Gospel Story Finder

The energetic little girl hurried past Micah and his friends toward the carnival’s train ride. Some in the crowd stared at the brace on her leg. A couple of Micah’s friends mimicked her limp and laughed.
“Hey, don’t, you guys,” Micah told them firmly. “That’s mean.”
Jason shrugged. “So what? We’re not hurting anyone. She can’t even see us.” He went on limping.
“Yeah, she’s too busy running for the train,” Matthew chimed in, swinging his leg stiffly.
“What’s it to you, anyway?” Jason asked. “We’re not making fun of you.”
Micah shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget how it felt to want to be just like everyone else and to not be able to. The hurt from people laughing at you is pretty tough to get over, too. I don’t like to make fun of people—even if they can’t see it. It’s just wrong.”
The boys reached the train ride as the little girl with the brace was getting off. A couple of girls about Micah’s age stared at her but didn’t say anything until she was out of hearing. Then they started making jokes.
“She can’t help wearing that,” Matthew told them.
“What if something like that happened to you?” Jason added. “How would you feel?”
The girls blushed. “Sorry,” one of them said. “Is she your sister or something?”
“I don’t know her,” Micah told them, “but I know that she has feelings.”
“Next time we’ll be kinder,” another girl promised.
“Good for you,” Matthew said. “So will we.”

When two missionaries knocked on the door of Judy Marie’s home in 1996, they found a humble family, ready to listen to the gospel. “The missionaries spoke about the gospel, the Prophet Joseph Smith, and the Book of Mormon,” she says. Although Judy Marie; her mother; her brother Javier, age 13; and her sister, Marie Carida, age 12, heard the discussions and accepted the gospel together, Judy Marie’s own conversion was a deeply personal experience. “When I prayed, Heavenly Father gave me answers,” she says. “It was very beautiful, and I felt the Spirit very strongly.”
Judy Marie compares the story of the tree of life in 1 Nephi 8 [1 Ne. 8] to her own conversion. “When the missionaries taught us about the gospel, they showed us the fruit and brought us out of the darkness,” she says. “I remember when Elder Joshua Carter baptized me and Elder Joshua Smith confirmed me. I felt I was born again, mentally and spiritually. I know I am a daughter of God.”

I will always be grateful for the wonderful example Margaret's father, John Steele, provided in this regard. We had been away at graduate school only a few short months when Margaret dropped me off at school one morning but then on the way home had an accident. Knowing how little money we had in our budget, she was in tears and went to the nearest phone and called her father. I can still remember his response: What are you calling me for? Steve's your husband. Don't call me, call him! Thus while he loved his daughter dearly, he was wise enough to know that Margaret and I needed to trust and rely on each other, whatever the situation. We needed to cleave unto [each other] and to none else.

I was not feeling the Christmas spirit. It was December of my senior year in high school, and college applications and my final Laurel project loomed before me. I hoped to find a volunteer opportunity that would flesh out my college applications and double as my Laurel project. Luckily my student council adviser asked my friend Jessica and me if we would organize a school toy drive for a local charity.
I delegated most of the work to the project committee. I had them create a bulletin board featuring a large thermometer that indicated the number of toys donated. We thought that was enough advertising, and we spent each lunch period collecting donations. Students donated few toys, however, and the thermometer remained low.
Strangely, our adviser began setting aside some toys. When Jessica and I asked what she planned to do with them, she told us that a teacher at the school had recently been diagnosed with cancer. After struggling to teach while going through treatment, he had decided to take a leave from work. With the holidays approaching and medical bills piling up, his family wouldn’t have much of a Christmas. Our adviser suggested that we wrap the set-aside presents for them.
My heart was touched. I had been looking at my service project as a means to serve only myself, not others. I decided to triple our goal for donated toys and to start a monetary collection for the teacher and his family.
Jessica and I visited classrooms and championed our cause. The response was enormous. Teachers, staff, and students gave toys and money to help the family. We soon surpassed our toy goal, which amazed the charity. We also collected more than $1,000 for the family.
As we carefully wrapped the gifts we had collected and purchased, I realized that the testimony of service I was receiving was just as great as the gifts we were giving. I can’t express the thrill I felt as we secretly watched the family discover the gifts we had anonymously left on their porch.
A few months later, Jessica and I were asked to teach a seminar on service projects. We explained what we had done without mentioning the teacher’s name. A girl raised her hand and stood. Tears flowed as she spoke. The teacher was her uncle, and she described how much our service had meant to him. She said it was an answer to his prayers.
What a joy it was that holiday season to come together in heartfelt service and know we had made a difference.

