Gospel Story Finder

Now listen to Salina’s letter:
“Last year in seminary we were taught about Joseph Smith. Towards the end of the year, we had a spiritual lesson that has impacted the rest of my life. Through all of his experiences, he never once failed to stand as a witness.
“As I sat listening, I asked myself over and over if I could be that strong. My testimony was strengthened that day as the Spirit manifested to me that the Church was true and Joseph Smith was a true prophet. If I was faced with trials as he was, with the Lord’s help I could be just as strong. So I made a commitment that day that I would always stand as a witness. If Joseph Smith could do it, so can I!”

Olá! My name is Alice, and I try to SHINE MY LIGHT by SHOWING GRATITUDE!
I live in Brazil with my parents and sister and brother. My sister Julia and I play the piano for sacrament meeting in our ward.
One Sunday, a man named Brother Stahlke gave us a present. He said it was a gift to thank us for the music we played on Sundays. When we opened the box, we found a special kind of flute inside! I put the flute together and started playing. I was enchanted by the sound.
Soon I started playing hymns on the flute. I wanted to do something to thank Brother Stahlke for the gift. So I practiced the hymn “How Great the Wisdom and the Love” (Hymns, no. 195). I asked my dad to take me to Brother Stahlke’s house so I could show him that his gift helped me discover a new talent.
When I played for Brother Stahlke, he was very happy and emotional. He told me that he had a dream about this hymn the night before! I felt the love of God for him and for me.
When we show gratitude, the Lord blesses us with happy feelings from the Holy Ghost.

My siblings and I always wanted a horse. When I was about 9 or 10 years old, my dad bought a beautiful black mare. We named her Yancy. We were so excited to have this horse, but she hadn’t been trained to be ridden. We were too young to do all the hard work it takes to train a horse, so my dad asked a friend who knew a lot about horses to help train Yancy.
We often went to the pasture to see Yancy. We couldn’t wait for the day we could ride her. But no matter how hard anyone tried, no one could train Yancy. She was too stubborn. We were never able to ride her.
One day my dad’s friend tried to ride her in a parade. As Yancy and her rider were going down the road, Yancy bucked the rider off and started to run through the city. Yancy ran so wildly that she cut her leg on a fire hydrant. I chased after Yancy and found her lying in the street in pain.
I was sad. We loved Yancy. If she had been obedient to the trainer, she could have become a happy horse with a wonderful life. But Yancy wouldn’t listen to and follow her master. Instead she was now injured and lying in the middle of the street.
Yancy’s story taught me of the blessings that come when we follow the Master, our Savior Jesus Christ. When we are kind and gentle and humble, we can be happy as we let the Savior lead us.

For example, the day two missionaries knocked on Jacques Faudin’s door in Nîmes, Jacques, then an 18-year-old student, seemed an unlikely candidate for membership in any church—he was an active Marxist-Leninist atheist. “I invited the missionaries in only so I could fight with them and try to convert them to atheism,” says Brother Faudin. “However, after two discussions, I was shaken. These missionaries had a strength I couldn’t define. I stopped fighting and began to doubt my atheism.”

This was the turning point for Jacques. He decided to find out if there was a God. Still skeptical when the missionaries gave him a copy of the Book of Mormon, he decided to prove it wrong. After a constant two-week study, he had found no errors.

“I wanted a spiritual testimony,” says Brother Faudin. “In my heart I made a covenant with the Lord that if he would answer my prayers, I would give him my life. Soon I learned that Elder Howard W. Hunter, then of the Quorum of the Twelve, was coming to dedicate the chapel in Marseille. I went to the meeting fasting. When the missionaries introduced me to Elder Hunter, I handed him my program and asked if he would write something to me. He looked me right in the eyes, and then he wrote, ‘You will gain a testimony if you exercise faith and prayer.’ I took the program home and read his words many times. I continued to exercise my faith and to pray. Then one night, after fasting, I received my answer. I knew without any doubt that Joseph Smith was a prophet and that the Book of Mormon was true. I was baptized two days later on 27 July 1968.”

As promised, he has given his life to the Lord and has served in many important leadership positions.

