, Arnie?”
“Just nerves, dear,” said his father. But still, even as he spoke, Mr. Wells looked at his son with a searching look.
Arnie ducked his father’s gaze and stuck his fork into his mouth. Oops, he thought as his father’s look changed to one of amazement. I should have put something on the fork first.
“Arnie, if there’s anything …”
Frustrated, Arnie stood up. “May I be excused? I’m finished. And I’ve got to mount this last drawing.”
He could see by the surprised looks on the faces of his family that they were amazed by the sudden outburst. He continued, “I’ll be in my room.” Arnie backed out of the room and fled up the stairs.
“Well, at least they only doubted my sanity,” Arnie said to himself as he shut and locked the door behind him. “They don’t have to doubt my abilities until tomorrow.”
He looked forlornly at the drawing on his desk. “Ah, friend, if you only knew what humiliation you will face tomorrow, you wouldn’t smile so much.”
The little boy grinned at him happily. The scripture in 2 Nephi flashed into Arnie’s mind. “And men are, that they might have joy” (2 Ne. 2:25). Arnie frowned. Well, he thought, joy certainly hasn’t been my cellmate these last few hours! What’s there to be joyful about? Instead of a talent made out of silk, I get one made of a sow’s ear. And I’m supposed to be happy! He shrugged and set about making the results of his poor talent presentable.
When he finished, Arnie put his five entries on his bed and looked at them one at a time. Each of them was pleasant to look at. The laughter and light in them was enough to make any viewer smile. Each drawing represented a lot of effort. It was a pity that they would go to waste. Arnie shook his head and readied himself for bed.
After placing the five drawings and his books near the door, Arnie knelt to say his nightly prayer. “Heavenly Father,” he began. But his mind went numb. Arnie had always trusted his Father in Heaven, but this night he found it difficult to bare his soul. Before, he’d always known of his worth as a child of God. He’d never had any reason to doubt. But now, Arnie wasn’t everything that he thought he was. It was a little difficult to explain to Heavenly Father that things were different and that Arnie wasn’t quite the person he thought he had been.
Finally, after many minutes of silence, only one thing came to his mind. “I don’t understand,” he said softly, “why I am what I am. But I must be of some importance, despite my faults. Help me be happy.”
Arnie paused, then closed his prayer. He climbed slowly into bed, and after tossing and turning for a long while, drifted into sleep.
The next morning dawned much too early for Arnie’s likes. I’m not any happier, he thought, than I was last night. But he did feel a little more distanced from the despair than he had felt the night before. His drawings, as he looked at them one more time before leaving the house, didn’t look quite as inelegant as they had seemed. Still, they weren’t going to win any awards. Arnie still wasn’t quite good enough to be what was expected.
Despite Sheryll’s chatter in the car, Arnie maintained a stony silence on the way to school. Luckily, his lively sister was so excited about the competition, the weather, and her best friend’s new boyfriend, that it would have been impossible for him to have said anything had he wanted to. Finally, the ride was over. He said good-bye to his father and sister and escaped down the hall to the art department.
Voices could be heard behind the wood door as Arnie approached. He really didn’t want to see anybody just yet and was about to turn away when the door opened.
“Ah, Arnie,” said Mr. Olsen. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Arnie smiled weakly.
Mr. Olsen beamed at him. “I was just going to take Jana Lee down to where she’ll be hanging her paintings. But maybe you can show her.”
Great, thought Arnie, now I’m a glorified hall monitor.
Mr. Olsen continued. “Since you and Jana will be hanging your works next to each other, that should I make things easier for all of us. That’ll be all right, won’t it?”
Arnie nodded.
“Good.”
Arnie sighed and turned around. He heard the sound of Jana Lee’s feet behind him.
“Wait a second, Arnie,” she said as she reached his side. Arnie turned to give her one of his pained looks. But when he saw her he stopped.
Jana Lee smiled and adjusted the paintings which had started to slip. But that wasn’t what stopped him. It wasn’t the paintings either, though they were as magnificent as ever. It was something that he saw in her eye, something that he recognized. Her eyes were as red-rimmed as his own.
Why? he thought. What had she to worry about? When she was ready, they headed towards the library. Neither said another word, though Arnie saw her looking at him once as he glanced at her.
As Arnie thought about what he had seen and what it meant, something occurred to him that he had never thought of before. In the parable of the talents, different talents were given to the servants: five talents, two talents, and one talent. Arnie had always just assumed that some people were five-talent people and some people were two-talent people. But what he knew when the image of Jana Lee’s overworked eyes sank deep into his heart was that most people started out with both talents and potential for talents. Just because you didn’t have five talents the first day didn’t mean you couldn’t have them—if you worked. Didn’t the Lord say, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant” to the man who began with two talents? He had started with two and had come away with four. He had done good work.
Arnie was also a worker. Perhaps, today, Arnie had two talents. But, as he thought back, he’d only begun with one. Perhaps next time, at the next competition, Arnie would have a five-talent art like Jana Lee. She, as he saw in her eyes, had worked for hers. He, as he knew in his heart, could work for his. And with that revelation, being pleased with his own work, Arnie was, for the first time in a long time, content.
He and Jana Lee reached the wall where they would hang up their works. After he helped her with the paintings, Jana Lee helped him with his drawings. When they reached the last one, that of the boy in the sand, Jana Lee smiled.
“This one’s really good,” she said. “Who was the model? He’s got such a knowing look on his face.”
“I don’t know who he was,” replied Arnie. “But he was a smart kid. And he built a great sand castle.”