High wind warnings for northern Utah were making a lot of people nervous, but not Matt Hansen, 17, and his dad Barry. To them, it sounded like perfect weather. They shared a love of windsurfing, and the news that high winds were coming was like music to their ears.
“When a windsurfer hears that the wind is going to be blowing hard, that’s when you drop everything and go. In Utah, the wind rarely blows over 40 miles per hour. So when we heard the wind would be blowing, we packed up and went.”
Barry called his brother Drew, and they made plans to go to Utah Lake. Barry also took his two daughters, Nicole and Natalie, because they liked to play on the beach.
When they arrived at the lake, it was disappointing. “We got there and the water was almost glassy,” said Matt. “I wasn’t even going to rig up my sail or put on my wetsuit.”
Barry decided to go out because he is not quite as good a windsurfer as his son and his brother. He has fun with the winds blowing between 10 and 15 mph. “It finally started blowing hard enough for Matt. He’s quite a bit better than I am, so he likes to be out in 20 to 40 mile-per-hour winds. I was tired, so I went in and was lifting my board up onto the beach. By then Drew and Matt were about three-quarters of a mile out. In a matter of two or three minutes, the wind shifted, going from 20 mph to what I estimate was about 60 mph. I knew they were in trouble. There was no way they could sail in that kind of wind. The waves went from three-foot swells to so high I couldn’t see over the tops. It was blowing hard and kept building and building. I could occasionally see my brother, but I couldn’t see Matt.”
In the water, Matt felt the wind shift. When the high winds hit, he saw his uncle heading in. “I was in the water waiting for a gust so I could water start. That’s where your sail pulls you up. Then the wind started picking up. I tried to hold on, but it was too strong. I thought it was a microburst, and I could wait a minute for it to pass. Usually the wind won’t blow that hard that long. I looked at the clouds coming from the mountains. I knew it wasn’t a microburst, and it wasn’t going to stop.”
Matt was right. The wind was not going to stop for several hours. In fact, the wind wreaked havoc, blowing down dozens of trees, toppling trucks, shearing power poles, and ripping apart roofs throughout northern Utah. The wind would be clocked as high as 86 mph in places, hurricane velocity.
On the lake, Matt was just a speck on the water. “Quick as I could, I tried to save my boom; that’s what you hold onto on your sail. I got it off and detached my sail from my board and let my sail take off. I went to grab my boom to put it on top of my board to swim it in. The wind caught my board, and it took off. I dropped my boom and went after my board. It’s my best flotation device besides my life jacket. I looked back and my boom and sail were gone, so I started swimming with one hand on my board. I would get glimpses of the shore, but it was blowing so hard that if I tried to look at the shore, the spray off the waves would hit me in the eyes and face.
“I had been swimming for half an hour, and I felt like I wasn’t making any progress at all. I thought to myself, Any decisions I have to make, I have to make them right now before hypothermia kicks in. After a while I won’t be able to make the decisions very well or very wisely. I told myself everything I was going to do, over and over.”
The situation was similar to what Matt had been taught in church. Make your decisions before the moment of crisis. Make your decisions when you can think clearly. Then when faced with the critical moment, the right decision to carry you through will already be made.
“After an hour of swimming, I felt I was a little closer to shore. It never crossed my mind to stop. I had a life jacket and board. I was not stopping. Wherever I ended up, it was not going to be in the water. I was starting to get cold. I knew hypothermia was coming. It was getting harder to think. I had to concentrate and keep swimming. Then I felt ground underneath me. I thanked the Lord and thought, Now all I have to do is walk.”
In the meantime, Drew had gone to a marina to get a boat, but the high waves swamped the boat when they attempted a rescue. They had to turn back. The sheriff’s office could not send a helicopter up because of the high winds. At home, Matt’s mother, Barbara, was trying desperately to stay calm: “I kept saying, ‘Matt, hang onto the board. Hang onto the board. Keep your strength.’” Then she felt the comfort of the Spirit.
There was nothing to do but wait. Barry drove down the beach and stared at the most horrifying sight he had seen, waves crashing and no trace of Matt. “That’s when I felt absolute despair,” said Barry. “I knew Matt was in very good condition. I knew he knew the rules of safety. But it was getting dark. I knew he couldn’t last too much longer in the cold water. I pleaded with the Lord to temper the elements and bring my son back.”
Just when darkness was about to set in, Barry saw a figure walking toward him. It was Matt. He ran to his son, hugging him. Matt, his face purple with cold, said, “Dad, I love you.” Barry was crying on his son’s shoulder.
That evening, after Matt was reunited with his sisters and mother, the Hansens knelt in family prayer. Matt’s father is his bishop in the Parkview Ward, South Jordan Utah Stake, and rarely had the prayers of thanksgiving been so sincere and given with so much joy by the Hansens and other ward members as those that night.
The Hansens still enjoy windsurfing, but needless to say they are very cautious about weather conditions, particularly on Utah Lake. And Matt knows what it means to make decisions ahead of time, then to keep his eye on his goal and never ever stop until he reaches it.