I was released from active duty in the navy in 1947 and returned to my home in Missouri. There I married the beautiful little dark-haired girl I had met and briefly courted four years previously. I well remember the first time I saw her. She was walking down the street. I was eighteen and she was fourteen—and I knew immediately she was for me. I spoke to her that day and we got acquainted, and I later told her she had four years in which to grow up because I was going into the navy but would come back and marry her.
So, four years later I kept my promise, and came back home to court my sweetheart, and we were married five months later. When we were married, we read and discussed the Bible together. After the births of our first two children I was recalled with other naval aviators to participate in the Korean conflict. I was assigned to a squadron based in San Diego, California, and then ordered to Hawaii for thirteen weeks of special training. I left my little family in San Diego.
No sooner had I departed and my wife had moved our possessions into our rented home than the Mormon missionaries came by and knocked on her door. They were tracting, and many of the questions that they discussed with her were the very questions we had pondered together, so she was very interested.
In one of her letters to me she mentioned that two young men had called on her and asked a lot of questions about religion, to which they seemed to have all the answers. Well, that made me a bit angry. What were young men doing calling on my wife, even in the name of a church, while I was away? I didn’t like it, especially since they were answering questions that I had been pondering all my life.
When I returned home from Hawaii, the first evening Connie, my wife, told me the Joseph Smith story. When she said that he had seen visions and had revelations, it seemed so ridiculous that I laughed in her face, and this made her cry. I then saw how much this story really meant to her, and I relented and said, “Well, the least I can do is read some of the material they left for you to study.”
No sooner did I start to read the Book of Mormon than I knew at last I had found that for which had been searching.
While reading First Nephi, I remember saying to myself, “Dear God, let this be true; please let this be the truth—for if it is, it answers all the questions I have been trying to answer all my life.” I hadn’t finished Second Nephi when I knew it was true.
I had prayed one simple prayer to the Lord for many years: “Dear God, please show me the truth. Please lead me to the truth.” I had sought truth in many places. Now here were two young men, bringing the truth right into my living room. And although they were very young, they had great powers with them—truth and God. I could not argue against what they offered, neither did I wish to.
I attended church for only a few Sundays before it became time for me to leave for Korea. When I went aboard ship on the last day of 1951, I took with me a triple combination and the Articles of Faith by James E. Talmage. I read the Articles of Faith during the first month at sea. One evening in February I heard it announced over the public address system aboard ship that Latter-day Saint services would be held in the crew library at 7:30 P.M. At the appointed hour I went to the library where I found four young men who looked very much like the two young missionaries who had knocked on my door in San Diego. I told them I was not a member of the Church but was interested in studying about it. They welcomed me with much enthusiasm.
When we arrived in Japan in the latter part of February 1952, the group decided that I was ready for baptism. So they accompanied me to the Japan Mission home where I was interviewed and received a recommend. On February 25, 1952, in the garden behind the Japan Mission home in 30-degree weather, seven thousand miles from my home in Missouri, I was baptized. Later I was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My wife was baptized four days later in San Diego, California. Our search had come to an end.
Once again the Lord had stood by his word: “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you: For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.” (Matt. 7:7–8.)

The day was scorching; my sister, Susie, and I waited impatiently outside the church for Dad to pick us up following his weekly golf game. The sweat trickled down my back; Susie’s golden curls were wet and drooping. I remember watching with envy as my friends left the church with their parents. I wished with all my heart that Mom and Dad would come with us to church. I had even prayed about it. But they always thought they were too busy or too tired. By the time Dad picked us up, we were half baked. I was angry at both him and Mom.
Mom had stayed home, as usual, fixing dinner. We sat around the table now, but I was still burning up inside. I detest spinach, so rather than taking any, I passed the bowl to Susie. Instantly, both Dad and Mom were nagging at me, saying, “Take some spinach, Dan! It’s good for you!”
I had reached my limit. I retorted, “Why don’t you come to church? It’s good for you, just like spinach is for me!” Dad struck me, and Mom left the table crying. I ran from the house angry and hurt.
“Am I a Christian, Rebecca?” I asked, as I came back to the present. “Let’s say I used to be.” She sensed my need for silence.
We walked along the dark, tree-lined street; only the crunching sound of autumn leaves under our feet interrupted the silence. I felt so alone in the cold, dark world. More than anything else I wanted Rebecca’s friendship. She seemed so sure of herself, so at peace with herself. I wanted to draw from her strength, to learn from her wisdom. I looked down at my feet, afraid of her warm eyes.
“Rebecca,” I whispered softly. “What is it that makes you so special?”
I could have guessed that she would say it was her belief in Deity; she impressed me as a deeply religious girl. I wondered, though, which religion was to receive the credit for making her so sensitive, tender, and caring.
I pressed further. “What is your religion, Rebecca? Are you Catholic, Protestant, or something else?”
Her lips held just a hint of a smile. “I guess I fall into the ‘something else’ category, Dan. I’m searching for truth wherever I can find it. I discover it in some unusual places. But I can’t help but wonder one thing. Is there one religion that contains all of the truth?”
Her question pricked me deeply. Her eyes were searching mine, imploring. I looked away—my past blazed before me. Silently, I bowed my head and prayed. I hadn’t done that in years! After a long moment, I returned her gaze.
“Rebecca,” I slowly began, “what do you know about the Mormon church?”

