Gospel Story Finder

I am grateful to the Lord that my temple memories extend back even to young boyhood. I remember so well, as a little boy, coming in from the field and approaching the old farm house in Whitney, Idaho. I could hear my mother singing “Have I done any good in the world today?” (Hymns, 1985, no. 223).
In my mind’s eye, I can still see her bending over the ironing board with newspapers on the floor, ironing long strips of white cloth, with beads or perspiration on her forehead. When I asked her what she was doing, she said, “These are temple robes, my son.”
Then she put the old flatiron on the stove, drew a chair close to mine, and told me about temple work—how important it is to be able to go to the temple and participate in the sacred ordinances performed there. She also expressed her fervent hope that someday her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren would have the opportunity to enjoy these priceless blessings.

Without appearing to be self-serving, I would like to tell you young men of the Aaronic Priesthood a little about my call to a full-time mission. The year was 1962, and a call was received from President David O. McKay to serve in the Mexican Mission. Shortly after receiving the call, I learned that I had bone cancer in my right arm and that the probability of my living many weeks was extremely low. A blessing was received from a wonderful father, wherein he blessed me with my life and that the mission call would be fulfilled and that I would have a family and be able to serve the Lord all my days.
The doctor congratulated me on being one who had great faith in the Savior but assured me that I didn’t realize the seriousness of what I had. As some of you have noticed, I only have one arm as a result of that problem; but ten months after having my arm amputated, I entered the Mexican Mission, full of excitement and ready to work. You see, young men, I had several years earlier committed to the Lord that I would serve a full-time mission and that I would not let anything stop me from fulfilling that call. Well, brethren, the doctor passed away twenty years ago, always amazed to see me still breathing, and he actually became quite interested in the Church.
Brethren, I want you to know that having one arm for nearly thirty years has been one of the greatest blessings of my life. It hasn’t been my greatest challenge, but it has been a great teacher to me, teaching me to be more patient and tolerant with others as I have had to learn to be more patient with myself. It has helped me to understand the necessity of our having challenges in life to help develop our character and stamina, helping us to become what the Lord ultimately wants us to become.