After I completed my studies at the English Language Center, I was accepted at several universities. I decided to attend Brigham Young University–Idaho and apply for the nursing program. I heard that it was very difficult to get into the program, especially for international students. So I studied my hardest. My friends teased me, saying I should move into the library because I spent so much time there. Even when it closed, I went home and kept studying.
When times were difficult, I remembered the words of President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008): “You need all the education you can get. Sacrifice a car; sacrifice anything that is needed to be sacrificed to qualify yourselves to do the work of the world.”1 I knew those were the words of a prophet of God, and I took them seriously.
When I was accepted to the nursing program, my heart filled with gratitude and happiness. I knew it would be hard and I would have to continue to make sacrifices, but I knew the Lord would be with me.

When Eddy Bourdeau was baptized in 1983, he never imagined one day becoming the district president for the entire country (before its recent division). “I didn’t have a strong conviction at first,” he says. “In fact, I was apprehensive about receiving the Aaronic Priesthood.”

Then he read several books on Church history that increased his dedication. “When I came across an account of the early pioneers who left their homes, countries, even families, to go to an unknown wilderness in Utah, I thought, ‘They traded everything. They wouldn’t sacrifice that much for something that wasn’t true!’”

His subsequent reading of the Book of Mormon added to his conviction that “if they can do it, I can do it, no matter how hard things get.” He now recalls many blessings—such as his returned-missionary wife—that came to him when he decided to devote himself to God. “God provides. He’ll help us here in Haiti,” he says. “But we ask that the members throughout the world pray for us as we try to start over again. We need your prayers.”

I was recently asked to speak about what our family is doing to become a celestial family. My father suggested I speak on how to serve ice cream in a society made up of righteous families. Now maybe you are like me. I didn’t know there was any special way to serve ice cream in such a society until my dad explained it to me.
He first told me to research the subject in the scriptures. But, after failing to find anything about ice cream in the Bible or Doctrine and Covenants, I gave up. I didn’t even look in the Book of Mormon. That was a big mistake, for that is where you find the best discourse on serving ice cream in a truly righteous family. Actually it doesn’t talk much about ice cream. It hits that very lightly. But it does teach you a lot about proper technique in serving ice cream.
Maybe you could understand better if I told you how I used to serve ice cream and then explain the difference.
Since I am a teenager, when dad or mom would ask me to serve everyone some ice cream, the first thing I would do was find me a cereal bowl and stack the ice cream to the teenager level, which is about two inches above the rim. Then I would dish up the ice cream for the rest of my family. However, my brother and sisters are smaller than I, so of course the small ice cream dishes are just about right for them. Rachelle, my 11-year-old sister, thinks she should get a cereal bowl too, which is ridiculous because she isn’t even a teenager yet.
Well, my dad showed me in the Book of Mormon where it explains that my method wouldn’t have made the grade.
In 4 Nephi it tells what it was like after the Savior visited the people in America following his resurrection. After his visit, the people really lived righteous lives. And the way they lived can help us understand how to develop celestial families. It even teaches us how to serve ice cream.
The Book of Mormon, in 4 Nephi, [4 Ne. 1] says that the people had no jealousies, they were not envious, and they had no contentions or disputations among them. They had all things in common, and there were no rich or poor, and there was peace in the land. They went to sacrament and priesthood meetings to hear the word of the Lord, and they continued to fast and pray.
But let’s get back to ice cream! My dad gently explained to me that when I have the standard teenager’s portion, it makes Rachelle and Kristi, my number two sister, jealous and envious. When they get like that, they start giving me all kinds of reasons why they should have as much as I do. Of course, I have to explain to them, loud enough for them to understand, that teenagers need more nourishment than “little girls.” Then they always have a response for that. And I have to reply—in a slightly louder tone, of course.
Well, when I read 4 Nephi, I could see that we were having one of those “disputations” that Nephi was talking about; and the disputation had been caused by a “contention;” and the contention was caused by “envying.”
So you can see that there is a certain way that you have to serve ice cream in a family desiring to be more righteous.
Mom also pointed out something else. If everyone is allowed to have a fair share, according to their needs, then there are really no rich ice cream eaters and no poor ice cream eaters. Having no rich or poor means that everyone has as much as he needs, but he does not have so much more than someone else that they get envious and cause contentions which lead to disputations.
When these disputations are avoided, there really is “peace in the land.” At least there is peace in the family room, and everyone is happier!
When you think about it, this idea has some interesting applications when it comes to who is going to sit where in the car, or who is going to do what in family home evening, or which TV show to watch.
My serving of ice cream has changed since I read 4 Nephi, and I have discovered that to live like they did after Christ’s visit, we have to concentrate on the little things we do day to day and the way we treat each other or think of each other. And you know, it helps me to think of my brother and sisters as much as myself. Mom says there is something about that in the scriptures, too. I suppose I should find that scripture as well.