In January of 1975, on a dark, rainy night in Tasmania, a 7,300-ton barge smashed into two piers of the Tasman Bridge, which connects Hobart, Tasmania, with its eastern suburbs across the bay. Three spans of the bridge collapsed. An Australian family by the name of Ling were driving across the bridge when suddenly the bridge lights went out. Just then a speeding car passed them and disappeared before their very eyes. Murray Ling “slammed on his brakes and skidded to a stop, one yard from the edge of a black void” (Stephen Johnson, “Over the Edge!” Reader’s Digest, Nov. 1977, p. 128).
Murray got his family out of the car and then began warning oncoming traffic of the disaster ahead. As he frantically waved his arms, to his horror, a car “swerved around him and plummeted into the abyss” (p. 128). A second car barely stopped in time, but a third car showed no sign of slowing down and crashed into the Lings’ car at the edge of the bridge.
Suddenly a loaded bus headed toward Murray, ignoring his waving arms. In desperation, risking his very life, he “ran alongside the driver’s window. ‘There’s a span missing,’ he yelled” (p. 129). The bus swerved just in time and came to a halt against the railing. Dozens of lives had been saved.

The Ryer family of the East Coast Bays Ward also appreciates the temple day care. With six children, Alby and Lisa Ryer have not been able to attend the temple together in 12 years. Thanks to the hard work of the youth in their stake, things have changed.

“We used to try to take the children to the temple with us and take turns attending the sessions, but everybody would be tired and grumpy afterward. Now, we go to the temple together, and while we travel home, the kids are all nice and happy and telling us about their temple experiences,” says Sister Ryer.

After another busy week, Elder Hutchinson, from the Merthyr Tydfil Stake, reported “I spent ten hours doing a service project in my stake, for the charity Save The Children. This meant I helped collect, load and unload lots of food items on to and off of a van ready to put into food parcels for children that had free school meals over half term. My body ached after, but it was worth it. I was physically exhausted, but it is always good to do a service project like this and to learn a little about how the Saviour served.”

William Poole, a cousin, age 78
“One time my brother and I went up to Uncle George’s halloweening. We were just little boys, and as we got through putting our tic tacs on their windows, a ghost appeared. We ran for home. We lived down the road a quarter of a mile. We forgot to undo the catch on the little gate. We hit the gate and both of us fell down. When we got on our feet again, the ghost had disappeared. I learned later that the ghost was Ezra T. with a sheet over him.

Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness includes a mortal experience where all of His children will be tested and face trials. Five years ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I have felt and still feel the physical pains from surgeries, radiation treatments, and medication side effects. I have experienced emotional struggles during torturous sleepless nights. Medical statistics indicate I will probably depart mortality earlier than I ever expected, leaving behind, for a season, a family who means everything to me.
Many suffering Saints have shared with me how they felt God’s love during their trials. I vividly recall my own experience at one point in my cancer battle when the doctors had not yet diagnosed the cause of some severe pain. I sat with my wife, intending to offer a routine blessing on our lunch. Instead, all I could do was simply weep, “Heavenly Father, please help me. I am so sick.” For the next 20 to 30 seconds, I was encircled in His love. I was given no reason for my illness, no indication of the ultimate outcome, and no relief from the pain. I just felt of His pure love, and that was and is enough.

As the crowds milled around the booths, a distinguished looking group of men in dark hats and coats appeared carrying a bucket, an easel, and some pictures. One of the men upended the bucket and mounted it while another set up the easel. Soon the crowd was being treated to an authentic 19th century street meeting—authentic, that is, except for the bullhorn that the preacher used. The meeting started with four of the missionaries singing “Sweet Is the Work” in beautiful harmony, followed by a gospel sermon and another hymn. Wags from the local wards provided some unsolicited heckling, but the elders handled it in fine form, turning the barbs back on their assailants. Then a man from the Spanish Branch wandered by and shouted, “Puras mentiras!” (It’s all a lie!) in a voice of pious conviction.
“What this good brother says is true—whatever it was he said!” the missionary exclaimed, pointing his cane for emphasis. Another street meeting was held every quarter hour or so, with a different stake or full-time missionary preaching each time.