The world looked as fine, Nathan Gunnerson thought, as God Himself might have imagined it when He began His glorious work of creation. On the sprawling valley floor below Nathan, a sea of yellow wildflowers washed up the shores of the redrock hills like gilded ocean waves. And above him, in the topless blue sky, wings on winds were softly blown. Then why, Nathan wondered, do I feel so miserable?
He plopped his twelve-year-old body down beside his dog, Biscuit, on a rocky ledge and gazed across the valley through his father’s old Civil War spyglass. The dusky red buttes loomed in the distance as formidable in appearance, Nathan decided, as his present problems.
His father’s challenge had come about as a result of a family conversation at the supper table some three weeks before. Nathan’s parents had been discussing the importance of, and ways of coping with, life’s everyday challenges, and his father had asked him what he thought his greatest possible challenge might be.
Nathan had promptly responded, “Cory Atwood!”
Cory seemed to take great pleasure in making Nathan’s life difficult. Ever since Nathan and his family had moved to the small town of Red Rock Springs in the summer of ’76, Cory had resented him. Name calling, pushing and shoving, then a bloody nose came as a result of Nathan’s declining a dare. Cory had said, “You’re a new kid, and every new kid has to prove himself around here if he expects to get along.”
Nathan had replied that he didn’t have to prove anything to anyone except maybe his Heavenly Father, and he most likely had to be alive to do that. Walking the trestle across Devil’s Gorge didn’t seem to Nathan the best way of insuring a long and fruitful life. Besides, his father had taught him that a real coward is one who abandons or compromises his principles for the sake of “getting along” with others. “Being true to the Lord and yourself,” his father said after Nathan had confided in him concerning Cory’s dare, “is of far greater importance and consequence than appeasing the whims of a town bully.”
Now Nathan stood, brushed red rock dust off his trousers, and started down the hill, still despairing of meeting the challenge his father had issued at the end of that suppertime conversation. “Find something good about Cory Atwood,” his father had counseled, “to replace all those negative feelings you have toward him. Carrying bad feelings around only serves to drown out positive ones. It profits no one. Sweep some of that emotional refuse out of your heart, and you’ll have more room for happiness.”
“You’re asking me to love my enemy?”
“I’m not asking you to do anything the Lord wouldn’t do.” Nathan’s father had smiled and continued. “I’m not saying that you should love what Cory does to you. I’m just saying that we shouldn’t spend what little time we have on this earth in finding fault or living with negatives but in looking for the good in others. I want you to find something good about Cory.”
His mother had added softly, “If rain can make the flowers grow, honey, why not the rest of us too?”
Nathan kicked at a pebble and watched it roll down the hill in front of him and disappear into a clump of scrub oak. What did Mother mean, he wondered. And how can I find something I like about a kid who calls me names and gives me bloody noses? “Besides,” he added aloud to Biscuit ambling along at his side, “I’ve tried for over two weeks to find something good about him, and I’m getting tired of trying!”
Nathan kicked at another rock, hardly noticing the sky filling with dark, ominous clouds that began to barge their way in front of the sun. He’d much rather plow the field at home with a three-legged horse, he thought as he neared a large wash that preceded the valley floor, than try to find something good about someone he was sure there wasn’t anything good about! He’d even rather help his mother on wash day, and that was an all-day chore!
Thunder was booming like cannon fire, and rain was beginning to pour down fast and hard, when Nathan spotted someone hunched over what appeared to be a struggling animal near the center of the wash. He stepped beneath a rocky overhang to escape the downpour, took out his spyglass, and strained to get a closer look through the rain. It was a struggling animal, a raccoon caught in a steel jaw trap. And was that Cory Atwood trying to set it free?
Nathan wiped the rain from his disbelieving eyes. It was Cory! He was trying to save the helpless raccoon from a slow, painful death. But his efforts seemed to be in vain—his strength wasn’t sufficient to pry open the steel jaws and release the small creature’s leg.
Right in the middle of Nathan’s disbelief, he heard what sounded like distant thunder up above him in the high gorges. But the sound was continuous and began to grow louder and nearer. “It’s a flash flood, Biscuit!” Nathan gasped. “It’s coming down the wash!”
He screamed a warning to Cory, but his voice was lost in the noise of pounding rain and flood water. And Cory was so busy trying to free the animal that he wasn’t aware of his danger.
Nathan bolted away from the overhang and down along the edge of the wash as the thunderous sound grew nearer still. He dropped beside a surprised Cory, pointing with alarm up the hill. “Cory! A flash flood’s coming down the wash!”
Cory’s face registered equal alarm, but his rain-blurred eyes also flashed concern for the raccoon. “I can’t leave this animal here to die,” he yelled above the din.
“I’ll help, but let’s hurry!” Nathan yelled back.
Working together, the two boys were able to open the jaws of the trap. The raccoon pulled itself free and started to hobble up the embankment. The youths followed quickly, helping each other up the red mud and loose shale, glancing worriedly over their shoulders at the grimly awesome sight of a wall of reddish brown water raging down the wash toward them at an incredible speed.
They took refuge under the rocky ledge where Nathan had seen Cory through his spyglass. For a long moment they sat shaking at their near encounter with the deadly wall of water. Then for an equally long moment they stared at one another. Suddenly Nathan understood his mother’s words—good things often blossom and grow out of difficulty, out of effort. Like understanding. Like faith in a father’s counsel. Like the flowers after a rain. And if one looks past his dislikes, looks beyond the rain, he’ll find much good.
Cory’s eyes fell; then they lifted again and settled on Nathan’s, beseeching forgiveness. They found it in Nathan’s smile. No words were spoken. None were needed.

The chance to share the gospel sometimes came in unexpected ways. This happened once in Taiwan. Without any previous language training, I was struggling daily to learn Mandarin Chinese. Tracting provided the thrill of a lifetime—having someone answer the door when it was my turn to talk! How amazing it was to me those first few times that someone could actually understand some of my sounds!

Then one morning an American woman answered—totally unexpected. Her husband was in the Navy. We were caught off guard and were speechless. Finally she said, “Oh, you must be Mormon missionaries! Come on in—I used to be a Mormon.” And thus began a miracle.

Her husband wasn’t a member and she wasn’t active. A teenage son and daughter had been baptized but weren’t active at the time either. We had the privilege of switching from Mandarin to English and sharing the gospel with this great family. The father was eventually baptized, both children served missions, and now the father and mother are working in a temple. Who would have believed we would meet that wonderful American family in Tainan, Taiwan!

Our Neighborhood Grandma’s children live far away. We check on her every day. We head straight for her “jungle” room. There, potted plants with great, long arms and fingers beckon. The Neighborhood Grandma’s great, long arms and fingers answer with touches here and there as she sprinkles and splashes and sloshes each plant. Pools of water form on the floor.

We yank off our shoes and sprinkle and splash. We slosh and splat and make the puddles fly. Our Neighborhood Grandma kicks off her boots. Her practiced feet make the water sloosh and slop higher still.