Juli sat with her friend Sarah in the lunchroom at school.
“I’m worried about going home and seeing my tía,” Juli said.
“Your tía?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah, my aunt. Tía Jenny,” Juli said. “She’s visiting for a while. And I don’t think she likes me very much. She’s really strict, and she never smiles. Even when I smile at her. I just don’t want to upset her.”
“At least you smile,” Sarah said. “Being nice always helps.”
All day Juli kept thinking about what Sarah said.
I guess I could be nicer to Tía Jenny, she thought. That’s what Jesus would do. But Tía Jenny only spoke Spanish. Juli could understand some Spanish, but she couldn’t speak it very well. How could Juli be kind to her aunt when she could barely talk with her?
Mom always said to be patient with people you don’t understand. Juli prayed silently. Heavenly Father, please help me be patient with Tía Jenny. And help me have courage to speak Spanish with her.
When Juli got home from school, she saw a card on the table. She picked it up. It was for Mom and Dad. Oh no! she thought. Today is their anniversary. I totally forgot!
Juli wanted to do something nice for Mom and Dad. But she didn’t know what to do.
She saw Tía Jenny looking around the kitchen.
“Uh … todo bien?” Juli asked. “Is everything OK?”
“Yes,” Tía Jenny said. Then she spoke quickly in Spanish. Juli heard her ask if she was ocupada—busy.
“No, yo no … ocupada. I’m not busy,” Juli said. She felt embarrassed using her broken Spanish. But Tía Jenny smiled. She spoke more slowly so Juli could understand. She said she wanted to make a cake for Mom and Dad’s anniversary, but she needed help.
“I’ll help you!” Juli said. “Vamos! Let’s go.” This was her chance to make something for Mom and Dad! And to get to know her aunt.
Tía Jenny and Juli went to the kitchen. They used hand gestures and simple Spanish to talk. Tía Jenny showed Juli how to make a checkered chocolate-vanilla cake. Juli helped measure the flour and sugar. She also cut the strawberries to go on top. Soon the cake was in the oven. It smelled delicious!
That was pretty fun, Juli thought. But then, as she was cleaning up, she knocked three eggs off the counter. They smashed on the floor and made a gloppy yellow mess.
Juli looked at Tía Jenny nervously. Would she be angry?
But Tía Jenny just laughed. “Qué desorden!” she said. (“What a mess!”)
Juli had never seen Tía Jenny laugh. It made her laugh too. Together they cleaned up the mess.
When Mom and Dad got home, the cake was ready. “Happy anniversary!” Juli said.
“Thank you! This looks delicious. Did you make it all by yourself?” Mom asked.
“No, Tía Jenny and I made it together,” Juli said. She smiled at Tía Jenny. And this time, Tía Jenny smiled back!
A warm feeling spread in Juli’s heart. She was glad Heavenly Father had answered her prayer.

In February 1846, Elder Pratt left the branches in Anaa and Tubuai, bound for the United States. He promised to return with additional missionaries. Four and a half years later, on October 21, 1850, 21 travel-weary Latter-day Saints—seven men, five women, and nine children—arrived on the shores of Tubuai.11 Elder Pratt, called to lead a contingent of missionaries back to the islands, had returned in advance of the rest of the group but was detained by colonial officials in Tahiti who were suspicious of the missionaries. Louisa Barnes Pratt, Elder Pratt’s wife, and their four daughters, however, were with the company. Louisa immediately asked to be introduced to her husband’s “old friends” Telii and Nabota. An older man guided her and the other missionaries to Telii and Nabota’s home, where, despite having been sick for several days, Telii had prepared a feast of pork, fish, po’e (a local dish made from taro root), and fruit. The rest of the evening was spent celebrating their arrival by singing himene late into the night. “The music was delightful,” Louisa said. “Their voices are loud and clear.”12

