Gospel Story Finder

I was one of three young LDS girls who traveled with a touring party of seventy in October of 1972. We went to New York, California, and Utah. We visited many, many lovely people. Temple Square is so beautiful, even better than on postcards. Other members of the group were envious of us because we knew so much about the salvation of man and never worried at depressing moments. A few of them were good listeners and even abstained from their unclean habits. We earned their respect, and I know that these people will never forget the experiences we had in Utah. I felt so proud to be a Latter-day Saint and still do.

Now that I am home, I find that my testimony has been strengthened. It was a good experience being in the Promised Land, knowing that there are people on the other side who live the way I do. I only hope that I will be able to return one day.
Pauline RuruHawkes Bay, New Zealand

Recently we toured the Tahiti Mission and had several faith-promoting experiences with the Saints on the many small islands cradled by oceans of water.
Tahitian nights are cool and clear, and while most of the islanders were sound asleep, a small group of Latter-day Saints began packing belongings into their suitcases at 3:00 A.M. to catch a small twin engine propeller plane to Makemo, a small island in the Tuomatu group.
The plane with all 16 aboard taxied down the grassy runway and off we flew into the dark sky, where stars shone brightly and a full moon reflected on the water below.
President Stephen L. Graham, the mission president, was eager to tell us about his mission and how the Lord had answered his prayers. He smiled, spoke softly, and we listened. The roar of the engines was constant, and after a few hours, the sky gradually became lighter as the rising sun brightened on the horizon.
The plane gradually descended, and the short landing strip appeared. We slowly glided to a stop on the grass, gravel, and coral runway. As we arrived safely, we recognized that our prayers had been answered. Many people, our own members, were there to greet us warmly and wish us “Welcome, come and stay. We are happy to see you.” Greetings were exchanged as cheeks were kissed in friendly and familiar tradition. Handmade gifts of shells and flowers were hung around our necks. Their generosity and gifts brought tender feelings, and tears ran down smiling faces.
The island has about 60 Latter-day Saint members, and all had come to greet their visitors. We went a short distance to their new meetinghouse, a beautiful new Latter-day Saint chapel. Many had been waiting for the fulfilling of a promise that their prayers would be answered and one would come by assignment from the prophet to dedicate their building. The chapel was filled to overflowing, and each one sat in solemn silence as a prayer was given. Over 187 attended, many of whom were not members of the Church but who had desires to know about its message.
With that spiritual experience placed firmly in our hearts, we moved on to another assignment on a neighboring island. We approached the wharf. There the three small handcrafted, open boats, each about 20 feet in length with only outboard motors to propel them, were waiting. The mission president rode with us and looked after every detail. Ten to fifteen people crowded into each of these little wooden boats. The big surprise came when a 50-gallon drum was placed in the middle of the boat. We gazed, bewildered, and it was explained that that was our gas supply. An ordinary garden hose was dipped into the opening and a piece of Styrofoam, irregularly fashioned, held it in place. Three men had to sit on the bow, and then the signal was given to push off. The engines started effortlessly and all three boats headed out for the open seas as tearful Saints waved good-bye and anxiously asked, “You’ll come back, won’t you?”
When we were a short distance from shore a remarkable thing happened: the boats met, as if by appointment, and formed a small circle. The engines were stopped. Hats, which shielded us from the heat of the sun, were removed. Then, in a very spontaneous and special moment, the occupants looked at the mission president and he invited one to be voice and petition the Lord for safety during our journey. What reverence and what a sweet spirit touched our souls as we felt the hand of the Lord watching over us—a small band of Saints upon the beautiful blue waters of the vast Pacific Ocean.
Then the engines on all three boats were started, and one by one the boats moved out into the open, choppy waters. In a short time we were out of the harbor and the endless waves became larger and the skill of our skipper was felt. The relentless waves, one after another, persistently pounded our small boats. As the waves became more intense, the boat was tossed and rocked and we held on tightly. The salty spray soaked us, and we had to protect the gas barrel with a plastic cover. Flying fish were frequent sights as they swiftly glided past and narrowly skimmed the water. Land was nowhere to be seen. The salty spray was felt repeatedly and the sun was hot at noonday. The relentless waves tossed the beaten boat so forcefully that the boards on the bow broke and would need to be repaired.
After several hours we finally saw a faint irregularity appearing as a silhouette, and our skipper announced that land was in sight. We approached the tiny atoll of Taenga.
As we neared the island the engines were again stopped, hats were removed, and heads again bowed as President Graham called on one to offer a prayer of gratitude for a safe journey. You see, we were on His mission and He had truly answered our prayers.
Excitement was again felt as we disembarked on this lovely island and more lovely people greeted us. Another new chapel was to be dedicated. Heads were again bowed and prayers of thanks were sounded. What a spiritual experience! Our prayers and their prayers were answered.
The greetings of the Saints of Taenga, Makemo, and then Maniki islands, like those of the Saints throughout the Pacific Isles, were warm and wonderful. Shells, leis, flowers, baskets, handshakes, kisses, and hugs were commonplace, and the hearts of all of us were pounding in prayers of gratitude as heavily as the waves on the water.