When it’s time for us to go, she pouts, “You always leave in the middle of the fun. Stay and slosh all day!” We love our Neighborhood Grandma.

When President Nelson invited the women of the Church in October 2018 general conference to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year, Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac, along with their father and younger brothers, decided to offer Mom their support. “We’ll read it with you!” they said. Every morning before seminary, they woke up to read together.
Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac are amazed that their family finished the Book of Mormon in just two months. “It usually takes us a year,” Isaac says. Together, they discovered the blessings of following the prophet’s invitation.
“If you do what you’re supposed to do,” Andrew says, “like building a relationship with Heavenly Father through prayer, scripture study, and staying fully active in the Church, life is so much better.”

My older brother, Joseph, is a medical doctor and practiced for many years in the San Francisco Bay area. An elderly Samoan Church member, who was a new patient, came to his office. He was in severe, debilitating pain. It was determined that he had a kidney stone, and appropriate treatment was undertaken. This faithful member stated that his original goal was merely to understand what was wrong so he could pray in Samoan to his Heavenly Father about his health problem.

An experience related by President Boyd K. Packer (1924–2015) several years ago helps us understand the adversary’s tactics.

While on an African safari, President Packer and his group “stopped at a water hole to watch the animals as they came to drink.”

Because of a drought, water was scarce. Much of it lay in puddles made by elephant tracks on soft mud.

“The antelope, particularly, were very nervous. They would approach the mud hole, only to turn and run away in a great fright. I could see there were no lions about and asked the guide why they didn’t drink. His answer, and this is the lesson, was ‘Crocodiles’. . . .

“‘Nonsense,’ I said. ‘There are no crocodiles out there’ . . .

“He could tell I did not believe him and determined, I suppose, to teach me a lesson. We drove to another location where the car was on an embankment above the muddy hole where we could look down. ‘There,’ he said. ‘See for yourself.’

“I couldn’t see anything except the mud, a little water, and the nervous animals in the distance. Then all at once, ‘I saw it!—a large crocodile, settled in the mud, waiting for some unsuspecting animal to get thirsty enough to come for a drink’. . . .

“I could see for myself, that there were no crocodiles. I was so sure of myself I think I might have walked out just to see what was there. Such an arrogant approach could have been fatal! But [the guide] was patient enough to teach me”.4

Who can forget the devastating Australian bushfires of 2019-2020, known as Black Summer, that burnt over 24 million hectares of land, destroyed over 3,000 homes, killed 33 people and killed or displaced an estimated three billion animals?
For the residents of the Bega Shire in southeast New South Wales (NSW), Australia, the devastation can still be seen two years on. Fifty-eight percent of the Bega Valley was destroyed by fire, which also took 448 homes and four lives.
In mid-2020, the chairman of the Bega Shire Recovery Committee sent a request to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and after an evaluation of the situation, a partnership was formed.
The Bega Shire Council, Latter-day Saint Charities (which is the humanitarian arm of the Church) and the Pambula/Merimbula Rotary Club worked together to provide 66 water tanks to selected recipients in the Bega Shire community.
Water is essential for life and sanitation and is amongst the most important requirements for families in Bega Shire to begin rebuilding their lives. Landowners in remote areas are not on town water and previously relied on rainwater or local streams for their water supplies. After the fires took out almost everything they owned, including their water tanks, locals relied on costly 1000L water cubes that had to be refilled by water tankers. A thousand litres doesn’t go very far even when it is being used mainly for drinking, cooking and basic hygiene.
Mark and Denise Hamstead (humanitarian and emergency preparedness specialists for the Church in NSW and Canberra) coordinated the project with Lynne Koerbin, and Daryl and Angie Dobsons (Rotary Club’s community service directors) to identify families who were most in need.
The first tanks were ordered from local suppliers and delivered to the first of the recipients in early 2021. The last orders were placed in mid-2021 but due to COVID-19 restrictions, a number were not delivered until late 2021.
Brother and Sister Hamstead, assisted by Brother and Sister Cummins (representing the Canberra Stake presidency) and Area Seventy Elder Robert Simpson and his wife visited several water tank recipients in early December 2021.
There were many heartrending stories behind this project. Here are just three examples which also demonstrate the resilience of so many.
Gordon and Susie are a down-to-earth couple living in a small hut on their land after the bushfires destroyed their home in late 2019. They had no access to running water and the donation of the water tank was very welcome.
“More than anything, they appreciated the fact that someone cared,” reported Brother Cummins.
A single man, Jamie, who also received a water tank, had moved to the valley from Canberra shortly before the fires. His home was destroyed. He, like many others, has never fully recovered emotionally from the fires and feels very much alone. The fact that people cared enough to donate a much-needed water tank and visit him to see how he was progressing had a positive impact on him.
Jamie is now building his own house on his property with whatever items of material he can find. From time-to-time, friends donate materials, but it is a slow process—he is doing it largely by himself, with the occasional help from professional friends. He is planning to position the water tank next to the new house once completed.
Zoe and Michael are a couple with two young children. Before the fires, they were living in a small town in the Bega Valley called Cobargo. They had purchased a remote rural property complete with house and an orchard and were about to move in when the fires destroyed both their rural property and their house in Cobargo. Since the fires they have been living rough, camping in a borrowed caravan on the rural property. They received a water tank, a shed (donated by another group) and a bathroom pod built into the shed and connected to the water tank (which will be added to their house when it is rebuilt).
Even though the location of the shed and tank is quite a distance from their current camp, they are very appreciative as they can now bathe their children properly—one of whom had been regularly ill, and one who’d had a broken leg. They say that the newly donated infrastructure has helped to reduce their anxiety levels.
Mark and Denise noted, “During the inspection weekend, we were shown properties, such as Zoe and Michael’s, which had not only received one of our tanks, but the households had also received a bathroom pod and shed donated by another organisation that were willing to provide the pods because we had provided the tanks.”
No good deed goes unnoticed and often precipitates additional help from others.