Photograph courtesy of the author
My friend Laurie Wharemate Keung is Maori. I am of English descent. We have contrasting skin tones, eye color, hair color, and height. We couldn’t look more different. Yet one day while Laurie and I were serving children at a low-income school, a young Maori boy surprised us with a question.
“Are you two sisters?” he asked.
I chuckled, thinking his question was insincere. The boy, however, asked me again, “Are you two sisters?”
Realizing that he was sincere, I paused for a moment and wondered, “Could this boy not see the clear differences in our appearance and race?” Perhaps he did but thought it made no difference. He eagerly awaited my answer.
I told him we were not sisters, which disappointed him. But I added that we often felt like sisters as we served together. He seemed satisfied with that answer and ran off to his table.
This boy’s sincere question left an indelible mark on me. Why? Because his question spoke a truth to me—that family isn’t limited to genetics or appearance. My husband and I have been blessed to adopt two of our children. We love them, and love and service are an essential part of families.
After all, we are all children of our “one God and Father” (Ephesians 4:6).
I concluded that this boy must have been watching Laurie and me interacting. Maybe as he saw us helping or hugging each other, he assumed we were sisters. His question reminded me that children are always watching adults and forming opinions by what we say and do and how we treat each other. If this boy could assume we were sisters, then surely children across the world can assume we are all brothers and sisters if only we love and serve one another.
Our differences allowed Laurie and me to bring diverse strengths and perspectives to our charity work, making it more effective. Rather than let our differences divide us, we used them to do good and in turn form a close friendship. The young boy’s question can be a lesson for all of God’s children.

“It’s Christmas!” my sister and I screamed, running into our parents’ bedroom. Every Christmas we set an alarm and woke our parents up at 5:00 a.m. on the dot. That year, we tried to act like everything was normal, but Christmas felt very different. It was different because my grandpa was dying. He had been fighting brain cancer for two years, and in the last couple of days, he had gone downhill.
We were still opening presents when Grandma called to say that Grandpa wasn’t doing well. My mom and dad went to say goodbye to him, and my sister and I were taken to a relative’s house for the day. Later that Christmas evening, Grandpa died. We were heartbroken.
I was sad that Grandpa had died and upset that it was on Christmas. But his death helped me remember why Christmas is important in the first place. It is a day to remember Jesus Christ’s birth. He was born so that death could be overcome. And so, even though Christmas that year was a day of mourning, it was also a day of rejoicing because I knew that through Jesus Christ’s birth, life, and Atonement, I would see Grandpa again.
Jessica S., Utah, USA

It was 9:30 at night, and all was quiet except for the sound of the quick “tap, tap, tap” of the keyboard as I was chatting on the Internet with a friend from school. Many people mistook him for a member of the Church, but he was not. Just for fun, I asked him, “Hey, would you ever consider being a Mormon?” His response was more than blunt as he described his feelings toward the Church. I was a little hurt, but I typed so as not to offend him, “Oh, I was just playing with you! I wasn’t serious.” Then, a thought came to my mind and I typed, “So, why wouldn’t you be LDS?”
That’s when he sent me some “facts” about the Church. He said he didn’t understand the dating “rule,” as he called it. I began to explain why the Church has standards and guidelines. He went on to say they were strict, harsh rules that only limited fun. I sighed as I thought what to write next.
“No, no, no, you have it all wrong! The Church doesn’t make rules to stop our fun or make life boring. Guidelines are set and we are taught to choose the right. We have a choice to either follow them or not.”
After I had typed this response, neither of us said anything for a couple of seconds. Then the screen on the computer showed that he was typing a message.
“But how do you know your church is true?” he asked. “The Jews have the Torah, the Muslims have the Koran, and the other religions have their own ancient records to prove their religion is true. What’s so different about your Book of Mormon?”
I took a minute or two to think about this question. Then the inspiration came to bear my testimony. I took a deep breath, put my fingers on the keys, and began typing.
“I know for myself that the Book of Mormon is true. I remember reading in a certain chapter and wondering if any of this was true. Then I read about this man named Moroni who was writing at the end of his life. He was witnessing the total destruction of his people, and he was in fear of dying. But guess what he wrote about? He wrote about his convictions of the gospel and of the scriptures. Then he gave a challenge. He said anyone can read the Book of Mormon and pray about it to know if it is true. So I took the challenge, and I felt the Spirit. I knew it was true. Heavenly Father answered my prayers and told me in so many ways that it was true. I love that feeling I got, and I get it more and more when I choose the right. It’s such an awesome feeling, like time stops and the world stops spinning. It’s like I’m being carried. It’s really a peaceful feeling.”
I finished typing, and my fear of sharing this with him was gone. I hit the send button and waited for him to respond.
I was anxious. I reread what I had written, hoping that it made sense. Then the computer screen lit up with his answer to my testimony. I sat up in my chair, held my breath, and allowed my eyes to scan the screen. I read aloud his response: “You are on drugs.”
My mouth hung open. I felt my heart drop down to my bent knees. My head lowered a bit from the force of what he wrote.
“But that was my testimony,” I whimpered.
I had just poured my heart out and described very sacred things in hopes of sharing the gospel, and he totally blew it off. Then, as I was thinking these things, the Spirit came to me saying, “It’s okay. You tried. He just doesn’t understand, but later he will.” I felt comforted, and I decided not to take it personally. Although my testimony was rejected, I still had a good feeling. I felt as though I had a burden lifted. I needed to share my testimony. A testimony is a light, and just like real light, you can’t just trap it inside forever; it has to come out.