They are the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of 95-year-old Arthur W. Andersen and his wife Clara, from Provo, Utah. They all began coming to the library in 1972 when Arthur’s oldest daughter, Lyona, had what she considered an inspired idea. For years Lyona had taken upon herself the responsibility for continuing genealogical research for the Andersen family. She had obtained funds from family members (all 15 of Arthur’s children) and had hired professional researchers to help her carry on the work.
One day the thought came to her, “Why not organize things so that all the young cousins in the area can join in and assist us in this important work?” She approached her researcher specializing in English records, Wilma Adkins, and asked if she would be willing to delegate work and supervise all the youth in doing research. Wilma willingly agreed, and since that time the Andersen family has held monthly workshops.
These workshops give many teenagers and adults in the family the opportunity to actually do firsthand research in the Salt Lake Genealogical Library. They have become familiar with how to operate the microfilm machines and how to track down the various microfilms they need. They have struggled over the elaborate and often foreign-looking handwriting contained in these records. And perhaps most important of all, they have felt the joy that comes from discovering a name that others have hunted for for hours, weeks, and sometimes even years.
Lyona recalls an incident with a young cousin, not yet in his teens, who was faithfully poring over census records for a name Wilma had given him. All of a sudden he jumped up and ran to Aunt Lyona, excitement mirrored in his face. “Come look,” he said. “Is this really the name I was looking for?” Lyona quickly conferred with Wilma. It was the very name Wilma had unsuccessfully been seeking for a long time.
Many hugs and congratulations followed, as Wilma and Lyona took special pains to praise and thank him for his unexpected discovery.
Other researchers in the library on these Saturdays, if they took the time to eavesdrop, would hear such boastful comments as, “Hey, Nina, just think! Because of me, John and Mary Stafford can get married in the temple and be sealed for all eternity! What if I hadn’t come today and had gone swimming instead?” Or, “Wilma told me I can read that awful handwriting as well as the people who work here!”
Since 1972, 70 members of the Andersen family have participated at one time or another in these genealogy workshops. Ages range from eight years to 95, the majority in their teens. The 95-year-old helper is Grandpa Andersen himself. Although he can’t actually search (because of failing eyesight), he often shows up, nonetheless, with his wife Clara. Their enthusiastic spirits and encouraging words make their presence as valuable as though they were doing the research themselves. Their grandchildren know how important they consider this work and how pleased they are with each person’s effort.
Through these Saturday workshops, the Andersen family has truly taken seriously the admonitions to do genealogical research. And they are busily engaged in turning “the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers.” (Mal. 4:6.)

Angie Miller is on the volleyball and softball teams. She can encourage the younger students to keep trying even though it can get discouraging. “When I started playing volleyball, I wasn’t very good. I sat on the bench a lot. Then things started clicking. I wouldn’t have the good friends I have now if I had quit. I used to be so shy. People in church helped me a lot. I’m not so self-conscious about what everyone thinks of me now.”

When I was in junior high school, I took a shop class where we would leave our written assignments in a box on the teacher’s desk. He would then grade and return them to that box the next day. One day, I turned in a major assignment, but the next day, my paper was not in the box with the other papers. When I asked the teacher about it, he said that maybe I had not turned it in. I assured him that I had, so he suggested that we look carefully at the papers still in the box. We discovered that another student had taken my paper (which was done in pencil), erased my name, and put his own name on it.

While I doubt that any of you would contemplate such a theft on this campus, what about other forms of cheating? Any time a student seeks gain or credit without having done the work or at the expense of other students who have done the work, he or she is failing to meet this first standard of being honest and fair in all of our dealings. Given recent articles reporting widespread cheating on campuses around the world, it is clear that many are falling prey to Satan’s temptation to “lie a little, cheat a little, and dig a pit for thy neighbor,” thus falling short of the Lord’s basic standard for honest interactions with others.

The year 2024 is something of a milestone year for me. It marks 75 years since I was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Zwickau, Germany.
When I think about my personal journey of discipleship, my mind often goes back to an old villa in Zwickau, where I have cherished memories of attending sacrament meetings of the Church of Jesus Christ as a child. It is there where the seedling of my testimony received its earliest nourishing.
This chapel had an old air-driven organ. Every Sunday a young man was assigned to push up and down the sturdy lever operating the bellows to make the organ work. I sometimes had the great privilege of assisting in this important task.
While the congregation sang our beloved hymns, I pumped with all my strength so the organ would not run out of wind. From the bellows operator seat, I had a great view of some stunning stained-glass windows, one depicting the Savior Jesus Christ and another portraying Joseph Smith in the Sacred Grove.
I can still remember the sacred feelings I had as I looked at those sunlit windows while listening to the testimonies of the Saints and singing the hymns of Zion.
In that holy place, the Spirit of God bore witness to my mind and heart that it was true: Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world. This is His Church. The Prophet Joseph Smith saw God the Father and Jesus Christ and heard Their voices.
Earlier this year, while on assignment in Europe, I had the opportunity to return to Zwickau. Sadly, that beloved old chapel isn’t there anymore. It was torn down many years ago to make room for a large apartment building.
I admit that it’s sad to know that this beloved building from my childhood is now just a memory. It was a sacred building to me. But it was just a building.
By contrast, the spiritual witness I gained from the Holy Ghost those many years ago has not passed away. In fact, it has grown stronger. The things I learned in my youth about the fundamental principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ have been my firm foundation throughout my life. The covenant connection I forged with my Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son has stayed with me—long after the Zwickau chapel was dismantled and the stained-glass windows were lost.