When I was 12 years old, I took my new hatchet on a camping trip. I arrived after dark and volunteered to chop some firewood. I expected it to be easy since the hatchet’s blade was sharp and the handle was strong. But the hatchet didn’t work well at all. I had to chop hard and long to cut the logs. I finished the job feeling very frustrated.
Then I got closer to the campfire and saw the problem—I had left the hatchet cover on! In that moment, I learned that when things seem hard, it is important to look more carefully at what’s going on, instead of just getting frustrated.

The S¶o Paulo Tabo¶o Stake chose the theme of “Changing the World” for their youth conference during Carnaval. As they cleaned the square of a local public building, they had opportunities to introduce several people who passed by to the Church. They also knelt in prayer before giving copies of the Book of Mormon to many of their neighbors, none of whom refused the gift.
“These were the most wonderful days of my life. I learned how to help and serve my fellowmen. I am very happy to be a member of the Church. I want to serve a mission and help the people of the world to be as happy as I am.”
Debora, Second Ward, Bosque

In August 1830, as a lay preacher, Parley Parker Pratt (1807–57) was traveling from Ohio to eastern New York. At Newark, along the Erie Canal, he left the boat and walked 10 miles into the country, where he met a Baptist deacon by the name of Hamlin, who told him “of a book, a strange book, a very strange book! … This book, he said, purported to have been originally written on plates either of gold or brass, by a branch of the tribes of Israel; and to have been discovered and translated by a young man near Palmyra, in the State of New York, by the aid of visions, or the ministry of angels. I inquired of him how or where the book was to be obtained. He promised me the perusal of it, at his house the next day. … Next morning I called at his house, where, for the first time, my eyes beheld the ‘Book of Mormon’—that book of books … which was the principal means, in the hands of God, of directing the entire course of my future life.
“I opened it with eagerness, and read its title page. I then read the testimony of several witnesses in relation to the manner of its being found and translated. After this I commenced its contents by course. I read all day; eating was a burden, I had no desire for food; sleep was a burden when the night came, for I preferred reading to sleep.
“As I read, the spirit of the Lord was upon me, and I knew and comprehended that the book was true, as plainly and manifestly as a man comprehends and knows that he exists” (Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt, 1938, 36–37).
Parley Pratt was then 23 years of age. Reading the Book of Mormon affected him so profoundly that he was soon baptized into the Church and became one of its most effective and powerful advocates. …
Parley Pratt’s experience with the Book of Mormon was not unique. As the volumes of the first edition were circulated and read, strong men and women by the hundreds were so deeply touched that they gave up everything they owned, and in the years that followed, not a few gave their lives for the witness they carried in their hearts of the truth of this remarkable volume (from Ensign, June 1988, 2).
Each time we encourage others to read the Book of Mormon, we do them a favor. If they read it prayerfully and with a sincere desire to know the truth, they will know by the power of the Holy Ghost that the book is true. …
Without reservation I promise you that if you will prayerfully read the Book of Mormon, regardless of how many times you previously have read it, there will come into your hearts an added measure of the Spirit of the Lord. There will come a strengthened resolution to walk in obedience to His commandments, and there will come a stronger testimony of the living reality of the Son of God (from Ensign, June 1988, 2).
Read the Book of Mormon itself. Read it again and again. Ponder its beauty. Reflect upon its many magnificent passages. Think of the complexity of the detail of its historical accounts. Pray about it, and the Holy Ghost will bear record to you, as He has to me and to millions of others, that it is the word of God, a voice crying from the dust to this generation in declaration of the divinity and the reality of the Lord Jesus Christ as the living Son of the living God.
The Lord Himself has spoken concerning our study of this great latter-day work. He has said: “Search these commandments, for they are true and faithful, and the prophecies and promises which are in them shall all be fulfilled.
“What I the Lord have spoken, I have spoken, and I excuse not myself; and though the heavens and the earth pass away, my word shall not pass away, but shall all be fulfilled, whether by mine own voice or by the voice of my servants, it is the same” (D&C 1:37–38) (from Ensign, Sept. 1985, 6).