One day at recess, my friend Brooklyn and I saw a younger girl from another grade sitting next to the wall, crying.
“What’s wrong?” Brooklyn asked.
“I don’t have any friends to play with,” the girl sniffed.
She told us her friends had moved away. Now she didn’t know anyone in her grade to play with. I felt bad for her. I knew how it felt to lose a friend.
“We know how you feel,” Brooklyn told the girl.
“Maybe after school you could talk to your mom,” I said.
The girl nodded.
“Do you have a journal or diary to write in? It helps,” I said.
We spent the rest of recess talking and giving her tips on how to make new friends.
The bell rang, and we had to leave to go back to class. I felt the Spirit helping her, and I knew I did what Jesus wanted me to do.

“We just have to get that colt,” I whispered to Jared as I thought of Woody Peterson’s new colt wobbling around on his long, skinny legs. Since we had seen him that morning, I hadn’t thought of anything else.
Jared scrunched up his nose and closed one eye as we sat in the front yard under our willow tree. Finally he asked, “Jarom, do you think that Dad would buy us Woody’s colt?”
I shook my head sadly. “If we’re going to get a colt, we’ll have to buy it ourselves.”
“But we don’t have any money.”
I sighed and nodded my head. For a long time we lay on our bellies under the willow tree, trying to think of some way to buy Woody’s new colt.
Suddenly I yelled, “I know! Let’s start a store.”
“A store?” Jared asked. “What would we sell?”
I pressed my lips together really hard and squinted so that I could think better. “First we have to save up our candy and treats. And we can make lemonade. … We can sell anything we want to!”
That night when Mom served us chocolate cake, Jared poked me and whispered, “Jarom, remember—we have to save this for the store.”
I froze. I stared down at Mom’s chocolate cake, then thought of Woody’s wobbly colt. I wanted that cake badly, but I wanted Woody’s colt more. So we wrapped our cake in plastic and stuck it in the freezer. And later, when our home teachers brought a plate of cookies, Jared and I put ours in a plastic bag and stored them in the freezer too.
Before we went to bed that night, we checked our drawers. Jared found three sticks of gum, and I found two candy canes that I’d saved from Christmas. From then on, every time we got ready to eat something, we’d stop and ask ourselves if we could sell it in our store.
The next morning Mom gave us oatmeal mush for breakfast. Jared made a face at his. Suddenly he jumped out of his chair, ran over to the kitchen cabinet, and jerked out a plastic bag. Before Mom knew what was happening, Jared had dumped his mush into the bag.
“Jared!” Mom scolded. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m saving my mush for the store.”
“Nobody’s going to buy mush in a bag,” I growled at Jared.
“Maybe there’s somebody who just loves mush,” Jared argued.
“I don’t care who loves mush,” Mom said to Jared. “You’re going to eat yours—right now!”
Two weeks later, after Jared and I had saved everything that we could, we dragged the family picnic table around to the front of the house and set it under our willow tree. Then we spread out our treats on it: four pieces of pie—two cherry and two apple—cake, candy bars, gum, cookies, candy canes, licorice ropes, fudge, brownies, and other stuff. Mom made the lemonade for us, then printed a huge sign—THE JJ WILLOW-TREE STORE.
I grinned at Jared. “With all this stuff, the whole town will come to our store. We’ll be able to buy Woody’s colt today!”
Jared looked at a piece of cake. “Do you think that this stuff is still good?”
“We kept it in the freezer, didn’t we?”
“Don’t you think that we ought to make sure? We don’t want anybody buying bad stuff.”
I grinned. “Well, maybe you’re right.” Without another word, we each gobbled down a piece of cake.
Besides Mom and Dad, who each bought a cup of lemonade, Sister McCauley, from across the street, was our first customer. “Well, my, my,” she twittered, looking down at all the good things that we had there on the table. “I’m just dying for something good to eat. How much is that piece of chocolate cake?”
Well, I knew that Sister McCauley had plenty of money, and we were going to need lots of money to buy Woody’s colt, so I told her, “One dollar.”
She gulped. “It must really be good cake,” she said, looking down the table at the cookies. “How much is one of those cookies?”
“Only a dollar,” I answered. “They’re good too. Most of this stuff’s a dollar,” I explained. “Everything except the pie.”
“How much is the pie?” Sister McCauley asked, her face brightening up.
“Just two dollars. You see, the pie’s the best thing we have.”
She coughed. “I only have a quarter with me.”
“We sold Mom and Dad some lemonade this morning for a quarter,” Jared blurted out.
“I’ll take it.” Sister McCauley slapped her quarter onto the table.
“Don’t you think you’re charging too much?” Jared asked after she left.