When the alarm went off at 5:00 a.m., 17-year-old Yee Mun Lim got out of bed and got ready for the day. She left the house at 5:20 for seminary. At 6:30 a.m. she hurried to school, where she stayed until 7:00 p.m. for classes and cocurricular activities. Then she rushed to the stake center by public transport to practice for the stake musical production.
This was the standard routine of most youth in the Singapore Stake every Friday for five months. Sometimes exhaustion and fatigue set in, but throughout the entire preparation for the musical production, When a Prophet Speaks, there were no complaints or regrets, because the youth felt that the sacrifices they made were worthwhile. “This is the most amazing, awesome, spiritually uplifting, fun-filled, and heartwarming event I ever took part in,” said Yee Mun.
“Our initial purpose was to unite the youth,” said Kate Loreto, the stake Young Women president. “We have youth in eight different wards and from various cultural backgrounds. It’s hard for them to interact with each other. So we thought, why not do a musical to bring them together?”
The leaders chose music inspired by the list of B’s from President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008).1 This music was chosen “so the youth could internalize the lyrics of the songs, feel the Spirit, and live the standards,” said Connie Woo, the general director of the production. “We wanted to involve as many youth as possible,” said Sister Woo. In all, 78 youth performed.
Perhaps not all of the youth came with the same motive at the beginning, but almost all of them kept coming to rehearsals because they enjoyed the friendship, the singing, and, most of all, the Spirit.
After the theme was chosen and practices were organized, the youth were assigned to different parts in the production and to different committees that suited their talents.
Ally Chan, age 18, volunteered to help on the costume committee. “We needed to choose something that was modest, which was very important, and it had to be economical, youthful, and at the same time look good on the stage,” she said. Not only did she learn how to make decisions based on gospel standards and working with others, but she was also happy about how the youth looked.
Canden Petersen, age 15, was appointed choir president to help make sure that every practice ran smoothly. His responsibilities included assigning prayers, rallying and herding the youth for practices and games, and announcing seating on the stage. “I was also asked to have some young men help set up and take down the set and oversee the youth in fulfilling their assignments,” he said. “I felt that this responsibility was good for the youth. Hopefully it helped them understand that the Lord calls leaders now, not just from among the adults. They can and should sustain their leaders whatever their age or experience level.”
Kandace Lim, age 18, helped by taking multiple roles, including being a member of the costume committee, the choreography committee, and the photography committee and also by singing a solo. About her many responsibilities, she said: “It was my mum who inspired me to take on these assignments. She taught me that if there’s a chance to serve, just go for it. If you accept the task and put in your best effort, the Lord will definitely help you get through any difficulties you might face.”
Besides these administrative responsibilities, performers were also needed. John Lee, age 17, was one of the brave souls to volunteer for a solo part. His reason was simple: “I just like to sing! And it makes me feel special.”
Ezra Tadina, age 17, didn’t feel like he could sing, so he found another way to contribute. “I chose to be involved,” he said, “and I am actually the one who narrated the part about being involved. I feel the message because I know it’s true.”
The practices extended from November 2009 until March 2010. During this time, the youth gathered at the stake center to rehearse every Friday night, except on holidays. The amount of time and commitment required of the youth was no small sacrifice, considering the strenuous schedule of a typical Singaporean youth.
First-year junior college student Olivia Hoe chose to participate because “no matter how life throws mud at me, at the end of the day, it’s the gospel that’s going to keep me standing and pull me through the rubble. Knowing that there’s One who’s looking out for me and loving me completely gives me plenty of comfort, and I think that’s more than enough to get me going every day.”
Many of the youth had other commitments, but they knew that the Lord had laid a path for them. Such was the case of 16-year-old Amanda Ho. “I had dance practice, which clashed with some of the rehearsals for this musical, but miraculously the school changed the practice schedule, which enabled me to turn up for the musical rehearsals,” she explained.
After months of practice, the show was finally ready to be performed. Thanks to the teens’ enthusiastic promotion, more than 700 people showed up to watch them at three performances. As the youth shared their message through songs, dance, instrumental music, and their own testimonies, many in the audience were touched.
The group was also challenged to invite nonmember friends to see their performance and to make it a missionary opportunity. Michael Lee, age 18, took this challenge seriously. “I invited six friends to come, and three of my schoolmates and a schoolteacher came,” he said. Their performances especially left an impression on his teacher. “He said that it was a great experience. He even requested a copy of the For the Strength of Youth booklet. He said that he felt the energy through the many hopeful hearts of the youth.”
The leaders’ initial purpose of bringing the youth together was certainly fulfilled. “As I sat there and looked up at each of them during the performance, my heart was filled with joy,” Sister Woo said. “It was not about how good they looked, how well they sang and played, or how well they delivered the narrations. It was not about which school or country they came from. They were one.”
The musical helped many gain a stronger testimony. Some say they hum the tunes and sing the lyrics of the songs wherever they might be, and the message in the songs helps them get through their daily challenges. Many of them became not just good friends but spiritual supports who can lift each other up when the going gets tough. They can help each other stay on the narrow path and grow spiritually.