Mary Galuak, a refugee from South Sudan and mother of four children, soon to be five, learned tailoring through self-reliance classes held in late 2023 by the Eldoret Kenya District of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At successful completion of the training, she and other tailoring participants were each provided a Butterfly pedal-powered sewing machine, starter fabric, and thread. Participants were encouraged to start with small projects, such as pillows, to earn immediate revenue.
In early 2024, through her marketing efforts, Mary was invited to submit sample uniforms to a school in South Sudan. She recruited three other self-reliance class participants to assist in the work. Sample uniforms were designed, sewn, and shipped in early February.
Roughly 10 days after submitting the samples, Mary was notified that she had won the contract. The time frame to complete the uniforms was two weeks. Together with her three associates, Mary began earnestly sewing to meet the contract requirements.
Mary explained the significant behind-the-scenes challenges. “Starting a business is the most difficult process, but with perseverance and consistency, it is possible. Marketing to get customers has been so hard. I know God answers every prayer. Without Almighty Father’s help, I would have not won this contract. It has given me a lot of experience in patience and hope for something better. I have had unsuccessful attempts to get some contracts for sewing school uniforms, but I didn’t give up.”
The contract is sufficient to cover costs and pay participants, with monies left over to purchase additional supplies. It is not as lucrative as she would have hoped, but Mary bid the job low to get it.

Sometimes the larger eternal reality the Lord lets us feel includes family across the veil. A sister found joy in conversion to Jesus Christ’s restored gospel. Yet two traumas had deeply impacted her life—seeing a boating accident and tragically losing her mother, who had taken her own life.
Yet this sister overcame her fear of water enough to be baptized by immersion. And on what became a very happy day, she witnessed someone, acting as proxy for her deceased mother, be baptized in the temple. “Temple baptism healed my mother, and it freed me,” the sister said. “It was the first time I felt peace since my mother died.”