“The more we charge,” I explained, “the more money we’ll make. Shoot, by the time we sell all this, we’ll have about a hundred dollars. We’ll be able to buy Woody’s colt for sure.”
“What are you two doing?” our friend Robert asked. He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking up and down our table.
“We started a store,” Jared announced. “Do you want to buy something?”
“How much are those brownies?”
“A dollar apiece.”
He frowned, dug his money out of his pocket, and counted it. “I only have seventeen cents,” he finally announced.
“Oh, come on, Jarom,” Jared protested. “Let him buy something for seventeen cents. After all, he’s our friend, and how are we going to keep any friends if we sell things for a dollar?”
“We’re trying to buy a colt, remember?”
“There are things more important than colts,” Jared came back. “I’ll give him something of mine for seventeen cents.”
“Oh, all right,” I gave in. “What do you want, Robert?”
“I’ll take a brownie,” he said. He stuffed the whole thing into his mouth and swallowed it in about three chews. Then he hurried off.
As soon as we lowered our prices, business picked up. Mr. Gibson bought two cups of lemonade when he came home for lunch. James, Randy, and Russell, who live down the street, finished off our cake. Aunt Salina bought our fudge and a cup of lemonade.
A little before noon two boys who had moved in down the street the week before came tromping down the sidewalk with their little sister. They were all sweaty and tired, and they stopped in the shade of our willow tree to rest. They stared wistfully at our goodies. After they’d been there a while, I asked, “What do you want to buy?”
The older boy shook his head and mumbled, “We’re just looking.”
“Well, if you’re not going to buy anything, you’d better not be using our shade,” I grumbled. “The shade’s just for customers.” I looked away so that I wouldn’t see the little girl, who was staring longingly at the pitcher of lemonade. Jared saw her staring, too, and he grabbed a cup, poured it full of lemonade, and pushed it across the table to her.
“But she doesn’t have any money,” I protested.
“I know, but she looks awfully thirsty.”
“How are we going to make money if we give our stuff away?”
Jared shrugged. “What’s wrong with making people happy instead?”
“Well, her brothers look thirsty, too,” I grumbled, grabbing the pitcher and pouring two more cups of lemonade.
By a little after lunch we had sold everything except one squashed brownie, but we had made only four dollars and seven cents. I glared at our empty table and the little pile of money.
“It’s all right, Jarom,” Jared said. “We can have a store another time.”
“I wanted to buy Woody’s colt today,” I muttered.
“But we had fun running the store.”
“I didn’t want to just have fun. I wanted Woody’s colt.”
“A lot of other people had fun because of our store too. That’s as good as a colt any day, isn’t it?”
Just then we heard Trina Wheeler coming down the street; she was rubbing her eyes and sobbing. “What’s the matter, Trina?” Jared asked.
“I was going to Becky’s birthday party,” she sobbed. “I didn’t have a present to give her, so I was taking her two dollar bills that I’d saved. But I lost them. Now I don’t have anything to give her.” She sat under the willow tree and began to cry even louder.
“Where’d you lose the money?”
Trina shrugged. “I have a hole in my pocket. I’ve looked all over, but I can’t find the dollars.”
Jared reached for the squashed brownie. “You can take this if you want. At least it’s something. Becky will understand.”
Trina shook her head and cried.
I fidgeted on the picnic bench, feeling sort of empty inside.
“Shoot! Don’t cry, Trina,” Jared burst out. “We’ll give you two dollars.”
“Two dollars!” I put my arms protectively around our little pile of money. “What about the colt?”
“Well,” Jared said, shrugging. “We don’t have enough for the colt, anyway. In fact, we don’t even have any place to put the colt if we could buy it. Couldn’t we give her two dollars?”
I shook my head furiously, still thinking of Woody’s colt. Then Trina sobbed again, and I wondered what it would be like to have to stay away from a birthday party because I’d lost my present. “Oh, all right—we’ll give her the two dollars.”
Jared handed Trina our only two dollar bills, and her face lighted up with the happiest grin that I’d ever seen. It was so big that it spread right over to my face too. “Oh, thank you!” she squealed, jumping to her feet. “You’re the best friends ever.”
I felt a warm, happy tickle in my stomach. “You might as well take this, too,” I said, pushing another dollar’s worth of change toward her.
“Oh, no,” she said. “You have to save something for your colt.”
I shrugged. “We still have over a dollar left. That’s plenty.”
As Trina headed down the street to Becky’s party, I broke the last brownie in two, and handed the bigger piece to Jared. The happy feeling that we had was lots better than a colt any day.

