Gospel Story Finder

It must be my destiny to be a loner. I was walking to an assembly with Melinda and Denise, who are on the basketball team too. We passed a girl just standing there, looking lost. She also looked like a total nerd. Besides her clothes being all wrong, her hair was like my grandma’s. She was obviously new, and my heart ached for her. I knew just how she felt.
I said, “Are you going to the assembly?” When she nodded, I said, “It’s this way.” Melinda and Denise looked at me like, “You know her?”
She began following us, and Melinda muttered, “Get rid of her.”
But I couldn’t. She needed a friend. She followed us up the bleachers and sat down next to me. Melinda and Denise gave me a disgusted look and moved over to the next section.
Good-bye, Melinda and Denise.

Some time ago I was interviewing a young missionary who had been in the field for about 3 months. He indicated that he wanted to go home. As I made inquiry he explained that things had really gone sour for him. The first challenge was adjusting to the funny food he was having to eat. I asked if that was the only reason why he wanted to go home. He explained that that indignity was followed by jet lag and a cold. I then asked, "Is there anything else?" He said that his companion didn't think the way he did and was hard to get along with and hard to understand.

My response again was, "Is there anything else?" He answered that he was miffed that his language skills didn't come faster and that it was hard to understand the people.

Finally he shared the "coup de grace" -- he got a "Dear John" from his girl friend back home.

I asked him, "Which of these problems that you have had was a surprise to God?" He seemed startled and asked me what I meant.

I said, "Do you believe in an omniscient (all-knowing) God?"

He stammered for a second and replied, "yes."

Then I asked, "So if you believe in an omniscient - all-knowing - God, did He know that you were going to have all of these problems before you came into the mission field?"

He answered, "well, I guess so." I then said something that really caught him off guard. I said, "He must really hate you!"

After he got over the shock, he smiled and said, "No. Father in Heaven loves me."

I then asked him the question that he was now waiting for: "If God knew that you were going to have all this torment before you came into the mission field, and if He doesn't hate you, why would He allow all these things happen to you?"

Again, he smiled and suggested, "maybe I'm supposed to learn something."

His challenge was that he wanted the lesson without paying the price. He wanted faith, but did not want to act or persist or endure. Faith is an "action word."

Recently, workers at the Mesa Temple welcomed a busload of Church members from the interior of Mexico. They had been traveling for five days. The bus had broken down. These humble families had been sacrificing and saving their pesos for many months to buy the roundtrip tickets. They had slept on the floor of the crowded bus. President Wright of the temple said their leaders were rather embarrassed and even apologetic for their ravenous hunger, especially that of the children. After paying for the bus, there was no money for food. But that didn’t matter—they were going to the temple, and they made it!

Faith? Devotion? Humble belief in God’s eternal love? Can you imagine the special love Christ must have for those with such faith!

During Christmastime on my mission, I was undergoing some health problems, and my companion was a new missionary. She was not happy and wanted to go home. We were walking 8 to 10 miles (13–16 km) every day, and both of us had painful blisters.
I soon became depressed and discouraged, believing that I was a bad missionary and that all of my companion’s problems were my fault. We were a miserable pair. I had been so excited about the upcoming holiday, but now I dreaded it. It loomed before me dark, cold, and lonely.
My district leader saw my struggles and offered this advice: “Keep your mind off the pain. Do whatever it takes to give your companion the Christmas spirit.” I trusted my district leader and knew he was right, so I determined that I would try to get the right spirit in both of our hearts.
I remember one dark, cold evening. We were walking down the road, and my companion began to cry. Immediately, I felt as if I had been swallowed by darkness, and I wanted to give up. But I remembered my promise and asked the Lord what I could do to help this sister. The answer that came was unexpected, but I acted promptly. I began to sing Christmas carols as loudly as I could. People kept staring at me, but I felt a strange lightness in my heart that couldn’t be subdued. My companion begged me to stop. But I told her I would not until she joined me. So she did, and we sang several songs. My companion smiled at me and seemed to enjoy the rest of the evening.
That experience was the start of an amazing holiday. It was still hard at times, but whenever the mood began to turn dismal, I threatened to start singing. That always seemed to lighten the mood.
I do not have a great singing voice, and I hate singing in front of people. But that night I was singing at the top of my lungs for all of the Bronx to hear. That Christmas I learned that we celebrate the birth of a Savior who lives today and still works for our salvation. He knows what each of us needs and how to give it to us. I will never forget the Christmas that He let me sing in His personal choir. It changed Christmas for me!
Christie Mobley served in the New York New York North Mission; she is a member of the Snowflake Seventh (YSA) Branch, Snowflake Arizona Stake.