I had a sweet experience with a darling young woman who asked a very sincere question: “Sister Craven, how do you know that anything about the Church is true? Because I feel nothing.”
Before jumping to an answer, I first asked her some questions. “Tell me about your personal scripture study.”
She replied, “I don’t read the scriptures.”
I asked, “What about with your family? Do you study Come, Follow Me together?”
She said, “No.”
I asked about her prayers: “What do you feel when you pray?”
Her answer: “I don’t pray.”
My response to her was simple: “If you want to know anything, you will have to do something.”
Isn’t that true with anything we want to learn or know? I invited my new friend to start doing the gospel of Jesus Christ: praying, studying, serving others, and trusting in the Lord. Conversion won’t come while doing nothing. It comes through the power of the Holy Ghost as we intentionally make an effort to know by asking, seeking, and knocking. It comes by doing.

When we got back to our apartment, we found a package of food that Mrs. Morales had made for us. A note on it thanked us for helping Mr. Morales get a new job.
We didn’t really do much, though. Do you remember my writing about Frank Cooper, the man who went to the Hill Cumorah Pageant with us? Well, we happened to tell him about the Morales family, and he took them some food. He was impressed by Mr. Morales and offered him a job. That’s the kind of great guy Mr. Cooper is. Elder Butler and I have had some meaningful discussions and spiritual experiences with him. I’ll cherish his friendship all my life.

Preface: On 26 December 2023 a fuel truck crashed in the small city in Lower Bong Country about 130 km from the capital, Monrovia. The tanker did not explode for over two hours after it tipped over.
About 30–40 min after the tanker in Totota had overturned, Saturday Quelleh had several friends that were encouraging him to get a container and go to the tanker and get some fuel. They viewed it as an opportunity to get something for free. He ran home to get a container and was headed back to the tanker when he heard someone yelling his name. He turned around but couldn’t see anyone. He started off again towards the tanker.
Again, he heard someone yelling his name and again he turned around but did not see anyone. This happened many times. About the eighth or ninth time he heard someone yelling his name and not seeing anyone, a thought came into his mind. He remembered being in the temple in the sealing room and seeing the mirrors repeat, just like he was hearing his name repeated. It reminded him of his temple covenants, and he decided not to go to the tanker and get fuel.
Approximately 30 minutes after that, the tanker exploded. He recognized at that moment that it had been the Spirit telling him not to go near the tanker. It reminded him that he was a temple-going, covenant-keeping member of the Church. His friends, who knows he wears garments, asked “Saturday, were you wearing your garments?” He replied “Yes!” Saturday and all of his friends recognized that he was prompted to stay away, and they also recognized that the prompting probably saved his life.