In 1988, Gerard was called to preside over a new mission in the Mascarene Islands, with headquarters on Reunion. When he and Annie and four of their seven children arrived, they found home and office to be a missionary apartment with only an old typewriter and little else. They moved temporarily into the apartment and went to work.
Annie quickly accepted her own role as a missionary. “One day,” says Gerard, “she saw a lady in the supermarket whom she had met at a parents’ meeting. The lady had been impressed by Annie, but had never dared ask about her name tag. At the store, the woman took the opportunity to ask. She was baptized one month later, and the following year she received her temple endowment.”

John Conrad was not my best Scout. As a matter of fact, he was one of the biggest problems in the troop. Of the 20 boys in the Regina 35th Scout Troop, Saskatchewan, Canada, John was the one who could always be counted on to be where he wasn’t supposed to be, doing what he wasn’t supposed to be doing. But you couldn’t stay mad at the kid. He was just a skinny little 12-year-old with big teeth. He’d look up at you with those big brown eyes and say, “Sorry, Skip, it won’t happen again.”
We both knew that it would.
It was John who whacked himself on the top of the head with the flat of the ax on our first day of camp. It was John who tumbled head over heels from the top of a valley to the bottom, spreading all his camp gear in a trail to be picked up in the dark by others.
It was John who rescued me.
We were on our way to the biggest camp of the year. We had saved and worked for months so we could camp at my granddad’s farm in the mountains. Hiking, swimming, fossil hunting—anything we wanted to do, we could do.
It was a fairly long drive, so we drove during the early-morning hours to save as much daylight as possible for activities. About halfway there, John popped his head over the back of the front seat and said, “Skip, why are you inactive?”
I said, “What do you mean, inactive? I’m your deacons quorum adviser and your Scoutmaster!”
“Well, I never see you at sacrament meeting, so how can you say you’re active?”
Oddly enough, as penetrating as his questions were, I felt as though he really cared. He wasn’t being rude or sarcastic, just direct.
I mumbled something about how my nonmember wife wouldn’t understand about my being away all day Sunday. John said, “Well, you teach us that to be active, we need to go to all our meetings, so how can you say that you’re active when you don’t come to sacrament meeting?”
Before I could form a decent rebuttal, John was on to his next question. “Brother Spencer, do you pay your tithing?” All of a sudden Skip the Scoutmaster was gone and I was “Brother Spencer.” I felt like I was in front of the branch president for one of those personal interviews that I tried to avoid.
I once again tried to shift the blame onto my nonmember wife. “But how can you say that you are active if you don’t pay tithing and don’t come to sacrament meeting, Brother Spencer?”
“I guess I can’t,” I replied.
“Well, are you going to get active?”
What a question! It was four in the morning. I was tired, and this kid was asking me to commit to change my life. But how do you lie to a boy asking a sincere question? I couldn’t say yes and I couldn’t say no.
“I can’t make a commitment to you, John.”
“Well, will you think about it?”
“Yes, John, I will think about it.”
“Good, because I will ask you again.”
That boy ruined a perfectly good camping expedition. I couldn’t put the challenge out of my mind. When he and a friend set fire to Granddad’s pasture, I hardly even exploded. When they took down all the leaders’ tents during our mega-water fight, I didn’t bat an eye. Ten years of semiactivity weighed on my mind. For the first time in many years, I took a long and really hard look at myself.
At the end of the camp, I took John aside. I made a commitment to the Lord, with John as a witness, that I would start going to sacrament meeting the next Sunday. I committed to start paying tithing with my next paycheque. I told John that I could only do it with his help.
“I’ll help you, Skip,” he promised. And he did.
John befriended my wife and children. Each Sunday he would check on my progress. “I’m praying for you,” he told me. He was still a pest, but a loving one.
Four months after I made my commitment, John and I went together to get our patriarchal blessings. Four months after that, my wife was baptized. I performed the baptism and John was there. A year later, my wife and I were sealed in the Alberta Temple.
Whenever I look at myself and the changes in my life since the day John confronted me, I ask what would have happened to me and my family if he had been afraid to ask those questions. Then I thank my Heavenly Father for a 12-year-old Scout who had both courage and love.

Once there were two boys who lived next door to each other. Although they were of the same age, they couldn’t seem to get along together. Then one day, everything started to change. Here are the testimonies they recently gave at the Applewood Ward, Arvada Colorado Stake, where they are both deacons.
“Dear brothers and sisters, my talk today is on friendship, and the story I want to tell you is about how a boy and I became true friends. This boy’s name is Matt. I used to call him ‘Mean Matt,’ and he would get mad and start fighting with me. We would get in fist fights or throw rocks at each other. I would beat him for fun and for revenge. Sometimes he would go home with a swollen eye or a bleeding nose.
“I would always attract the attention of this friend and try to make him very jealous. Sometimes he would get angry and try to get revenge, but I won most of our fights. But often, underneath it all, he made me feel jealous—once he got a new bike, and he did things with his family. Then one night he invited me over to a meeting called family home evening. That’s when I became interested in the Church. I was later baptized.
“This story is a true story about my next-door neighbor Matt Taylor. We both became very active in the Church. We enjoy Scouting, and now we do things together without any fights or trouble. I am thankful Matt brought me into the Church, and I hope that you can bring someone into the Church so they can have the same feeling I have.” (Shawn Bell.)

Harold Connolly had broken his left arm several times. It was only two-thirds the size of his right. To exercise and build up the smaller arm, he began throwing the hammer back to Boston College’s regular throwers. Soon he was tossing it back farther than they were throwing it, so he entered the event. He later broke the world record and won a gold medal. He made himself strongest where he was weakest.