One day I was at a service station, talking with a friend who worked there. He was filling up my car with gas, and as we stood there, a school bus went by and I heard someone call out, “Heyyyy, Bishop!” I looked up to see one of the priests in my ward calling to me and giving me the “hang on to the rod” signal. I returned the signal as the bus drove by.
The following Sunday, that boy came running up to me as fast as he could. “Bishop Stanley! Bishop Stanley! Remember last week when you were filling up your gas tank at the service station and I gave you the signal?”
“Yes, I remember it.”
“Well, the friend sitting by me said, ‘Who was that tall man at the service station that you were threatening to punch?’ And I told him what our ‘hang on to the rod’ signal really meant.”
The boy then told me that his friend wasn’t a member of the Church and that he was then able to talk about the gospel with this friend as a result of our little “hang on to the rod” signal.

Andrew stood in front of the mirror and scowled at himself. He decided he looked stupid. Who wanted to wear a tie anyway? “I feel like I’m choking,” he said to his dad.
“Loosen your tie,” said Dad. “Maybe you have it on too tight.”
Andrew slid his finger between his collar and the knot of the tie and pulled. He still felt like he was choking. “How come Amanda has to get married, anyway?”
“Because that’s what little girls do when they grow up,” Dad said. “Come on, Sport, it’s time to go. We don’t want to be late for your sister’s wedding. You look fine.”
In the car, Andrew slumped down in the seat until his chin was nearly resting on his chest, and stared straight ahead. This morning Amanda had been in the bathroom for what seemed like nine hours. He had heard her singing “Families Can Be Together Forever,” and when she got to the part that goes “I want to marry in God’s temple for all eternity,” she sang really loud.
Andrew tugged at his tie again, and a mean, mad feeling settled in his chest. If families are supposed to be together forever, why did Amanda want to leave them and marry Brad? She wasn’t even riding to the temple with the family. Brad had come earlier to get her, and she had gone with him. She hadn’t even waved good-bye.
“Here we are,” Dad said, stopping the car. Andrew got out slowly. He could see a carpet of grass a little way up the hill, then flowers, and at the top, the Jordan River Temple. The statue of the Angel Moroni on the spire shone golden in the sunlight.
“Andrew,” Mom said, “let’s go. Do you have your Friend to read?”
“Yes,” he said. They walked together up the sidewalk, and the temple seemed to get taller and whiter with every step. He wished that Amanda was with them. She would’ve been holding his hand or fixing his collar or pointing to the ducks that were waddling across the lawn.
The temple doors opened silently, and they stepped inside. A woman in a long white dress was standing there smiling. “Welcome,” she said quietly.
“Good morning, Sister,” said Dad. “We’re here for the Smithton–Peters wedding. Is it all right if my son sits in the waiting room? His cousin will be here soon to sit with him.”
“Yes,” said the woman. “I’ll get him settled while you go on in.” She put her hand on Andrew’s shoulder and led him to a glassed-in room full of chairs and sofas. “Here we are,” she said. “We have lots of chairs, so choose any one you want. Change chairs every five minutes if you like. I’ve sat in all of them myself, and they’re all comfortable.” She told him that if he needed anything, to let her know, then went back to the door to greet people.
“Great,” Andrew grumbled quietly. “Here I am by myself. I’m just the little brother, and no one cares, anyway.” He plopped himself on a soft chair. He didn’t even want to read. He just felt left out and sorry for himself. He closed his eyes.
The door to the waiting room opened, and he heard someone come in and sit down on the chair next to him. “Hey, Andy,” his cousin Ernie whispered.
Andrew opened his eyes. “You look funny in a suit.”
“Thanks.” Ernie looked at Andrew for a minute. “What’s the matter, man?”