If Mom’s sweet tooth was a problem, her real teeth gave her fits! She had one stubborn tooth that was constantly ragged and broken. Fred had tried hardening it, sawing it off, and filing it down. Nothing worked. It kept breaking and cutting her cheek. Finally, Old Mom took matters into her own hands. She found an old rag and packed the offending tooth. Then, apparently knowing that there was danger in swallowing the rag, she unpacked the tooth at mealtimes and laid the rag at her feet. After eating, she carefully repacked it. From then on, Fred always saw to it that Old Mom had a fresh supply of clean rags.

The smell of lasagna filled the kitchen as Chrissy’s family sat down at the table. She quietly bowed her head as her father gave the prayer. After the prayer, Mother began to serve the lasagna while Father asked what everyone had learned in church that day.
Greta and Roger, Chrissy’s older sister and brother, had learned about Emma Smith, the Prophet Joseph’s wife. They said that Emma was called an “elect lady” by Jesus Christ.
Chrissy asked, “What’s an elect lady?”
Father explained, “An elect lady is a woman who is very special because she has been chosen or set apart by Heavenly Father.”
Chrissy smiled because she liked Emma Smith and was happy that Jesus Christ had called her an elect lady. Chrissy knew that Emma had been a very courageous person.
When it was Chrissy’s turn to tell what she had learned in Primary, her smile disappeared and her eyes filled with tears. She sobbed, “I wish I only had to sing two songs on Sunday like my friend Jaimey does at her church. I don’t want to sing in Primary anymore.”
“You used to love singing,” Mother said. “What happened?”
“Eric said I sing too loud. He says singing is silly.”
Mother stood up and left the kitchen. In a moment, she came back carrying her triple combination. When she found what she was searching for in it, she asked Chrissy, “Did you know that Emma Smith was given her very own revelation from the Lord?” Chrissy shook her head. “Well,” Mother continued, “Section twenty-five of the Doctrine and Covenants is Emma’s very own revelation, and in it Jesus Christ tells her some very special things.”
“Is that where He calls her an elect lady?”
“Yes, that’s right. It also talks about a calling Emma received from Him. Did you know that He asked her to make the very first hymnbook for the Church? He knew that she would be good at collecting hymns for the Saints to sing. After He asked her to make a hymnbook, the Lord told her something very special about singing. Would you like to hear what He said?”
At Chrissy’s nod, Mother read verse twelve: “‘For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads.’” [D&C 25:12] Mother put the book down and asked everyone at the table, “Who knows what that verse means?”
Roger smiled and said, “That means Jesus Christ likes to hear us sing.”
“That’s right, Roger,” Father said. “It also means a song is like a prayer. We are always reverent during prayers because we are speaking with our Heavenly Father. Hymns are just like prayers, and that is why it is important to sing with all our hearts.”
Chrissy smiled as she thought about how Emma Smith had obeyed Jesus Christ and made Him happy. She thought of Eric and the mean things he had said. She decided that she would be like Emma and have the courage to do what is right. “I can’t wait for church next Sunday,” she announced. “I’m going to sing with all my heart. I am going to make Jesus happy.”

Even the herding of the sheep and the clipping of the wool was often done by the girls, particularly when they had no brothers or their brothers had other work to do. Many girls had some herding experience, and a few did all the herding. Minerva Stone herded her father’s little band of 15 or 20 sheep on the bench east of Ogden. Her work included feeding and raising the lambs whose mothers disowned them. In getting the sheep back to her home each evening, she often followed paths lined with cockleburs. She was barefooted.
“I would hesitate,” she wrote, “and wonder whether it be the least painful to run over the burrs or to walk slowly. Running would be more acute, but sooner ended, while walking slowly would prolong my misery. However my supply of shoe leather [the souls of her naked feet] was inexhaustible. As soon as one thickness would wear off, another would grow in its place.”