“I encouraged my brothers and sisters to participate in a bike-a-thon for cancer research. We also did it to remember our friend Stan Miller. He died last year of leukemia. We rode around Rossmoor Park, and our sponsors donated money for every mile we rode. Among us we earned $250 for the hospital. When we got done, I felt good. I want to do it every year.”
Kacie SeamonsLong Beach California East Stake

The young people from the Lacey First Ward remember the roots of their area at least once a year when they gather enough wild food from the seashores and hillsides around Lacey to have a first class “wild” banquet.
To prepare for this year’s dinner, they dug clams at nearby Potlatch State Park and collected enough butter clams, horse clams, and cockles to make clam chowder and still have fresh-steamed butter clams. While some of the young people were digging clams at low tide, others waded out with small landing nets and caught crabs. Still others put out small crab pots. Each crab was carefully examined to make sure it was a male and was of legal keeping size—more than six inches across its shell. The young people went to a member’s farm and picked several pails of wild blackberries. Another member in the ward donated some salmon, and the dinner was well on its way to becoming a reality. Much of the preparation was done before the day of the banquet when corn and other garden produce appeared out of members’ gardens and blackberry pies made almost unbearably good smells in several kitchens.
All of the young people and many of their parents met at the lovely Tolmie State Park where they enjoyed canoeing and volleyball and general beach-combing before they feasted on the fruits of their foraging.

Bear and Chipmunk were sitting at their kitchen table. “Do you remember what day today is, Chipmunk?” Bear asked his friend.
“Tuesday?” said Chipmunk.
“Yes, it’s Tuesday,” said Bear, “but do you remember what else today is?”
Chipmunk looked at the calendar on the wall. “Why, it’s your birthday, Bear! Happy Birthday!”
“You remembered!” said Bear smiling. “Wouldn’t it be nice if someone baked me a birthday cake and gave me a birthday present?”
“That would be nice,” said Chipmunk. “Maybe someone will.”
“Maybe I’d better leave so that someone can get busy,” said Bear.
“Maybe you’d better,” said Chipmunk, trying hard not to smile until Bear was safely gone.
“I love birthdays, especially Bear’s,” Chipmunk said, opening the kitchen cupboard and taking out a cake. “I’m glad I baked this yesterday.” He mixed up a batch of honey frosting and spread it over and around the cake. “I hope Bear likes it.”
Bear was peeking through the kitchen window. “I will,” he said quietly. “I will!”
Chipmunk carried the birthday cake into the dining room and put it on the table, then went to the bedroom and took a big box out of the closet. Taking some wrapping paper out of the desk drawer, he wrapped the big box. “I hope Bear likes it,” he said.
Bear was peeking through the bedroom window. “Oh, I will,” he said quietly. “I know I will.”
Chipmunk carried the big box into the dining room and put it on the table next to the birthday cake. “There now,” he said. “Everything’s ready. I’ll call Bear.”
But Chipmunk didn’t have to call Bear. Bear was standing right there next to him! Chipmunk laughed. “Happy birthday, Bear!” he said.
“You really did remember, Chipmunk!” Bear said happily.
Bear opened the big box. His eyes shone with pleasure. “Oh, Chipmunk,” he said, “I’ve always wanted a pair of roller skates just like these!”
“Do you like them?” asked Chipmunk.
“I love them!” Bear said, putting them on and lacing them up.
“I’m glad.”
Bear stood up. “Let’s go roller-skating together right now, Chipmunk.”
“I’m sorry, Bear,” said Chipmunk, “but I can’t.”
Bear looked surprised. “Why not?”
“I don’t have any roller skates.”
“Well then,” said Bear, “why don’t you take the money Grandma Chipmunk sent you for your birthday last week and buy some.”
“I already spent it.”
“On what?”
“On something special.”
Bear looked down at the new white roller skates he was wearing. Suddenly he knew what that something special was. Bear didn’t know what else to say, so he just said, “Thank you, Chipmunk.”
“You’re welcome,” said Chipmunk, smiling again.
Just then the doorbell rang. Bear skated over and answered it. A delivery person handed Bear a big package. It was from Uncle Bear. Bear unwrapped it, and his eyes opened wide. “Look at these, Chipmunk!” he said, taking a pair of glowing purple roller blades out of the box. Bear had never seen such fabulous skates before!
Chipmunk hadn’t either. He didn’t say anything, but the pair of white roller skates he had given Bear for his birthday seemed quite plain and ordinary now.
There was a card in the big box. It said:
Dear Nephew,
I Hope you enjoy these.
Happy birthday!
Uncle Bear
P.S. If there is something else you’d rather have, please exchange these for it.
Bear looked at the glowing purple roller blades he was holding. He looked down at the white roller skates he was wearing. He looked at Chipmunk. Then Bear put the glowing purple roller blades back into the big box and skated out the front door with them. “I’ll be back soon, Chipmunk,” he called over his shoulder.
Chipmunk watched Bear disappear down the road. “He didn’t even take time to have a piece of his birthday cake before he left!” Chipmunk said sadly.
He was sitting in his favorite chair when Bear came back. Bear was still wearing the white roller skates Chipmunk had given him, but he was not carrying the big box from Uncle Bear. Instead, he had a little box. Bear skated over to Chipmunk and handed him the little box. “Open it, Chipmunk,” he said.
Chipmunk’s eyes shone with pleasure. “Oh, Bear!” he cried, taking a pair of little white roller skates out of the little box. “I’ve always wanted a pair of roller skates just like these!”
“Do you like them?” asked Bear.
“I love them!” Chipmunk said, putting them on and lacing them up.
“I’m glad.”
Chipmunk stopped lacing up the little white roller skates. “Bear,” he said, “where are the purple roller blades Uncle Bear sent you?”
“I exchanged them for those,” said Bear, pointing to the little white roller skates Chipmunk was wearing.
Chipmunk didn’t know what else to say, so he just said, “Thank you, Bear.”
“You’re welcome,” said Bear, smiling again.
Chipmunk finished lacing up his little white roller skates. He stood up. “Let’s go roller-skating together right now, Bear!”
“I’m sorry, Chipmunk,” said Bear, “but I can’t.”
Chipmunk looked surprised. “Why not?”
“I haven’t had a piece of my birthday cake yet! And honey frosting is my very favorite.”
Bear ate three big bear-size pieces of birthday cake. Chipmunk ate two big chipmunk-size pieces. Then Bear wiped his mouth with his napkin and said, “I’m ready, Chipmunk. Let’s go roller-skating together right now!”
Chipmunk wiped his mouth with his napkin and said, “Let’s!”
And the two friends did.