“How come we don’t get to go in?” Andrew scowled, looking through the glass wall at men in white suits, sitting at a desk and checking people’s recommends.
“We’re not old enough yet.”
“How come we have to be old enough?”
“For the same reason you have to be eight to be baptized and twelve to get the priesthood and nineteen to go on a mission. You have to be old enough to understand things.”
That made sense. Andrew didn’t understand lots of things—like why Amanda wanted to leave their family. He still felt mad. “I don’t know why Amanda wants to get married at all,” he said. “She never even talks to me anymore.”
Ernie grinned. “Jealous, huh? Think she won’t love you anymore?”
Andrew shrugged, but he did think that a little bit. She hadn’t had time to take him to the library or out for ice cream or anything lately because she was always with Brad or doing something for the wedding.
Ernie picked up a copy of the Book of Mormon that was on a table and started to read. Andrew knew that he was trying to get ready for his mission, so he didn’t bother him. Instead, he watched the second hand sweep around and around the face of a wall clock. When he watched the seconds, the minutes seemed to go faster.
He wondered what his sister was doing. He wondered if she would even think about him at all.
Next he watched people coming into the temple, all of them dressed in Church clothes and most of them carrying little suitcases. His dad had told him that the suitcases had white clothes in them because everyone wears white in the temple, like the lady by the door. She was still smiling at everyone who came in.
Andrew had never been in such a quiet place. It was even quieter than church because there were no babies crying or loud talking. People even seemed to walk more quietly. The longer he listened to the stillness, the quieter he felt. His tie didn’t choke him anymore, and he let his shoulders relax against the back of the chair. It was nice to not feel mad for a while. The second hand on the clock kept sweeping around.
“Ernie,” he whispered, “why is it so quiet? Why do I feel good in here?”
Ernie looked up from the scriptures and smiled. “Remember how you felt after you got baptized and confirmed?” Andrew nodded. “How you felt warm and good and quiet because the Holy Ghost was there?” Andrew nodded again. “Well, since this is Heavenly Father’s house, His Spirit is here all the time. That’s why it feels good.”
“I like it,” whispered Andrew.
“So do I.” Ernie bent his head over his book again.
Andrew closed his eyes. He wondered if the feeling was even stronger inside the temple than it was by the front door.
“Hey, Andy,” Ernie said, bumping his shoulder against Andrew’s, “they’re coming out.”
Andrew opened his eyes. The foyer was filled with people he knew—aunts and uncles, his grandparents, his mom and dad. Brad’s mom and dad—but he couldn’t see Amanda.
“Let’s go outside and wait for them, OK?” said Ernie.
In the bright sunshine, Andrew looked at the water fountain in front of the temple. He stood on one foot, then the other and wondered if Amanda would ever come out. Maybe she’d forgotten all about him.
He looked up and saw her coming. Brad was holding her hand, and in her other hand, she had a bunch of pink flowers. She was still dressed in white, and they both looked so happy that they almost glowed.
“Andrew,” Amanda called. Pulling Brad over to where Andrew stood, she bent down and hugged him. Andrew just stood there for a moment. Then he put his arms around her and hugged back. Her hair tickled his nose.
“I love you,” Amanda said.
“You do? I thought you loved Brad more than me.”
Amanda looked surprised. “I do love Brad,” she said. “But you’re still the only little brother I have.”
Brad reached out and messed up Andrew’s hair. “Guess you’re my brother now too.”
Andrew squinted up at Brad. “You’re part of my family now?” He hadn’t thought about it that way.
“Sure,” laughed Brad, “and since families are forever, I hope you like me. Think I’ll make a good big brother?”
Andrew had never had a big brother before. It might be fun. “Sure!” He wanted to laugh and sing and dance. Instead, he stepped back, looked up to where the statue of Moroni was, and smiled.