By the time the motor coach passed Big Ben, Jamison knew what he was going to do. “Peter,” he whispered to his friend, “I’m not staying with the class. I want to explore the Tower of London alone.”
“Are you daft? Miss Wellington will really be upset.”
Before Jamison could reply, the teacher announced: “Get your lunches, and when we get off the coach, we’ll queue up (form a line) by the ticket booth.”
Later Jamison clutched his lunch bag nervously as he waited his turn to be searched by the Tower guard.
“Scotch eggs and biscuits (cookies) today, is it?” joked the guard as he quickly glanced into each sack. “You don’t have a bomb in there, do you?”
“N-No, sir,” stammered Jamison. Everyone was checked before entering the Tower because a bomb had recently been planted there.
Miss Wellington led the class down the stone causeway into the Tower of London. Jamison marched beside Peter.
“I’ve got to drop back, or someone will tell on me when I slip away,” said Jamison.
“I’m going with you,” replied Peter.
“You might get in trouble.”
“When Miss Wellington asks for partners to hold up arms and I don’t have a partner, she’ll know you’re gone. If both of us leave, nobody will miss us.” Peter looked to see if anyone was listening. “How do you plan to get away?”
“Simple—when we stop at the scaffold site on the Tower Green, we’ll slip away.”
Jamison had been on field trips to the Tower before and knew that at each important site a guide was stationed to explain its history.
When they reached the place where many famous people had been beheaded, a large crowd stood listening to the guide. Different school groups could be recognized by their uniforms. Miss Wellington stopped her class on the edge of the crowd.
Jamison jerked at his friend’s sleeve. Carefully the two boys inched from one group of tourists to the next. “Where are we going?” asked Peter as he dashed after his friend.
“To the White Tower. I want to see the armor. We never stop long enough there for me to really examine everything.”
The boys entered the White Tower and climbed the narrow, winding stone steps to the Chapel of St. John. Behind the Chapel they reached the room where swords from the early Middle Ages were displayed on the walls and in cabinets.
“Oh, look at this sword!” cried Peter, pointing to a long-bladed weapon with a jeweled handle.
“Now isn’t this better than trailing along with the class and looking at all those crown jewels and silver goblets?” asked Jamison with a grin.
The boys walked from display to display, exclaiming in whispers. Finally Jamison said, “I’m hungry. Let’s go up to the top floor and eat our lunch.”
“They won’t let us eat up there,” said Peter.
“I’ll show you a place where we can eat and they won’t see us.” Jamison wiggled his way through the people standing beside a counter of Middle Ages armor and headed for some stairs. He motioned for Peter to follow.
The top floor opened into a large hall where suits of armor stood like silent guards. A few tourists were moving slowly from display to display.
Jamison marched with confidence past a horse carrying a rider. Both man and beast were completely outfitted in mail and armor, ready for battle.
One cabinet housed fourteenth-century breastplates and gauntlets. Others displayed shields of various sizes and with different designs.
Quickly Jamison glanced around the room. Satisfied that no one had noticed them, he dropped to his hands and knees and crawled behind a display of crossbows. Peter followed.
It was dark in the corner, but the boys were completely secluded from view. When Jamison was satisfied that they were safe in their hiding place, he sat on the floor and crossed his legs. “Let’s eat. But don’t drop any crumbs,” he warned. He pulled his scotch egg from the sack and took a bite. (A scotch egg is made by taking a hard-cooked egg, rolling it in sausage, and frying it in deep fat.) Each boy ate his egg with delight.
“What kind of biscuits do you have?” asked Peter. “I’ve a chocolate chip and two shortbread. Have you anything to swap?”
“I’ve two oatmeal and a ginger with white icing. I wish the school had packed those marshmallow biscuits with chocolate on top,” whispered Jamison.
When the boys finished eating, they carefully folded their paper sacks and stuffed them into their pockets. Jamison peeked out of their hiding place to see if all was clear.
Everyone had gone while they ate. “We have the place to ourselves. Isn’t it great?” whooped Jamison as he dashed around the room.
“Jamison, don’t you think it’s a bit odd that nobody’s up here besides us?”
“Someone will be along in a minute.” Jamison walked over to a display and lifted a knight’s faceplate. “Hello in there,” he called.
Soon Jamison also began to feel uneasy. No one had entered the room, and he knew they had been alone for at least fifteen minutes. “Maybe we’d better go find the class,” he said. “I’ve seen enough, haven’t you, Peter?”
As they dashed down the narrow stone steps, their footsteps echoed against the walls. Jamison grew more nervous. No one had come up as they descended. At the foot of the stairs Jamison reached for the heavy iron latch on the door and tugged. Nothing happened.
“Peter, the door is locked! We’re trapped in here.”
“What? Let me try. We can’t be. Miss Wellington will have the headmaster punish us if we aren’t back when the class boards the coach.” Peter yanked at the door, but it didn’t budge.
“Let’s go to a window and call for help,” said Jamison. “Someone will hear us.”
They hurried into the nearest room.
“There’s a window!” shouted Jamison. He ran to it and looked out. “Peter!” he gasped. “They’ve roped off this area. Look!”
“What does it mean?”
“The guards must have received a bomb threat or something. They’ve closed this building and evacuated the area,” replied Jamison, unable to keep the tremble from his voice.
“What if the building blows up?” Peter asked, swallowing hard. “We could get hurt or maybe even die.”
“If we’d stayed with the class, we wouldn’t be here now. I know I’m supposed to follow rules. Mum and Dad taught me that. And now you’re trapped too! I’m sorry, Peter. It’s all my fault!”
“It’s my fault, too—I chose to come with you. I thought it would be a lark … We could have come back another time. Our parents would have brought us.”
Just then a police siren wailed and an armored demolition lorry (truck) wheeled around the corner. The tower guards rushed over to the bobbies (policemen) jumping from the lorry and began explaining the situation.
Jamison stuck his head out the window and waved his arms. “Hello! We’re up here! We’re locked in!”
The guards and the bobbies looked relieved to see the boys. One shouted, “We’ll have you down in a few minutes!”
Jamison and Peter were at the door when they heard the key turn.
“You’d better dash over to your coach,” one bobby growled. “Your teacher’s been giving the guards fits because they’ve had other people to look out for—some blind students and a group of foreign tourists—before they could make an all-out search for you. I’m glad you’re found, though. Go along now—leg it!”
Jamison and Peter did not stop running until they reached the motor coach. “When we get back to the school, we’ll decide what to do about your leaving the group,” Miss Wellington told them. She sounded more scared than angry. But the two boys were quick to sit where she pointed. “Take those seats where I can keep an eye on you. I don’t want you straying again!”
Jamison looked at Peter. “She doesn’t have to worry about us ever straying again, does she?”