“Maybe you’re right. My cousin used to make sack lunches for her dad. He rode to work in a car pool, and the other men liked his lunches—she always put a little extra treat inside or wrote him a note. Pretty soon she was making lunches for everyone in the car pool, and they each paid her. Maybe we could do something like that,” Tom said. He was starting to catch Jim’s excitement, but Jim issued a friendly word of caution.
“We might have to get a license if we start a restaurant business,” he grinned.
“Even for a lemonade stand?” Tom shot back. They both laughed.
The situation Tom and Jim faced is typical. Many teenagers have a hard time finding a summer job, especially if they put off worrying about it until school is over. For those who haven’t yet arranged for employment, the time to start thinking about it is immediately. Even those who figure they’re too young to get anything but a “try again next year” response from prospective employers would do well to begin brainstorming now about ways to invest their time away from school. Perhaps they’ll decide to follow Tom and Jim’s example and hire themselves this summer. It’s a viable alternative to teenage unemployment.
It would be wise, however, to keep in mind that going into business means assuming responsibility. Many communities have laws requiring licensing, payment of taxes, business permits, food-handling permits, work permits, liability insurance, and inspection of facilities, regardless of the age of the proprietor.
In the United States, state offices of the U.S. Department of Labor can furnish guidelines concerning both agricultural and nonagricultural labor laws governing youth employment. Most states also have a state Division of Labor or similar agency that will gladly furnish a copy of youth employment regulations. Many other countries have ministries of labor or other governmental agencies that provide information about labor laws for those under a prescribed age, usually 18. Most of the work ideas mentioned in this story require no special permit or license and are legal when conducted on a neighborhood basis, but regulations vary, and it’s a good idea to double check the law if there are any questions.
There are many ways to learn new talents, earn the respect of friends and neighbors, provide service, and gain some income at the same time. Perhaps the following list will generate additional ideas.
Take care of things during summer that people normally put off until the last minute. For example, if you know how to use and have access to a camera and a darkroom, make photo Christmas cards ahead of time. Ask for help if necessary. Then make up some samples to exhibit. Take pictures while there is sunshine and good weather to pose them in; then deliver the cards early in the fall so customers have three months to address and mail them.
Summer’s a good time for cleaning rain gutters, changing air filters on furnaces, or cleaning out fireplace ash traps, before winter storms make the chores miserable.
Even people who do plan ahead often forget things when they come down to the wire. Why not combine a wake-up telephone agency with a reminder service? People might pay to have a cheery greeting reminding them to get out of bed on time, and they would certainly be glad to know they could depend on someone to remind them about birthdays, anniversaries, or critical business appointments.
Advance preparation includes storing up reserves. Help prepare fruits and vegetables for canning and learn valuable homemaking skills at the same time. Or chop and bundle firewood, including tree branches pruned and discarded by neighborhood gardeners. One group of teenagers spent the Christmas holidays stockpiling unwanted Christmas trees, then spent the summer trimming off the branches and sawing the trunks into logs so they could sell firewood in the fall.
By now you should be catching on to the job discovery method the same way Tom did when Jim started discussing garbage cans. Just think of things other people would be willing to pay to have done. Here are more ideas:
Wash and brush pet dogs and take them out for a walk; polish silverware; establish a mending service to sew on buttons and repair torn sleeves; help neighbors haul trash to the dump; wash shower curtains and repair their torn eyelets; form an oven-cleaning brigade that will also make refrigerators and sinks sparkle, for a modest fee; form a garage cleaning troupe. Two high school football players talked their fathers into lending them the money to purchase some wrecked cars and a piece of ground to store them on. They built a shed for an office, removed serviceable parts from the cars, inventoried them, and established a solid reputation for providing dependable used parts. When school reconvened, they sold their business at a profit.
Keep thinking, now. Try doing things people can’t do, don’t know how to do, or don’t like to do. Help a summer school teacher record grades or correct papers. Write letters for someone. Or stencil or etch identification codes on property to discourage burglars. Make puppets or sew doll clothes. One group of enterprising young people spent their summer making maps showing points of interest in their community. They were able to make a little money and also learned a lot about their town.
Be careful learning new skills, though. Several BYU students started their own worm farm and met with great success, but a young California man took up beekeeping only to find his insects were pollinating eucalyptus trees, producing honey that tasted like cough syrup!
Lots of people would like to do thoughtful things but don’t find time. Why not run a “Dial-a-Smile” company. Anonymous services could include birthday cakes, singing telegrams, running errands, or cooking dinners.
People also run out of time for certain tasks. Help them fight procrastination by regularly vacuuming and chlorinating their swimming pool; watering all the plants in an office building; sorting, labeling, and organizing old photos and papers; making an official scrapbook for a civic club; or conducting a garage sale.