In the Japanese translation of the hymn “Called to Serve” (Hymns, no. 249), the English words onward and forward are translated as susume. That word has significant meaning for me because of something that happened a few years ago when I was a stake president in Fukuoka, Japan.
The President of the Church, Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008), was visiting, and I was asked to accompany him. During one meeting, 300 full-time missionaries gathered to listen to the prophet. The Holy Spirit filled the chapel, and many of us shed tears of joy. We sang “Called to Serve” in Japanese, repeating over and over again susume, susume. President Hinckley asked the mission president, seated next to him, “What does susumemean?”
“It means ‘go forward,’” the mission president replied.
The meeting was wonderful. President Hinckley encouraged and motivated the missionaries. Afterward, he waved to them in farewell and left the building. As he got into my car to go back to the hotel, he said one word to me, in Japanese: “Susume!”
That word became a motto for me: “Go forward! Be positive! Face the future with faith!” It is the same message given to the youth of the Church in the concluding section of For the Strength of Youth. After reviewing the blessings that come from obedience to the Lord’s standards, in a section titled “Go Forward with Faith,” it says: “As you do these things, the Lord will make much more out of your life than you can by yourself. He will increase your opportunities, expand your vision, and strengthen you. He will give you the help you need to meet your trials and challenges. You will gain a stronger testimony and find true joy as you come to know your Father in Heaven and His Son, Jesus Christ, and feel Their love for you” ([2011], 43).

Matthew’s family went to New York City for spring break. He saw some really cool things—the Statue of Liberty, the Manhattan Temple, and a lot more. But he saw one thing that definitely wasn’t cool: a huge ad on a building with a really immodest picture on it.
Matthew turned his head away. But the picture stuck in his mind. He tried thinking about other things. But that just reminded him of what he was trying to forget!
As weeks passed, he got more and more frustrated. Then one night at dinner Mom said something that made things even worse.
“Matthew, I can’t believe you’re almost 12,” she said. “It’s time to have your bishop’s interview for the Aaronic Priesthood.”
Dad smiled at Matthew. “I’ll call and set it up.”
Matthew stopped eating. What if he wasn’t worthy to be a deacon because he couldn’t forget the bad picture? Mom and Dad kept smiling and talking. They didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong.
A few days later Matthew overheard Mom talking to Grandma on the phone. “Matthew seems to be worried about turning 12,” she said. “Maybe he’s worried about passing the sacrament.”
So Mom had noticed! Would he get in trouble if she knew what was really wrong?
After Mom said bye to Grandma, Matthew sat down on the couch. “I heard you talking about me seeming worried and stuff.” He took a deep breath. Then he blurted everything out. About how hard he’d tried to forget what he’d seen, but couldn’t.
“Maybe I’m not ready to be a deacon,” he said.
Mom put her arm around him. “First, you need to know that you didn’t sin by seeing that picture. It wasn’t your fault. Also, being worthy doesn’t mean being perfect.”
Part of Matthew’s worry disappeared, but not all. “So then why is it so hard to get that picture out of my head? Why does it make me feel so bad?”
“Well, it still hurt your spirit. And it might take a while for those thoughts to fade away,” Mom said. “But the great news is that Jesus Christ’s Atonement can help heal us from everything, even things that aren’t our fault. Do you remember the scripture you learned for the Primary program?”
“Yeah—Alma 7:11. It says that Jesus takes people’s pains and sicknesses.”
“That means He can help you feel better again,” Mom said. “You’ve felt a lot of pain lately, haven’t you?”
“Yeah,” Matthew said.
“Well, you can pray and ask for His help. And you can have faith that He wants to help you and can help you. You can’t do it by yourself.”
Matthew nodded. The whole time he’d been fighting bad thoughts, he hadn’t wanted to pray. He’d felt too embarrassed.
That night, he knelt and asked Heavenly Father to help him stop thinking about what he’d seen and to help him feel worthy to have the Aaronic Priesthood. Then he fell asleep faster than he had in a long time.
On Sunday, Matthew got dressed for his interview with the bishop. He felt happy and thankful for Jesus Christ’s Atonement. Now when the bishop asked if he was ready to receive the priesthood, he knew he could answer, “Yes!”