From Yellowstone Park, through Jackson Hole, Wyoming, then on to Kaysville, Utah, by bicycle sounds like quite an undertaking for the 12 Varsity Scouts of the Kaysville Eighth Ward, Kaysville Utah East Stake. And it was. After weeks of discussion between parents, Scouts, and leaders, the five-day, 380-mile trip was officially planned, and the Scouts were ready to get in shape for the trip.
Training for the group was each Tuesday. The first trip to help them get in shape was from Kaysville to Antelope Island and back, a 44-mile trip which took 3 1/2 hours. After recovering from sore muscles, the group made several other test runs, helping build up stamina.
In preparation for the adventure, each Scout made sure his bike was in good condition. Then one summer morning, food and gear were loaded into a pickup truck, the bikes loaded into a trailer, and the group set out for the west gate of Yellowstone, where the bicycle journey was to start.
Bicycling through the mountain passes, sometimes climbing 1,000 feet per hour or fighting strong winds, challenged the Scouts. One day they rode 90 miles. Another day they woke to find a layer of ice on their sleeping bags. They crossed the continental divide four times and passed through countless little towns along the way. Four of the Scouts rode the entire 380 miles; the others each rode at least 250.
Was the trip worth the tired muscles and the long hours of preparation?
The answer is an enthusiastic yes!
“We were really blessed on the trip,” said one of the participants. “The weather was perfect, we didn’t have any bike problems except two flat tires, no accidents or injuries, and we all got along well and grew closer.”
They’re planning their next trip already.

After a lot of effort and a lot of reading the scriptures, praying, and choosing the right, we wanted to get sealed as an eternal family. We talked to our bishop, and even though it took some time, the day finally arrived. We were so excited to go inside the temple.
I got to do baptisms while I waited for my parents to complete the temple work for themselves. I felt like I was getting baptized again. I was really happy I could help people beyond the veil. Now my family and I go to the temple every week. I regularly do baptisms because I love helping there. I am so glad I got to be sealed in the temple to my parents for eternity and have the opportunity to live forever with them.

It started out like any other day at school. Our teacher, Miss Blackstock, was writing on the chalkboard while I sat daydreaming at my desk. Then our principal walked in with a boy I had never seen before. The principal whispered something in Miss Blackstock’s ear, and everyone got quiet trying to listen.
The boy stood at the front of the classroom while the other kids stared at him. His faded plaid shirt hung loosely. There was a hole in the right knee of his pants. With slumped shoulders, he dug his hands deep into his pockets and stared at the floor.
After the principal left, Miss Blackstock said, “Class, I would like you to meet Caleb Sanders. He recently moved here from Montana. That is quite a distance from here! Caleb, you may take the seat next to Luke.”
She pointed to the seat next to mine, and the class watched as Caleb nervously made his way down the aisle. As Miss Blackstock turned back to the chalkboard, whispers filled the room. Some of the kids were saying mean things about the way Caleb was dressed.
“Look at those weird boots,” someone said.
“He could hike up the Himalayas in those!” another boy chimed in.
I glanced over at Caleb, but he just sat there staring at his blank notebook page and clutching his pencil. I knew that he must have heard them because I saw him shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Then a couple of boys snickered so loudly that Miss Blackstock stopped writing.
“I see that everyone is eager to talk to Caleb, so let’s have him come up here and tell us a little bit about himself,” she said.
The class got quiet and stared at Caleb. I felt sorry for him. The boy who sat behind him kicked the back of Caleb’s chair and jeered, “Go ahead, mountain boy.”
Caleb slowly made his way to the front of the class. His hair partly covered his eyes, and his boots scuffed the floor when he walked. The kids around me snickered again. I knew that Miss Blackstock was trying to help, but I was afraid this would only make things worse.
One boy raised his hand and asked, “Where did you live in Montana, under a rock?”
The class burst into laughter.
The girl on the front row asked, “Does everyone in Montana dress like you?”
I felt my face getting hot as anger welled up inside me. If someone didn’t stop this, I knew Caleb would remain an outcast for the rest of the school year. But if I stuck up for him, the kids might laugh at me too.
Then I remembered what my stepmom told me when I tried out for the soccer team. She told me about David in the Old Testament. David was the youngest of all his brothers, but the Lord chose him to be king. It didn’t matter what he looked like. Sometimes people judge others by their appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.
I knew Caleb needed help, so I raised my hand. Miss Blackstock called on me. Caleb didn’t look up. He probably expected me to make fun of him too.
“I’ve heard that there are some cool parks in Montana with great hiking trails. What are they like?” I asked.
The class got quiet. I felt my face turning red again, but Caleb smiled. I could see that he was relieved to answer a kind question. In a quiet voice he started to speak.
He told us that his family had lived on a large ranch in Montana, and he had even owned a horse. He told about his favorite trail in Glacier National Park and how he had encountered a real live bear. As he told more and more about his home, the other kids began asking questions about the bear, the hiking, and the rock climbing.
After school I wasn’t sure if anyone would sit by me on the bus. I held my backpack close and stared out the bus window. Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Caleb.
“Can I sit here?” he asked shyly.
“Sure!” I said, moving over to make room.
I never would have guessed how that day would turn out. I am glad I had the courage to be nice to Caleb. Now he has many friends—and I’m proud to be one of them.