When George A. Smith was very ill, he was visited by his cousin, the Prophet Joseph Smith. The afflicted man reported: “He [the Prophet] told me I should never get discouraged, whatever difficulties might surround me. If I were sunk into the lowest pit of Nova Scotia and all the Rocky Mountains piled on top of me, I ought not to be discouraged, but hang on, exercise faith, and keep up good courage, and I should come out on the top of the heap.” (George A. Smith Family, comp. Zora Smith Jarvis, Provo, Utah: Brigham Young University Press, 1962, p. 54)

At a distant stake conference one Sunday I was approached after the meeting by a young man whose face was familiar. He identified himself as a returned missionary whom I had met out in the world a few years ago. He said he had not attended the conference but had come at its conclusion, wanting to say hello. Our greetings were pleasant and revived some choice memories. I asked him about himself. He was in college, still single, and fairly miserable.
I asked him about his service in the Church, and the light in his eyes went out and a dull, disappointed face fashioned itself as he said, “I am not very active in the Church now. I don’t feel the same as I used to feel in the mission field. What I used to think was a testimony has become something of a disillusionment. If there is a God, I am not sure any more. I must have been mistaken in my zeal and joy.”
I looked him through and through and asked him some questions: “What do you do in your leisure? What do you read? How much do you pray? What activity do you have? What are your associations?”
The answers were what I expected. He had turned loose his hold on the iron rod. He associated largely with unbelievers. He read, in addition to his college texts, works by atheists, apostates, and Bible critics. He had ceased to pray to his Heavenly Father. His communication poles were burned, and his lines were sagging terribly.
I asked him now, “How many times since your mission have you read the New Testament?”
“Not any time,” was the answer.
“How many times have you read the Book of Mormon through?”
The answer was, “None.”
“How many chapters of scripture have you read? How many verses?”
Not one single time had he opened the sacred books. He had been reading negative and critical and faith-destroying things and wondered why he could not smile.
He never prayed any more, yet wondered why he felt so abandoned and so alone in a tough world. For a long time he had not partaken of the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, and he wondered why his spirit was dead.
Not a penny of tithing had he paid, and he wondered why the windows of heaven seemed closed and locked and barred to him. He was not receiving all the things he could have had. And as he was thinking of his woes and his worn-down faith, his loneliness, and his failures, I was thinking of a burned-out pasture in northern Argentina and burned-off telephone posts and sagging wires and dragging posts.
Deeply disturbing are the numerous signs of dwindling faith in our world. Matches are dropped. The grass is burned.
The sagging in spiritual conviction is frightening. Morale is often low even among employees in their jobs—selfish “gimme” tactics. “How much can I get?” “How about a raise?” More holidays. Fewer hours. Poor morale among the employers.
We are too affluent. We have too much money and other things. We have so many things. Even many poorer people have many things, and “things” become our life, and our vocabulary has been invaded with, “Let me do my thing.”
Yet the Lord has said, “… seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” (Matt. 6:33.) Too often, though, we want the “things” first.
We have a great generation of youth, but as I talk to many, I am amazed and surprised at the laxity of prayers among them, especially those who are in sin. Many have nearly ceased to pray. Their communication wires are down. Also numerous young people in their early married days cease to pray with regularity; their lines are sagging.
My first question to people in trouble is, “What about your prayers? How often? How deeply involved are you when you pray? And when you pray, are you humbly thanking or are you asking?”
Israel was in deep trouble—a sustained drought.
Israel’s King Ahab demanded of the prophet Elijah:
“Art thou he that troubleth Israel?
“And he answered, I have not troubled Israel; but thou, and thy father’s house, in that ye have forsaken the commandments of the Lord, and thou hast followed Baalim.” (1 Kgs. 18:17–18.)
The spectacular drama portrayed on Mt. Carmel between Elijah the prophet and the ineffectual false priests of Baal is the story of sagging lines of communication. Great wickedness—and the Lord had sealed the heavens from rain. Elijah had said: “… if the Lord be God, follow him: but if Baal, then follow him. …” (1 Kgs. 18:21.)
The contest brought about by Elijah was to prove to Israel that the gods of stone and wood and metal were powerless. When the 450 priests of Baal could not influence their gods to burn the offering, and the Lord, through Elijah, brought down fire from heaven and consumed the bullock, then with a revival of faith on the part of Israel, the clouds came and a torrential rain fell. Weak Israel had now set up new poles; they had restrung their wires, and communication was reestablished.
Two young couples from the Northwest came, bowed in sorrow. The husband of one and the wife of the other had lost themselves in frustration arising out of disloyally finding comfort where no association should have been tolerated. Their problems reached the maximum, and sorrow resulted.
It is generally the same. The two young people, unfaithful to their spouses, had conversed and confided too much; then secret meetings followed, then disloyal disclosures concerning the spouse of each. And finally, that which surely could not have been dreamed of—the transgression.
Both couples had reduced their activity, become casual in their church-going. They had joined a social group who were also turning to spiritual casualness like themselves. Their new way of living was beyond their means, and debts crowded out tithing.
Too busy they were for home evenings and too rushed for family prayer, and when the great temptations came, they were not prepared. Their grass had been consumed, and with it the poles had been burned off and the dangling charred stubs were hanging to the sagging wires.
Sin comes when communication lines are down—it always does, sooner or later.
We are living in a sagging world. There has been sin since Cain yielded to Satan, but perhaps never before has the world accepted sin so completely as a way of life. We shall continue to cry repentance from this and thousands of other pulpits. We shall continue to warn the people all too ready to accept the world as it pushes in upon them.
May we always repair our sagging lines and fulfill our total obligations and thus keep close to our Lord and Savior, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