Team sports for girls are often criticized because of the feelings of rivalry between teams and the harsh attitudes that sometimes develop. Mechelle recognizes this and has learned to cope with it: “Some girls do get ‘tough’—there is a lot of strain and tension. But our basketball team, which is all LDS, tries to keep its cool. Once there was an awful lot of tension in a game, and we all felt it. Afterwards, I said, ‘Hey, you guys, let’s go talk to them.’ Now we’re really good friends with that team.”

Rookies Kenny, Jacob, and Harlan may have made the Little League Angel Park Dodgers team, but they still have problems. In Making the Team, even though they ace the tryouts, they still have to prove to the older guys that they, the rookies, really are good. In Big Base Hit, Harlan is going to be kicked off the team if he doesn’t come through for it. Find out how the team got out of its awful slump in Winning Streak. In What a Catch! veteran player Brian will have to quit the team unless he can show his dad that he can play well. Jacob and Harlan are convinced that Kenny thinks that he is too good for them in Rookie Star.Dean Hughes7–11 years

In March 2024 when the weather was still quite chilly, the Chorley 2nd Ward of the Chorley Stake, led by Elders Quorum President Martin Cook and other members of the ward, completed an outdoor Service Activity in Cuerden Valley Park, Lancashire.
Ms. Laurance McCormick, a neighbour of Brother and Sister Wild, approached them and asked if our Church members would be willing to help clear a totally overgrown area within the park so that wild flowers could be planted. There is a big push around the country to do this as it helps bees and other insects to thrive. Brother Cook contacted Laurance and offered our help, which then led to a meeting with one of the park rangers, Phil. Tools, health and safety equipment, and even hot chocolate were to be provided.
On the day of the service, Saturday 9th March 2024, ward members met with Phil as well as Liam and Andrew, two other park rangers. Instruction was given by the rangers and they split the 24 members, full time missionaries and one non-member into 3 working parties. It was very hard work, but fun nevertheless, with new friendships developing and old friendships strengthened. By 11:30am most of the work was done, and what a difference the concerted efforts had made. Everyone felt rewarded by the work and difference that had been made. All was cleared and made ready for the planting.
Some days later Martin got a message from Phil, thanking him and all the wonderful hardworking members. They said that the day was a fantastic success, with all the goals achieved and the team would be welcome to check back in three or four months when the flowers are blooming.
Service in the community is a blessing to all and a bridge builder for missionary work. Those undertaking this wonderful service included Bishop Shead, the Lewis family, Peter and Luke Fagg, Thomas Warburton and Cassius Rosslee, Lauren Gladwinfield, Bryan and Linda Loynes, Stephen Harrison, James Bradley, David Brown, Dan Dudley, Peter Wilson, Nick Wild, Jo Hughes, Bradley Whitfield, Laurence McCormick, Helen Hughes, Terence Kendell and Martin Cook.