Finally, I learned that there are many kinds of pioneers. I am a first-generation member of the Church. My family was not happy with my decision to be baptized, which made it difficult for me to attend my meetings. Our small branch struggled because of a lack of members, especially priesthood holders. Eventually it became evident that the mission was going to close it.
As a result, I decided to move to Canada, which was one of the hardest decisions I have ever made. I was an only child and loved my parents very much, as they loved me, but my testimony would have been at risk had I stayed in an area where I couldn’t attend church. I can still remember the night I left—my father running alongside the train blowing kisses to me while my mother looked on. My heart was breaking, but I knew I had to leave.
I arrived in Calgary, Alberta, on Mother’s Day in May 1967. I attended church with the members I was staying with and cried through the whole meeting. I remember writing letters home to my parents with tears streaming down my face, telling them I loved Canada but missed England and my family so much.
I struggled to adjust to my new life, suffering homesickness, loneliness, and disappointments, but I stayed true to the gospel. I attended all of my meetings and accepted callings. These were my pioneer days.
Eventually I met my husband. We were sealed in the Cardston Alberta Temple and raised three children in the Church.

After high school, I decided to serve a mission. But I had some unexpected medical problems that kept me from leaving when I expected to.
I had to be patient, but I was eventually called to the Mexico Guadalajara East Mission. There, I taught many amazing people and even helped some of them be baptized. But even with my faith, obedience, and hard work, none of them stayed active in the Church.
Often, life events are out of our control. I couldn’t instantly solve my medical problems. And I can’t force others to live the gospel. But I can trust in the Lord’s timing and way.

The second tool is prayer. Here is a story about a child’s prayer.