“Stop right here!” barked the full-time missionary sitting next to me.
“What is it, Elder?” I replied.
“Somebody who lives there needs our help,” answered the short, stocky missionary sitting in the passenger seat.
I looked over at the dark, uninviting house he was talking about, and it was hard not to ridicule the young missionary for thinking something good could come from knocking on that door. But, because he had a sacred calling as a missionary in the Lord’s Church and I was only a 17-year-old convert, I obeyed his request and rolled my car to a stop.
It was a warm spring night in southern California. The only sound I heard as we walked up to the house was the symphony the crickets were performing. Though their music was pleasant, I still had an eerie feeling while knocking on the old door in front of us.
“Elder, I don’t think anybody’s home. We can try some other time.”
“Just wait,” the missionary pleaded.
Just as I was about to drag my temporary companion away from the dark doorstep, the door creaked open. In front of us stood a short, skinny man in his mid-30s. He wore a pair of tattered jeans and an off-white T-shirt decorated with small holes and grease stains.
“Who are you?” the man softly inquired.
“I am Elder Johnson, and this is my friend Gabe. We are here on behalf of the Lord Jesus Christ.”
Tears began to roll down the man’s face, and he started to sob uncontrollably. We stood in front of him, absolutely amazed at the scene that was unfolding before our eyes. Behind the tears he was shedding, the man’s eyes lit up with hope.
“Are you the angels I asked for?” the man questioned.
It turns out that Sam, the man we were speaking with, had been planning to end his life that night. In a final prayer to God, he pleaded that he would receive forgiveness for what he was about to do. Finally, his last hopeful request was for the Lord to send him an angel in this time of great need.
A fire burned in my chest as I realized the Lord was using this missionary and me as instruments in His hands. I felt so foolish for doubting the elder’s impression to stop.
This experience helped me realize I had something important to do with my life.
I didn’t know how many other people like Sam were across the world, but I imagined it was no small number. If I abandoned the opportunity to serve the Lord as a full-time missionary, would I miss other opportunities to make the Lord’s house calls in emergencies such as this? I dreaded the thought of leaving anybody stranded without the gospel. That’s one reason I decided to serve in the Lord’s royal army of missionaries.

The story is told of a man named Jack who had a beloved bird-hunting dog named Cassie. Jack was so proud of Cassie and often bragged about what a skilled dog she was. To prove this, Jack invited some friends to watch Cassie perform. After arriving at the hunting club, Jack let Cassie out to run around while he went inside to check in.
When it was time to begin, Jack was anxious to show off Cassie’s amazing skills. However, Cassie was acting strangely. She wouldn’t obey any of Jack’s commands as she usually did so willingly. All she wanted to do was remain by his side.
Jack was frustrated and embarrassed and angry with Cassie; soon he suggested they leave. Cassie wouldn’t even jump into the back of the truck, so Jack impatiently picked her up and shoved her in the kennel. He fumed as those with him made fun of his dog’s behavior all the way home. Jack couldn’t understand why Cassie was misbehaving. She had been trained well, and her whole desire in the past had been to please and serve him.
After arriving home, Jack began examining Cassie for injuries, burrs, or ticks, as he usually did. As he put his hand on her chest, he felt something wet and found his hand covered with blood. To his shame and horror, he found that Cassie had a long, wide gash right to her chest bone. He found another on her right front leg, also to the bone.
Jack took Cassie into his arms and began to cry. His shame at how he had misjudged and treated her was overwhelming. Cassie had been acting uncharacteristically earlier in the day because she was hurt. Her behavior had been influenced by her pain, her suffering, and her wounds. It had nothing to do with a lack of desire to obey Jack or a lack of love for him.

"Some years ago, he (Elder Steuer) served as a mission president in Sao Paulo, Brazil. It was his practice with newly arriving missionaries to give them real "missionary experiences" on their very first day as full-time proselyting missionaries. To do this, after their orientation and a dinner at the mission home, they would be sent out that evening with their assigned companions. The seasoned missionary would take the new missionaries out either tracting, street contacting, or giving discussions.

"In one of the groups of new missionaries, there was a Brazilian elder who came from far north of Brazil. It took this missionary about three days travel by bus just to reach the MTC in Sao Paulo for his initial training. On that first evening, after having a good meal, President Steuer announced that the new missionaries would then go out and do missionary work. This new missionary's companion decided they would go tracting, a frightening experience for this shy new elder. The senior companion said he would take the first door and told his companion to watch closely how it was done as the second door would be his.