Consider, for example, the case of one Latter-day Saint couple I worked with, John and Susan.
Several years after they were married, John began to drink. Susan, because of her love for him, tried everything she could think of to make him stop. She would hide his liquor or his wallet and try to keep him away from drinking friends. Repeatedly when he came home drunk she explained away his unusual behavior to others. She would call his boss and make excuses: “John has a touch of the flu. I’m afraid he can’t come to work today.” She also began lying to the children, saying, “Dad’s just having trouble at work and is under a lot of pressure.”
The children soon realized what was going on. Because of the pressure at home they stopped bringing friends over, and they protected their father by hiding his behavior or making excuses for his behavior.
Susan was also ashamed to go to the bishop. How could she possibly tell him that John was drinking?
This story, or one similar to it, is re-enacted over and over. And a surprising number of people may get involved. The bishop may begin to provide meals and clothing when family resources are depleted. Friends at work may try to make it seem that his work is getting done or assume extra responsibilities so that men like John won’t lose their jobs. Employers may ignore shoddy performance or give the person repeated chances because they feel it would be unchristian to fire him: “What would happen to his family if I did?”
These behaviors usually prove to be destructive. They shield a person from the consequences of his behavior and make it convenient for him to continue drinking.
One of the first steps in helping families like John and Susan’s is to reach Susan and the others involved and help them eliminate those elements of their supportive behavior that make the problem worse. They have to learn how to exercise “tough love,” which I define as doing what has to be done even though it hurts, or not doing something for others that they should do for themselves.
“Tough love” isn’t always easy. It isn’t easy to break the silence and confront a loved one in a firm spirit of love and helpfulness. It can be extremely painful for a woman to leave her husband all night in the chair where he passed out, and to make him clean up after himself in the morning. It’s hard for children to say to their friends, “Mom’s drunk,” instead of making excuses for her.
And it’s hard to always be sure of yourself when you’re dealing with someone who has become an expert at shifting responsibility to others. As a matter of survival, drinkers become expert manipulators. John, for example, manipulated Susan into believing that it was her fault that he drank.
She was hurt inwardly and became more and more resentful—until she learned what he was actually doing. When it was impressed upon her that one person can’t make another become a problem drinker, she began to take control of her feelings and was thus able to avoid manipulation and the bitterness that sometimes follows such manipulation.
One way or another, a drinker must assume responsibility for (in other words, suffer the consequences of) his negative behavior before he or she can be motivated to change.
Unfortunately, the very teachings that instruct the Saints not to drink may cause us to develop harmful attitudes about those who fall into the alcohol trap. Harsh opinions, injudicious labeling of the drinker, and misunderstandings about alcohol and what it does to people commonly interfere with our ability to help.
Consider the rejection John felt when he attended a Church activity and a couple nearby got up and moved because they could smell liquor on his breath. This doesn’t always happen, of course; but when it does happen, the hurt felt by a person like John can be intense. He needs to be helped, not ignored.
I have discovered that we can be helpful to another when we view the drinker as a child of God with the same eternal worth as any other person, but one who has a disease and needs appropriate help. This is a time when love, concern, and acceptance are needed more than at any other time.
Let’s compare John’s experiences with those of a Latter-day Saint teenager named David.
In open defiance and rebellion against his father, David stole the family car. Succumbing to the excitement of high speed, he failed to negotiate a turn, rolled the car several times, and was critically injured. Fortunately, those who were riding with him received only minor injuries.
The family and ward members fasted and prayed for David’s recovery. He was given a special blessing by his home teachers and was visited often in the hospital. Even the other young men in the accident and their parents visited and expressed hope for his recovery. Although David was left somewhat crippled and scarred, he recovered and everyone thanked the Lord for preserving his life.
David had made a serious mistake, but he received the support he needed at a critical time in his life. John’s experience was much different, however. When John finally acknowledged that he needed help and was admitted to a local drug and alcohol treatment center, only his wife visited him. Ward members did not fast and pray for his recovery. He was not given a special priesthood blessing. And when returned from the center, he found that people around him were apprehensive, uncertain, and doubted that he could stay sober.
I have learned that pure love, personal fellowship, and increased understanding can bless the lives of those suffering the effects of alcohol as much as they can bless the lives of those suffering from other problems.
Perhaps the hardest part of being supportive to a problem drinker in his struggle to overcome alcoholism is learning to accept relapses without being upset or discouraged. Recovery takes time, and usually there are setbacks and disappointments. Often there is a great temptation to simply give up—to feel that all your hopes have been wasted and that all progress has been for naught.
The difficult thing is to maintain perspective—to be able to stand back mentally and view the problem from a position of control, instead of feeling mentally trapped in narrow confines with nowhere to turn. Family members must learn to relax and to accept small improvements, always maintaining hope that this family problem can be overcome, and sharing that hope with one another. Of course, they must continually seek divine help. The Lord can bless us with insight far beyond our own, and increased testimony of the gospel can give us strength to endure.
Patience and perseverance will help the family to continue in love and encouragement after a relapse instead of being demeaning and discouraging.
This does not mean that we will always be successful in influencing a loved one to stop drinking. The principles still apply, though. And if the problem drinker is unable to solve his problem, at least our own lives will be improved.
A great deal of heartache can be avoided if non-drinking family members will get early help. It is important that everyone involved take the initiative to learn all they can about alcohol, the process of addiction, and the ways in which family members and others unintentionally contribute to continued drinking.
For non-drinking family members, potential resources include home teachers, quorum leaders, the bishop, and other concerned priesthood and Relief Society leaders, and members who are reformed drinkers.
For the drinker, in addition to the above resources, there are groups who specialize in helping people with drinking problems such as Alcoholics Anonymous and other similar resources. It is vital to know that in many cases recovery without the help of professional programs to overcome drinking is virtually impossible. Help for alcohol-related problems is available in most communities if affected families seek assistance.
Application of the above guidelines, although challenging, has given many families a meaningful course to follow and has led to some beautiful experiences. Seeing a person overcome an alcohol problem and watching a family unite once again is a wonderful thing.
The Lord’s declaration that “the worth of souls is great” and that “great shall be (our) joy” if we bring “save it be one soul” (D&C 18:10, 15) is certainly true of our labors with those who have alcohol addiction. With the help of the Lord, we can bless the lives of those who are affected by alcohol, offering them real hope for recovery.