Many years ago Saturdays were very hectic when we had four of our children playing soccer and going to many different fields. Usually my husband and I would divide and conquer, each taking some of the children. One particular morning was more chaotic than the usual flurry of getting kids up and dressed, soccer snacks prepared and everyone out the door on time for their respective games. One child came to me and said she couldn’t find her shoes. Instead of responding like one of those kind mothers you read about in the children’s magazine, The Friend, I snapped at her that she’d best find those shoes or she wouldn’t be playing. This sweet child went to her room and, believing God and His promises that He hears and answers prayers, she knelt in prayer, asking her Heavenly Father where her missing shoes could be found. He blessed her and told her where to look—in a place none of us would have thought of! How simple the faith of a child! The Lord said “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you;” (Matthew 7:7) He also said, “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise.” (D&C 82:10) When we ask in faith, we receive. It may not be the answer we want and it may not be as quickly as we would prefer, but we will always receive.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Mark’s mother observed on the drive home from Church. “Is anything wrong?”
Mark found tears stinging the corners of his eyes. “Today in Primary our teacher talked about testimonies and challenged us to bear ours. I really wanted to do it in fast and testimony meeting today, but I just couldn’t. When I thought about standing up in front of all those people, I got scared. Besides, I couldn’t think of anything to say. I guess I don’t have a testimony, after all.”
“It is frightening to stand up in front of all those people, especially if you don’t know what you’re going to say,” Mark’s mother agreed with him. “But it doesn’t mean that you don’t have a testimony. Do you know what it means to ‘bear a testimony’?”
“My teacher said it means to stand as a witness for something, like at a trial.”
“That’s one meaning. But another meaning of bear is ‘carry it with you.’ Our testimonies show in what we say and do every day of the week, not just on Sundays. Do you want to know if you have a testimony?”
“Yes.”
“Pay attention to how you live your life this month. I think you’ll discover that you are bearing your testimony all the time.”
Mark hoped that what his mother said was right. He thought that he had a testimony, but he wasn’t sure. He decided that each Sunday he would write in his journal about anything that happened to him that week involving his testimony.
The first week he wrote about something his friend, Jay, had said to him. He and Jay shared a paper route after school and split their paycheck. That week Jay had said to him, “I can’t understand why you always have more money than I do—we get paid the same amount.”
“You always spend yours right away on little things,” Mark pointed out.
“I know,” Jay said. “But a lot of yours goes to your church for—what do you call it again?”
“Tithing.”
“Yeah, tithing. And into your mission savings. But you still have more left than I do.”
Mark had never thought about it before, but it was true. He did seem to have more spending money than Jay. He guessed that he was just more careful with what he had left after tithing and savings.
The next week he didn’t know what he’d write about in his journal until Saturday night. That night his friends came over and invited him to go to the movies with them. He was excited until he heard the name of the movie. “I can’t see that movie,” he told his friends.
They were surprised. “Why not? It’s a really funny movie.”
“Because the rating tells me that it has something in it that we shouldn’t see.”
“It’s just a movie,” his friends tried to persuade him.
Mark thought about a lesson his family had had at a family home evening. He knew that the prophets had warned about watching bad things on TV and in movies, or looking at bad things in magazines or books. It was almost impossible to erase those bad images from your mind.
“I’d rather not see it,” he said, and his friends went without him.
The third week, Mark knew what he was going to write about in his journal long before Sunday. It was Monday morning, in fact, when one of his friends, Rob, had come to school looking very tired.
“What’s wrong,” Mark asked him. “Are you sick?”
“No.” Rob yawned. “I didn’t sleep much last night. I ate too much candy, and my stomach was upset for a long time.”
“Too much candy isn’t good for you,” Mark said. “It’s better to snack on fruit or eat a cheese sandwich or something.”
“I know that now,” Rob said as he put his head down on his desk.
The last week of the month, Mark wrote about a very frightening thing that had happened to him. He had been out delivering his papers in the rain and was almost hit by a car. Later he remembered that in their family prayers that morning, his little sister had prayed that they would all be safe in the rain.
When fast Sunday came again, Mark was prepared. His family sat close to the front of the chapel so that he could be first to the podium when it was time for bearing testimonies. During the meeting, he offered a prayer in his heart that he would know what to say.
When it was time, he stood and walked up to the microphone. At first, he was nervous at seeing all the people looking back at him, but most of them were smiling, and he knew that they were his friends.
“I have a testimony of the law of tithing,” he began, “and of the Word of Wisdom. I know we have a living prophet today, and I know Heavenly Father answers our prayers.” Mark ended his testimony and sat down. His mom patted him on the knee.
He still felt a bit shaky, but mostly he had a really good feeling, like he was glowing from head to toe. He was glad that he had a testimony and that he could bear it every single day.

After reading the Old Testament several years ago, I gained an interest in its teachings, especially the writings of Isaiah, and continued to study it. In 2010, I found myself seated on a flight next to a Jewish rabbi. I started a conversation by asking him about some passages in Isaiah. As our conversation progressed, we discussed the importance of priesthood authority as understood in the Old Testament.
The rabbi asked me where members of my church get their priesthood authority. I seized the opportunity to tell him about Joseph Smith’s First Vision and the restoration of the Aaronic and Melchizedek Priesthoods. We discussed the translation of the Book of Mormon and its purpose as “Another Testament of Jesus Christ.”
The rabbi was intrigued. He asked how old Joseph was when he had the First Vision. When I told him Joseph was 14, about the same age as Samuel of the Old Testament, he replied that many prophets were called in their youth. He said it was consistent that God would call Joseph Smith in his teen years.
I opened my scriptures, and together we read the testimonies of the Three and Eight Witnesses. I told him that several of the witnesses had left the Church but that none ever denied having seen the golden plates.
“How could they leave the Church after seeing an angel and the plates?” he asked.
“I remember that the children of Israel built a golden calf shortly after witnessing the parting of the Red Sea,” I replied.
He turned to 1 Nephi and began to read. He stopped and said, “This text is Hebrew.”
He then explained why the text appeared to be an English translation of Hebrew. I told him the book was written by a tribe of Israel. I cited Ezekiel 37:15–20, which speaks of the stick of Judah and the stick of Joseph. We agreed that the stick of Judah represents the Bible, and I explained that the stick of Joseph is the Book of Mormon.
After our three-hour conversation the rabbi expressed an interest in obtaining a copy of the Book of Mormon. When I returned home, I sent him a copy personalized with my written testimony. I am thankful that my efforts to study the Old Testament had prepared me to discuss the scriptures and share my testimony with my new friend, a rabbi.

In the two or three weeks preceding this gathering, my gentle and good 91-year-old father humbly sought release and was buried Monday. The encompassing perspective helped me amid my few Martha-like concerns! It has actually been a happy time. Tender, humorous, appreciative, and spiritual things were said by him in one-liners and in little wisps of conversation.

Dad’s only recent Church assignment has been to send birthday cards to the high priests and their wives. Nevertheless, he wondered how that chore would now get done and worried over who might be missed in any transition. Dad had already written his obituary. When we reported that we couldn’t find it, in the midst of his exhaustion, he said he’d have to write another one—which would be the inspired version!

As breathing became more difficult for him, his coughing increased. One of his granddaughters, recently back from a mission to Korea, said, “Grandpa, can I help you cough?”