Build on creative ideas and talents. Prepare visual aids and bulletin boards; make signs, posters, or greeting cards; have a bedtime story service for young children; organize neighborhood puppet shows, art lessons, or informal concerts for younger kids (they’d be glad for the change of pace from regular babysitting, and you and your friends would get a chance to practice before an audience); offer to plan birthday parties, picnics, or dinner dates for brothers, sisters, neighbors, or friends and supply all food and entertainment; make and sell your own cookbook (without plagiarizing, of course); or organize an advertising agency for all the other kids who need publicity (run off handbills on a mimeograph machine and distribute them).
Save others money by doing things less expensively. It may not be feasible to run a copy center, for example, but how about organizing a center specializing in collating, hole punching, and stapling after photocopies are made; or one that addresses and stamps envelopes for large companies, freeing secretaries for work requiring more technical skill. If your friends are brave, they might even hire you to give them a haircut! Or save money yourself by becoming a car washer who specializes in house calls, using the customer’s water instead of your own.
Some jobs, of course, are traditional, but if you approach them from a new angle, they can be modified from mundane chores into exciting, or at least profitable, endeavors. Try specializing: One fellow was earning money repairing flat bicycle tires when he also discovered he could use the same kit to patch the elementary school’s punctured playground balls. Now he has a regular agreement with the school to maintain their playground equipment.
Take youngsters you baby-sit to a park, museum, playground, or play. Make sure, though, to keep them under control and to obtain parental permission before going. Instead of just regular cleaning, specialize in one or two things: become a chrome polisher for cars (most car washers fail to remove rust and tar from bumpers and hubcaps); instead of just painting, become a whitewashing or a trim expert; learn how to sharpen and repair garden tools; study cement work; plant trees. Governmental forest services in several countries hire local residents near forests to plant and thin trees, but with this and other jobs involving formal organizations, it may be necessary to obtain a work permit, generally issued only to those 16 years old or older, and to contract ahead of time for a specific number of acres. Contact regional foresters for details.
A specialist in cleaning and repainting small boats could readily establish a clientele. Or concentrate on polishing furniture. Rather than just taking care of someone’s yard, become involved in planning what will be planted, perhaps studying enough to know which plants will ripen when. In doing yard work, vary the routine to add some spice by forming a partnership with a friend and alternating tasks. Besides painting house numbers on sidewalks, clean, repair, and paint mailboxes.
One other idea—anything you know how to do, you can teach to others. Many young women spend summers teaching younger children how to do everything from macrame to horseback riding. A high school auto mechanic spent part of one summer teaching ladies in his neighborhood how to change flat tires, measure the battery fluid level, change oil, check tire pressure, and do other minor maintenance on their cars.
Your brain gears should be well warmed-up and cranking by now. If ideas are flowing, take a moment now to write them down. Don’t worry about how silly they seem at first; judge them later. When the brainstorming list is finalized, however, it might be wise to review it, keeping in mind some of the following suggestions:
1. It’s a lot more enjoyable to do something fun. Enthusiasm will shine through, sometimes securing a job that otherwise would have gotten away.
2. In order to do a job immediately, it’s vital to already possess required skills and manpower. It may be necessary to wait until some training is completed.
3. Do you have the necessary tools and money to get started?
4. Can parents or friends lend help and advice if you get in a jam? Do you have your family’s support?
5. Once the enterprise is on its feet, let people know about it. Word-of-mouth will help, of course, but so will small classified ads or inexpensive handbills. Don’t overdo it. Do some work free for friends so that they will generate publicity.
6. If others are working with or for you, are they reliable? Your reputation may depend on them. Will supervision be required?
7. Some jobs require transportation. Not having a car, truck, or license may limit efforts to particular types of employment and may also reduce marketing area.
8. It’s hard to compete with real professionals. You’re selling comparatively amateur services, even though conscientiousness, honesty, and lower costs are generally on your side. Be frank about what can and can’t be done.
A summer job can be one of the most enjoyable parts of the school vacation, opening up the opportunity to develop new skills, eliminate boredom, and bolster self-confidence. Even if the employment market seems grim, there are lots of things to do around the neighborhood that will display resourcefulness. It’s not important to use the ideas listed here. Careful thinking adapted to local situations will generate others perhaps more practical for your area. Whatever works in a specific locality is fine. The point is, with so many things that can be done by hiring yourself, work is attainable.
Also, keep in mind the stepping-stone theory. The way your time is spent during junior high and high school summers may affect your potential for both future summer work and later, full-time employment. Mentally probe the future to see where what you’re doing will lead.
The real secret to finding a summertime job is to get busy long before vacations arrive. It’s too late to do that for this summer, but it isn’t too early to lay plans for next year. Here are some articles previously published in the New Era that offer valuable guidelines about steps to follow in applying for work:
“You Can Make It in the Summer Job Market,” by Jon M. Taylor, May 1972, p. 46.
“Summer Jobs: Keeping the One You Have or Creating a New One,” by Jon M. Taylor, June 1972, p. 42.
“What to Consider When Choosing a Vacation Job,” by Brian Kelly, April 1971, p. 40.
“Finding What Is Available,” by Robert Ghoslin, April 1971, p. 42.
“Canadian Jobs,” by Brian Woodford, April 1971, p. 43.
“How to Get That Vacation Job,” by Lynn Eric Johnson, April 1971, p. 44.
“What to Do If You’re Going Away to Work,” by Charlie L. Stewart, May 1971, p. 5.
“What About Summer Work?” Policies and Procedures, May 1971, p. 39.