"The young elder protested, saying he was too frightened, but his companion proceeded to the first door. When this young elder knocked on the second door, the senior companion stepped back and indicated for him to proceed. He shrank back. When the door opened, to the young elder's utter astonishment, the person standing there was his older sister. She had run away from home three or four years earlier. The family had not heard from her since and had no idea where she was, or even if she was still alive. One can imagine the sweetness of that reunion and the tears of joy that were shed that night.

"As he concluded this story, Elder Steuer said two things that deeply impressed me and made the point I'm trying to make. He said, "Not only was his sister one of the first nonmembers he contacted in the mission field, but she became his first convert baptism as well." Then he added,

"As you think about that... , remember, at that time there were between thirteen and fourteen million people in Sao Paulo!"

The father of Dimick was named William. One night the Prophet learned from Shadrack Roundy, who stood guard at his gate, that a mob was on the river. Shadrack Roundy’s “rascal beater,” which we would call a billy club, would not be enough against twenty men. The Prophet went down the street to William’s house, woke him up, and said, “A mob is coming, counsel me.” William said: “I know what to do. You climb in my bed. I’ll go back and get in yours.” That is what they did.

The mob came and dragged William out. Down by the river they discovered they had the wrong man. Their viciousness knew no bounds. In wrath, they “stripped him, roughed him up, tarred and feathered him, and herded him back into Nauvoo like a mad dog.”32 When he finally staggered into his own home the Prophet embraced him and said with all the power of his soul, “Brother William, in the name of the Lord I promise you will never taste of death.” That prophecy was fulfilled.33

New converts have blessed and been the lifeblood of the Church throughout its history. One example is particularly precious to me. When I was a young bishop, two marvelous sister missionaries were teaching the William Edward Mussman family. The father, a very capable lawyer, was general counsel of a major corporation. His devoted wife, Janet, was helping the family strive to live a more Christlike life.

Their exceptional son and daughter, both in their early 20s, were also being taught. All four had received the lessons and were attending church. The sister missionaries had emphasized reading the Book of Mormon and praying for a testimony of that sacred scripture. Remarkably, the family prayerfully read the entire Book of Mormon in a short time.

The stake missionaries, both of whom were prior ward Relief Society presidents, accompanied them to sacrament meetings.

As the family was nearing baptism, they received a barrage of literature critical of the Church. This was before the internet, but the material filled a large cardboard box.

The sister missionaries invited me as a recently called 34-year-old bishop to help answer the questions being raised. When we gathered in their living room, the large box of pamphlets critical of the Church was in the middle of the room. I had prayerfully approached this assignment. During the opening prayer, the Spirit whispered to me, “He already knows it is true.” This was important. The sisters believed that the rest of the family already had a testimony. They were unsure about the father.

I immediately informed him that the Spirit had prompted me that he already had a testimony. “Was that true?” He looked at me intently and said that the Spirit had confirmed the truth of the Book of Mormon and the Church to him.

I then asked whether it would be necessary to review the pamphlets, if they already had a spiritual confirmation.

The father replied that it would not be necessary. The rest of the family concurred with his answer.

He said he did have a significant question: One reason they had received so much literature opposing the Church was that they were members of another faith. In addition, he had made a large pledge to help build a new chapel for that faith. He informed me that the sister missionaries had taught him about the importance of tithing, which he gratefully accepted, but he wondered if it would be wrong to also honor the pledge he had previously made. I assured him that payment of the pledge would be both honorable and appropriate.

The Mussmans with their son, daughter-in-law, and daughter.

The entire family was baptized. One year later they were sealed as a family in the Oakland California Temple. I was privileged to be present. The son completed law school, passed the California Bar Exam, and immediately served a faithful mission in Japan. I have watched over the years as the succeeding generations have remained faithful to the gospel. I was privileged to officiate at the sealing of one of the granddaughters.

Daniel Harbuck had a spark of inspiration one day. He had caught a ride home with one of the older members of his ward. And she was telling him some great stories about her life. He asked Sister Marba Zabriskie why he had never heard these stories before. She told him that the young people weren’t interested.
“Not interested!” Daniel thought to himself. “Here I was hanging on her every word, and she thought no one was interested.”
That’s when Daniel had the inspiration. Why not get the teens in his ward to spend an evening with the older members of the ward, over refreshments, and listen to their stories?
He talked with his friends and priesthood leaders, and they all liked the idea. Soon invitations were sent to 11 older members of the Monument Park 11th Ward of the Salt Lake Monument Park Stake. They all met at the meetinghouse during Mutual activity time. Two or three youth were paired with each individual. Someone was assigned to take notes. The visits turned out to be a lot of fun—for the teens and the older members. They talked about all sorts of things. And best of all, they ended up finding some new friends.