Dad said, “What language will you cough in?”

Michelle said, “In Korean.”

Dad replied, “I’m sorry, I can only cough in English!”

He lived well and he died well, as another of the meek and lowly overcame the world.

Jennilee Adams from Ogden, Utah, appreciates the common bond with those in institute. When she came to college, she felt nervous and alone because she didn’t know any other students. “Will I find friends?” she wondered. “Will I be okay living so far away from home?”

It didn’t take her long to get over those worries, however, because Jennilee went to the institute building the first week of school to sign up for classes and to attend opening activities. At institute she quickly found friends.

Today, one year later, Jennilee is a different person than she was when she first came to CEU. Thanks to institute, she is confident in herself and her testimony of the gospel. In fact, Jennilee is the president of an organization associated with institute that functions as an activity and service club for LDS women. The LDS men have a similar organization. These associations give institute students a chance to meet for fun, weekly activities on campus.

“It’s just a chance to get to know a bunch of girls that have your same beliefs, who are experiencing the same things, and are making the same choices,” explains Jennilee. She says that she will always keep in touch with the wonderful friends she has met through institute. Needless to say, Jennilee does not feel alone anymore.

Last October when my teachers quorum was learning about becoming more Christlike, we served some families in our ward. During the Duty to God lesson that month,* we talked about the many examples of service in Christ’s life. We also read Doctrine and Covenants 20:53, which says that one of a teacher’s priesthood responsibilities is to watch over and strengthen the Church. Together, we thought of some ways we could do this through service.
For example, as a quorum we mowed our bishop’s lawn. We also visited an elderly man in our ward, which was fun because he told us stories about his life and shared some lessons he’d learned. Both of these experiences made me feel great. As a quorum, we also completed the “Serve Others” section in the Fulfilling My Duty to God booklet. I felt like an instrument in Heavenly Father’s hands, and I felt like I was coming closer to Heavenly Father as we served.

My dear wife, Naume, is a great strength to me. Over the years, she has taught me to turn to the Lord in all things. I have seen her exercise the faith to go and the faith to stay.

Shortly after we were married, I was called to preside over a group in Mbizo Township, which subsequently became a branch. We lived in Newtown, which was about 15 kilometers (9.3 miles) from the Mbizo meetinghouse.

Naume and I did not always have money for transportation to and from Mbizo, so we walked to church and back home almost every Sunday. Even when Naume was expecting our first child, Rosemary, she made the long walk to church. She was serving as Primary president at the time. After our meetings, she sat and waited patiently while I interviewed members of the branch. Then we walked home together.

Naume had faith to go.

In 1999, I was serving as the Harare Zimbabwe District president. By that time, I had a good job. Naume and I bought land in Norton, which was about a 40-minute drive from Harare, and we built a nice three-bedroom home on that land. We were excited to begin our new life in Norton. Our plan was to eventually build a bigger home on the property.

When the mission president learned about our plan to move from Harare, he counseled us not to leave. I reasoned that it was too expensive for us to stay in Harare. We continued to pursue our plans to move. A visiting General Authority also counseled us to stay in Harare. He suggested that we rent our house in Norton while continuing to live in Harare. I again said that it was too expensive to live in Harare. If we remained there, we would not be able to build the larger house we had planned.

On the way home from our conversation with the General Authority, Naume asked me why I was being so stubborn. I responded that our leaders did not seem to understand our situation. She said that she would support me only if I was willing to follow our Church leaders’ counsel. We remained in Harare, and we were richly blessed because of that decision.

I’m grateful that Naume had faith to stay.

Our quest should always be to learn the Lord’s will and align ourselves with it. As I reflect on my struggles to do this, I see that my problem has been pride. Either I have been too concerned about temporal things or I have lacked the humility to see myself as the Lord sees me. I have often worried too much about what I want to receive and not enough about what I can give as an instrument in the Lord’s hands. As a result, I have sometimes been too slow to go where He wants me to go and too stubborn to stay when He wants me to stay.

As we align ourselves with the Lord’s will, we find that our life gains more meaning. Our motivations change. Rather than seeking compensation, we seek opportunities to make a difference in the lives of people in our family, at church, at work, and in the community. Our desired rewards also change. Rather than looking for personal acclaim, we hope for the satisfaction and joy of knowing that our time in this mortal life is well spent—that through us, the Lord is blessing others.

If the veil were opened to us and we could see eternity, we would all rally behind the Lord and follow His example. We would find it easier to work with energy and passion to make a difference in the world. But an open veil would defeat the purpose of why we are here. It would remove the need to “walk by faith, not by sight.”4

As it is, we have the privilege of learning to receive and follow the Lord’s voice. Sometimes He commands us—as He commanded the Israelites who were trapped between the Red Sea and Pharaoh’s pursuing army—to “fear ye not, stand still.”5 Soon after that, he might command us—as He commanded them—to “go forward” immediately.6 If we have faith to go and faith to stay, we will, like the Israelites, “see the salvation of the Lord,”7 in our lives and in the lives of those we love.