But it was his commitment to love every person that thrilled Church members. One day a Sunday School class of youth came several miles to see him, by appointment, but he had just rushed off to the hospital where his brother, Thomas E. McKay, lay near death. The following Sunday, miles away from his office, there was a knock on the door of the Sunday School classroom. When the teacher opened the door, there stood President McKay. He had come to meet the class and apologize for being gone the day they had come to see him.
After explaining why he was not in his office that day, he shook hands with the teacher and with each of the children. “I want you to know,” he said, “that the President of the Church keeps his appointments if at all possible.”

It started with a discussion about pollywogs, and it ended in a full-scale rebellion.
“Man, it was scary for awhile,” remembers teachers quorum president Ferron Coombs, 14. “They herded us all together and turned on some high-powered fire hoses. That cooled everything down in a hurry.”
The mutiny occurred aboard the USS Manitowoc (LST—1180), which was enroute from the Panama Canal to Ecuador to deliver donated medical supplies and equipment. The LDS young men were part of a group of 27 Canal Zone Explorer Scouts and seven adult advisers who made the voyage at the invitation of Rear Admiral Robert H. Blount.
The cruise wasn’t all work and no play, however. Since the ship would cross the equator on October 10, appropriate initiation ceremonies were planned for the “pollywogs.” A pollywog in the U.S. Navy is someone who has never gone across the equator on a navy ship. Once you’ve been initiated, you’re a shellback. The pollywogs included the Explorers and their adult advisers as well as the majority of the ship’s crew. Roy Meyer, 15, one of the LDS Explorers on the Manitowoc, describes the initiation activities as wild. According to Roy, “The night before we actually crossed the equator, there were all kinds of pollywog uprisings and rebellions. Anyway, since there were only 22 crewmen who had been across before, we outnumbered them more than ten to one. After we knocked off from our chores in the evening, the pollywogs tried to capture the shellbacks and harrass them because we knew they’d get back at us during the regular initiation.
“Boy, we had mutinies going on all over the ship, but they paid us back in full the next day.” In the finest tradition of the sea, the 22 “trusty shellbacks” of the Manitowoc crew insured that all participating pollywogs received their just rewards for various uprisings, rebellions, and other unspecified “crimes.” That’s when the firehoses were used to “control” the unruly pollywogs. Even the adult advisers were found guilty of various offenses.
“Yeah,” laughs a young man whose father is a U.S. Air Force officer, “they really got my dad. I had already been initiated, so I got to watch him be judged. They issued a subpoena for him that accused him of being a ‘High Flying Fowl from the U.S. Hair Farce,’ and the Royal Judge of King Neptune’s Court decided that was a very serious crime. Dad really got sentenced.”
After the initiation ceremonies all the shellbacks—old and new—joined together to give the ship a thorough and much-needed cleaning.
At the completion of the cruise, each new shellback received an official certificate of membership into the Royal Domain of King Neptune.

In May of 1984 I was finishing the last full day of my mission to the wonderful people of Uruguay. My shoes were worn, my feet were calloused, and my 100-percent polyester suits had taken on an almost mirror-like shine. Some of you might remember those—we called them our “steel-wool” suits. People had to shield their eyes when missionaries stepped out into the sunlight! I have to say that for my two sons who are offering the prayers today, the suits they took on their missions are much nicer than the missionary suits of thirty years ago. Well, back to the story. My bags were packed and I was in the mission home preparing to catch my flight home the next day.

As I waited for my final interview with my mission president, I was reflecting back on my experiences—the highs, the lows, the joys, and the sorrows. I had worked hard! I had given it my all. But at that moment I was focused on my shortcomings—the things that I wished I had done better. In the middle of my reflecting, President Waldo P. Call invited me into his office. He immediately asked me how I felt about my mission.

I told him that I had worked hard, that I had given it everything I had, but that I wished I could go back—go back in time. I would be so much more effective if I could just do it all over again.

His answer did not comfort me much at the time. He said, “No, you wouldn’t.” And then he went on to explain: “If you could turn back the clock, you would do things the very same way. You wouldn’t have had the experiences that you’ve learned so much from—you would have to start all over again.” And then he finished with a rhetorical question: “That’s the point of it all, isn’t it?”

I pondered that counsel, but at the time I did not fully understand that it held one of the keys to a fulfilling and joyful life.