We have a dear friend who was a train engineer. One day while he was driving a train on his route, he spotted a car stopped on the track ahead of him. He quickly realized that the car was stuck and unable to cross the track. He immediately put the train in emergency mode, which engaged the brakes on each boxcar that extended three-quarters of a mile (1.2 km) behind the engine, carrying a load of 6,500 tons (5,900 metric tons). There was no physical chance that the train would be able to stop before it hit the car, which it did. Fortunately for the people in the car, they heard the warning of the train whistle and escaped from the car before the impact. As the engineer spoke with the investigating police officer, an angry woman approached them. She shouted that she had seen the whole incident and then testified that the engineer did not even try to swerve out of the way to miss the car!
Obviously, if the engineer had been able to swerve and leave the tracks to avoid an accident, he and his entire train would have been lost in a derailment and the train’s forward progress would have come to an abrupt stop. Fortunately for him, the rails of the tracks on which his train ran kept the wheels of the train snugly moving toward its destination regardless of the obstacle in his way. Fortunately for us, we too are on a track, a covenant path we committed to when we were baptized as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Although we may encounter occasional obstacles along the way, this path will keep us moving toward our prized eternal destination if we stay firmly on it.

I love the Prophet Joseph because of his great capacity to forgive others, especially those that had grievously wronged him and caused him great suffering. Of this characteristic B. H. Roberts wrote:
The Prophet's frank forgiveness of his erring brother...exhibits a broad-mindedness and generosity that can come only from a great soul, influenced by the spirit of charity enjoined upon his disciples by the teachings of the Son of God. One of the surest evidences of Joseph Smith's greatness of mind and of the inspiration of God upon him is to be seen in his treatment of those who had fallen but were willing to and did repent of their sins.[7]

One such individual was William Wines Phelps. You may recognize this name from our church hymnal. W. W. Phelps, as he is commonly known, wrote many of our popular hymns including, "The Spirit of God", "Now Let us Rejoice", and "Praise to the Man." In 1838, he became disaffected with the church and turned against Joseph. He signed an affidavit that was instrumental in Joseph's eventual imprisonment in Liberty Jail. After suffering spiritual and temporal reversals, W. W. Phelps wrote a letter to Joseph seeking forgiveness desiring to be reunited with the church. The magnitude of Joseph's character is shown in his response:

It is true, that we have suffered much in consequence of your behavior - the cup of gall, already full enough for mortals to drink, was indeed filled to overflowing when you turned against us...had it been an enemy, we could have borne it. However, the cup has been drunk, the will of our Father has been done, and we are yet alive, for which we thank the Lord...Believing your confession to be real, and your repentance genuine, I shall be happy once again to give you the right hand of fellowship and rejoice over the returning prodigal.

Joseph closed the letter with the following:

Come on, dear brother, since the war is past, For friends at first, are friends again at last.[8]

I stand in awe of the Christ-like love and charity that were required by Joseph in this particular instance and so many others.

Shane Aldous steps to the front of his karate class.
“Taegeuk Seven Jang,” he shouts and begins leading students through a complex series of smooth flowing movements called a kata. Shane’s hands move into positions, palms up, fingers together. His eyes wide, alert, he steps into a low stance. Then with practiced precision, a hand moves in a graceful circle, stops, pulls in, and punches upward. A fast high kick follows.
A karate class might seem an unlikely place for missionary work, but for Shane Aldous, 15, and his family, almost any place can present an opportunity.
“Two years ago I was the biggest boy in my class,” Shane explains. “All of the boys who thought they were tough wanted to fight me. But I didn’t want to fight. My mother saw an advertisement in the paper for karate classes and asked if I wanted to take lessons.”
Chol H. Kim, the instructor of the class, teaches TaeKwon Do, a Korean style of karate, which emphasizes both physical and mental discipline. “In TaeKwon Do, character development is as important as physical development. It’s a class rule,” Shane says, “to show respect to your teachers and your parents.”
Shane’s parents and his brother Brad, 14, were so impressed with what Master Kim was teaching that they also signed up for his classes. “We do things as a family whenever we can,” Shane says.
Because they worked together and could help each other learn, the Aldous family progressed rapidly.
Brad and Shane began entering karate tournaments, and at the United States National Junior Olympics they took top honors in their divisions. Shane brought home a silver medal, and Brad won two gold medals.
From the time the Aldous family enrolled in his school, Master Kim had been watching them closely. There was something about them that made them stand out from other people. “I was impressed by the support they gave each other,” he says. “And by the emphasis they put on family and personal growth and development.”
Eventually the Aldous family invited Master Kim to church. He began taking the missionary lessons and was baptized.
Not long after he was baptized, one of his students, Gloria Lee, 19, was also baptized.
“I thought Master Kim was making a terrible mistake,” she says. “I’d heard some bad things about the Mormons. I didn’t want him to become involved in what I thought was a false religion and ruin his whole life. I decided to so something about it, so I confronted him and some other members of the Church. But I had a lot of questions about my own religion, and everything I learned about Mormonism made sense. I couldn’t deny it. I started taking discussions from the missionaries, and instead of saving Master Kim from the ‘terrible’ religion, I ended up being baptized myself. I am very lucky. My family belongs to another church, and they worry about me the way I worried about Master Kim. It’s not easy, but I’ve never regretted being baptized. The Church is true. The Aldous family has always been a good example for me. Without them I would not have found the Church.”
Accorind to Shane, working together as a family and living and knowing gospel principles are important keys to being successful missionaries. “You never know when people are watching you,” he says. “Or when they are going to become interested and start asking questions.”