In my late teens, as I started spending time with the full-time missionaries, I realized how crucial it was to have a testimony of the principles I would soon be teaching as a missionary. I decided that one of the principles I wanted to understand better was tithing.
Many people gain a testimony of tithing during times of financial hardship. But growing up, I always had more than enough. If I ever had a financial need, my parents took care of it. I was grateful for that, but while I knew that they would pay for my mission, I decided that I wanted to finance half of my mission myself through my work as a part-time teacher.
About the same time, I realized that I hadn’t paid a full 10 percent tithing from my last paycheck. I decided that with my next paycheck, I would make up the difference so that I could be a full-tithe payer.
When I was paid for the month, however, the amount was less than I had expected. The work I did was somewhat irregular, so my salary varied from month to month. I quickly realized that the paycheck would not cover my expenses and allow me to pay the balance of what I owed the Lord in tithing from my previous paycheck.
I considered my options and then thought, “I’ll just have to catch up on tithing next month.” But then I remembered an institute of religion lesson on tithing. I particularly remembered what the Lord says in the Old Testament: “Prove me now herewith” (Malachi 3:10). This was an opportunity for me to put the principle to the test and to gain a stronger testimony of what I would soon be teaching others.
When I paid my tithing, I felt good about being caught up. But the opportunity to “prove” the Lord came the very next day—much sooner and in a greater way than I could have ever expected—when I was offered a full-time job as a kindergarten teacher. I would be able to work right up until I left for my mission, and the money I would earn would be more than I needed to pay half of my mission expenses. This blessing dramatically increased my testimony of tithing. That testimony was bolstered again and again as I shared it with the people I served in the Germany Munich/Austria Mission over the next two years.

One day in January 2010 my world was flipped upside down. My younger sister was diagnosed with cancer. I could not believe it. How was it possible? My sister was only 14 years old and very active. She was part of the school show choir. She loved softball and basketball. How could she have cancer?
Not too long after that fateful day, I found myself home alone. I felt completely overwhelmed and lost. My comfortable life had been shattered. Cancer is a scary thing, and I had no idea how to deal with it.
As tears coursed down my cheeks, I felt the need to pray for some form of comfort or peace.
Shortly after finishing my prayer I heard a knock on the door. Answering it, I found my Young Women leader standing on our porch. She took one look at my tear-stained face and asked what was wrong. More tears filled my eyes as I told her about Madey’s diagnosis.
When I finished she simply said, “You’re the reason why I’m here.” She then told me to get my shoes on and to come with her.
I spent the next couple of hours with her and her grandson eating ice cream and talking. I told her about all that had been going on and how lost I felt. We talked about cancer and the possible treatments. When she brought me home, I felt lighter and more hopeful than I had since learning that my sister had cancer.
Sadly, my sister eventually lost her battle with cancer. But my Young Women leader’s visit taught me a lot. Since that day I have come to recognize that I am never alone. Friends and family are there to assist, but more importantly, my Heavenly Father is always ready to listen to and help me. I am so grateful that He is there and that He answered my prayer that day, starting with a sensitive Young Women leader.