As I spread the threadbare but clean tablecloth over our table, I glanced out the window. My husband and I and our two children were living in the small, rural village of Hämeenkyrö, Finland, in the 1960s. I saw my four-year-old daughter, Marika, and three-year-old son, Petri, playing with our dog on our small patch of green grass. My husband was tending to some chores in the garden. I straightened the cloth, and when I looked up again I saw a stranger walking up the path to our front door. She was a gray-haired woman and seemed to limp a bit. She didn’t look poor by any means; she wore a beautiful flower-print dress and a long apron. In her hand was a bulging bag.
My children followed her as she came into our kitchen. “Excuse me for entering your home like this,” she said, “but I had to come.” She hefted her bag onto the table. It was full of food. As the butter, meat, sausage, and freshly baked bread made their way onto the table and then into my children’s hands, tears came to my eyes.
“Can you be our grandmother now?” Marika asked the woman.
“If I may!” our guest answered. “I’d be happy to, and you can call me Aunt Toini.”
In that moment I recalled my prayer to Heavenly Father: “Please send someone to help us!” Aunt Toini was an answer to my prayers, and not only did she bring us food, she also brought lessons of love.
Life was simple in Hämeenkyrö. We had bought a small house by a beautiful forest. I had recently joined the Church, but my husband was not interested in the gospel. We were trying to be self-reliant. We grew potatoes and other vegetables in our garden. I sewed the children’s outfits and patched our clothes. We needed and were thankful for surprise packages of clothing my mother sent from northern Finland.
But as time went on, things got worse. Our family had to strictly ration food. At times my husband and I would eat only potatoes so the children would have a bit more. This is when I started my pleading: “Dear Lord, please send someone to help us!”
I found a job, but it didn’t help enough. There wasn’t much of my salary left after meeting my expenses, including bus fare and the babysitter’s payment.
Though we struggled I always taught my children to be grateful for all we did have. Petri often blessed the food: “Thank You, Heavenly Father, for this porridge, but could You please give us a piece of sausage too, if You have some?”
At those times I pleaded even more, “Please send someone to help!”
As she carried water from the well, I offered a different prayer: “Thank You, Heavenly Father! Blessed be the full bag and 20 marks!”
Every Saturday Aunt Toini came at the same time, with the bag full of food and 20 marks. She never asked how she could help; she just went to work. Occasionally she would stay at our house for a day or two. At those times she would always be the first to get up in the morning to make the porridge. She bought us some new pots and pans when she noticed the need. Sometimes she would wash our laundry by hand.
The weeks went by quickly as we looked forward to Saturdays and Aunt Toini’s visits. I would sometimes tell her about the Church, and many times we prayed together. Marika and Petri were very happy every time she came, and Aunt Toini never forgot to bring some sausage for Petri. It seemed she enjoyed the time with our family, and I thought perhaps we were giving something back to her.
Aunt Toini visited us regularly for three years. Then one Saturday she didn’t come. Nor did she come the following day. Later we learned that Aunt Toini had just left a shop and was heading to our small cottage when she collapsed to the ground, never to recover.
My husband and I and our children attended Aunt Toini’s funeral. We didn’t know anyone when we arrived, and we didn’t know when it would be appropriate for us to lay our flowers on her grave. We decided to be the last to lay down our flowers, to express our gratitude, to say good-bye.
After the funeral a woman approached us and told us she was Aunt Toini’s daughter. “You could have laid your flowers down first. You were so dear to our mother,” she said. “What was the power that changed her? She used to be a stingy and selfish person. But during the last three years she changed into a new person. She was so tender and loving.”
I didn’t know what to say except, “It was love.”
Though it has been more than 40 years since I first met Aunt Toini, I am still learning from the lessons she brought along with her bag of food. She was my teacher. She taught me how to long for forgiveness and how to give service and help. And now I realize that though she came to feed us, she too had been fed.