It was one of those special times when a daughter comes to her father with an honest question that deserves a careful answer. The question of this attractive teenage daughter was, “With all the influences for evil around me, how can I be ‘in the world’ yet still maintain standards that are acceptable to you and to my Father in Heaven?”
“There are two important forces in the world,” the father replied. “Centrifugal forces and centripetal forces. The term centrifugal force comes from Latin roots meaning ‘fleeing from the center.’ Centripetal force is ‘a force directed toward the center.’”
“I ask a simple question and you give me a complicated answer!” cried the dismayed girl. “Can’t you just give me a simple answer?”
“Well, my dear, let me try to show you what I mean. Let’s take a little ball of cotton and put it on the turntable of the record player.” He placed the ball on the very edge of the turntable and said, “Now turn it on.”
She did so, and after three or four revolutions the little cotton ball went flying out into the room.
“Turn the record player off,” he directed, “and put the cotton at the center of the turntable. Now turn on the record player again.”
She did as she was told, and round and round the turntable went. But this time the ball of cotton did not move.
“That is what I mean by centrifugal and centripetal forces,” the father continued. “One force causes an object to flee from the center, and the other directs an object toward the center.”

A priesthood quorum that is looking for ways to give service can combine the right plan with the right place and really make a difference.

Adapt to conditions.
Sam Welsh, 14, of the Wellington Ward, West Palm Beach Florida Stake, had his teachers quorum organized in a food drive for the homeless. Then things blew apart—literally. Hurricane Andrew hit southern Florida with a fury that tore homes apart, uprooted trees, and displaced thousands of people. The service project suddenly became a way for Sam’s quorum to give relief to hurricane victims.

“Our quorum or any other teenage groups weren’t allowed into the hurricane area to work,” said Sam. “We only got to go work with our parents.” But one way teens could help was working for organizations funneling supplies into the area. Sam’s food drive expanded beyond his quorum and ward to include the entire stake, other Scout troops, and his performing arts school. The school officials asked that students donate money instead of goods. Sam used the money to purchase items the food bank had run short of, such as baby formula and bottles, diapers and wipes. The quorum helped collect donations and deliver them to a central collection point. Because the quorum had experience working together, they were able to keep the drive organized and on schedule.

Adapt to needs.
But chances for service don’t always come on such a large scale. Paul Brown, 16, of the Fort Pierce Ward, West Palm Beach Florida Stake, was severely injured in an automobile accident. His recovery will be long and slow. Mark Settle, a friend and member of the same priests quorum, explained what the quorum did after hearing about Paul. “We wanted to go see him, but we weren’t allowed in intensive care, so we had a group prayer. And we remembered Paul in our personal prayers and in our family prayers.”
“Every Sunday,” Mark said, “we have our priests quorum meeting at his house so Paul can be with us. He’s a good person to be around.”
And they have plans for Paul’s return. “When he feels good enough to go to Church, we’re going to get a microphone so he can bless the sacrament even if he can’t break the bread yet.”

She has seen this in her family. When she was 10, she was asked to give a testimony of baptism in the Primary sacrament meeting presentation. The only thing is, she hadn’t been baptized yet. Her mother had not given her permission. So Laysa wasn’t sure what she would say in her testimony, but she went ahead. Then a miracle happened. “My mother was in church that day,” says Laysa. “I didn’t expect her to be there. That day, I got her permission to be baptized.”