I had worked diligently; I had put my whole heart into my mission. But, at least for a time, I let the fact that I was not as capable at the beginning or the middle as I had become toward the end diminish my appreciation for the life-changing lessons I had learned and undermine the joy I could and should have experienced on completing an imperfect but honorable full-time mission.

In the succeeding years since that time—perhaps especially in the past few as I have served as bishop of my home ward in Springville—I have learned a different and, I think, clearer view of the nature and purpose of life. I have developed a deeper understanding of how our Father in Heaven sees you and me, our weaknesses and our shortcomings, and even the mistakes we make along the way. This perspective has made my life so much more joyful and so much more fulfilling! I hope my thoughts may be helpful to some of you.

I’ve been on both sides of the fence. I can remember a time when I believed but did not know for myself. I’m a five-generation Latter-day Saint. Most of our people have been in the Church since the days of Joseph Smith. Every one of my ancestors and Sister Reeve’s ancestors crossed the plains as pioneers. The Lord has blessed us abundantly, and I’ve been aware that I have had many blessings—that I’m riding on a ticket that someone else paid for. It has kept me mighty humble.

This force that can cut us off can also keep us from knowing. Because I was raised in a Latter-day Saint home, we prayed; Dad and Mother prayed. Dad was in the bishopric all the years I can remember as a child. I can remember going away to school. I grew up in Millard County. We lived there during the Depression, and it was hard. I determined that I did not want to be there anymore. You’d work all year. You’d get up at 5:00 in the morning and work until 9:00 at night, and, when the season was over, you owed more than you did when you began in the spring. I had worked all summer. I had been paid a dollar a day. I had saved every cent I had earned. That is different from what we do today. I hadn’t spent one cent. I wanted to go to school. I had $96.35.

Before I went away, I came to the bishop. I said, “Bishop, tomorrow I’m going away to school. I’ve worked all summer. I’ve saved all that I’ve earned. I have $96.35. Do you think that the Lord expects me to pay tithing on that when I need so much more to go to school and there’s no other place to get any?”

This great bishop, and I’ll be grateful to him forever, looked me right in the eye and said, “If you pay your tithing, you’ll have what you need when you need it.”

I went home and got the money, those nine dollars. I carried them down, and they got bigger as I got closer to his office, until when I got to the desk they were almost as big as wheels. The greatest trial I had had up to that point was to put them on his desk. I still have the receipt in my safety deposit box.

I went away to school. I rode in the back of a grain truck to get there. One of the first things that happened to me was that I sat in a class where a learned man said, “God is dead.” I was shaken up. I was depending on Him. The bishop said He was going to help me. This learned man said that thinking people, anyone with intellect, would know that God is dead. We didn’t have a telephone at home. I couldn’t call Dad and Mother to be reassured. I hadn’t met the new bishop yet. The pillars that held my house up had fallen down, and I needed to know. I can still remember that night when there was no place to go but to my knees. There alone in that little one-room apartment, I kneeled down. I prayed—no fancy words—something like this, “Father in Heaven, Dad and Mom have been praying to you all these years. This learned man says you’re dead. I need to know. Are you there?” When I went back to that man’s class, I knew something he didn’t know. I knew there was a God, and He wasn’t dead. I knew that He could hear, and I knew that He could answer. From that hour until now, that assurance has been like an anchor to my soul.

Simón’s handsome quick-tempered father died when the boy was only six and his mother three years later. The happy early childhood of the Bolívar children was abruptly ended. They were taken into the homes of different relatives. Uncle Palacios became responsible for Simón, and the easy outdoor life he had known was replaced by the severity of Uncle Palacios’ cold and formal home in Caracas. Monks were hired to teach the lonely and homesick boy. Uncle Palacios worried about his unhappy nephew and the monks worried about Uncle Palacios, after he once interrupted their unimaginative teaching about the stars to observe, “The stars in the heavens are there for all to see. One is not forced to observe them by gazing through any one particular window.”
Soon afterward a new tutor was engaged for Simón, a tall, loosely built young man of twenty-three. His name was Rodriguez Carreno and, fired with the revolutionary ideas of freedom, he threw away the dull books the monks had used, exchanging them for long walks, exercise, and philosophical talks. These exciting subjects were to influence Simón and make it possible for him to eventually become a great statesman, soldier, and liberator of the five countries he would later help to free and govern.
Rodriquez taught Simón the history of their country and spoke bitterly about the Spaniards who were rulers there and in much of the rest of South America. It was Rodriguez who also told Simón that these rulers considered the native Venezuelans to be inferior because their Spanish blood had been mixed through intermarriage with people from France or the West Indies (Creoles). Rodriguez’ remarks were shocking to the proud young man, and the tutor’s dream of freedom from Spain became a hope for Simón too.