Gospel Story Finder

Through the years as I have filled assignments around the world, I have been asked many times if I belong to the Mormon Church. My response has been, “I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. Because we believe in the Book of Mormon, which is named after an ancient American prophet-leader and is another testament of Jesus Christ, we are sometimes called Mormons.” In every instance this response has been well received and in fact has opened up opportunities for me to explain the Restoration of the fulness of the gospel in these latter days.

One morning my missionary companion and I decided to go tracting in a small community in our assigned area in the southern Philippines. While we were busy knocking on doors, a man approached us and asked what we were doing. We could tell that he had been drinking.
Thinking that he was not really interested in our message, we handed him a pamphlet about the purpose of life. We then told him that if he would read the pamphlet and not drink that evening, we would come to his home to explain the purpose of life. He nodded and said he would wait for us. We hurriedly went on our way to a scheduled teaching appointment.
We really had no intention of returning to teach him that night, but every day afterward as we passed his house, I felt an impression to stop. I would immediately disregard the feeling, however, and justify my decision by telling myself that he was probably too drunk to listen.
After a few days the prompting became so strong that I could no longer resist it. As we knocked on his door, we were met by a startled lady who asked us why we had not returned earlier, as we had promised. She said her husband had waited for us that night and that for the first time in their married life, he had not been drinking.
We were embarrassed and apologized profusely. We set an appointment to return that night to teach her and her husband. Soon afterward Brother Gumabay (name has been changed) repented of all his worldly vices, was baptized, and became a pillar in the community.
A few days after his baptism, I was transferred to another area and lost contact with the family. All I could do was hope and pray that they would stay active in the Church.
Later I learned that the small community where the Gumabay family lived had a branch and then a ward. Brother Gumabay was called to be the bishop of that ward. I also learned that most of his relatives had joined the Church.
When I eventually returned to visit my old missionary area, I learned that many people had joined the Church there because of the good example of Bishop Gumabay, who had put his life in the hands of the Lord and placed Him at the helm of his family and daily activities.
I am so grateful we listened to the promptings of the Spirit to visit the Gumabay home. Through this experience I came to comprehend what the Lord meant when He said, “They that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick” (Matthew 9:12).

The Birmingham Alabama Primary, Alabama, USA, used the Nativity play from the December 2014 Friend to put on their first Christmas pageant. It helped them remember why we celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ.

A month or two later, I was up in my bedroom, alone, not particularly troubled or unhappy, but thoughtful. In the top drawer of my desk lay a paperback copy of A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, a parting gift from my former Mormon girlfriend.
Thinking of her, and recalling Jimmy’s presentation and other conversations I’d had with LDS kids, I pulled the book out and began reading. Maybe it would help me understand why they could talk about knowing their church was true.
The opening pages contained Joseph Smith’s story of his first vision, and as I read it, it struck me that this man, or boy, or whoever he was, was telling the truth. While I experienced no blaring trumpets or burning bosoms or bright lights or heavenly messengers, his story was quite simple and plain and logical to me. I set the book down on my desk and felt a surge of quiet confidence, a feeling I now recognize as the Holy Ghost, confirm what I had just read.
Such sudden and sure knowledge startled me because I realized that if Joseph Smith’s story was true, the church he founded must also be true. As I pondered my newly discovered testimony, I knew that I’d have to do something about it, though I wasn’t sure what. I decided that tomorrow I’d give my former girlfriend a call and tell her I knew what she and her friends knew and ask her if she had any ideas what I should do next.
Well, she had plenty of ideas, and the busy weeks of missionary discussions, fasting, and prayer that followed only served to confirm what I had first realized after reading Joseph Smith’s story one spring afternoon in my bedroom: It’s true. I know it!

Allie carefully placed the jars of freshly canned pears in the canning cupboard. All summer she’d helped Mom can fruits and vegetables. Only the shelf for peaches remained empty, but it would probably stay that way because they didn’t have any peach trees and money was too tight to buy any peaches. Closing the cupboard, Allie raced up the basement steps. She still had time to go over to Kim’s to help get the horses ready for the horse show tomorrow. Kim had promised to let her ride in the rescue race.
Mom was talking on the phone when Allie reached the kitchen. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” her mom was saying.
“Where are you going?” Allie asked the minute her mom hung up.
“Aunt Trudy is in the hospital, and Uncle Eric wants me to come right away. Will you run up to the attic and bring down the brown suitcase while I call your father? Please hurry—I have a dozen things to do before I leave.”
The next hour flew by in a flurry of packing and last-minute decisions. When Dad arrived with Allie’s brother, Rod, they sat down to a hurried meal.
“Who’s going to take care of things here while you’re gone?” Rod asked when he heard the news.
“Allie can manage the housework and cooking,” Mom answered.
Allie dropped her fork. “Does that mean that I can’t go to the horse show with Kim tomorrow? Kim promised that I could ride Socks in the rescue race.”
Rod rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Are horses the only thing that you ever think about?”
“That will do,” Dad said sternly as he pushed back his chair. “I’m going to drive your mother over to Randell. I’ll be back around eleven.”
Mom gave Allie a quick hug. “I’m depending on you to take care of things while I’m gone. You may go with Kim tomorrow if you finish your chores first.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Allie watched her parents drive away, then dashed out of the house, past the empty stables, and across the back pasture to Kim’s house to help her get ready for the next day.
The next morning Allie leaped out of bed and fixed breakfast.
“Dad, will you drop me off at Pringles on your way to the mill?” Rod asked as he ate the last slice of toast. “I finished at the Kellys’ yesterday, and Mr. Pringle hired me to mend his pasture fences.”
“Sure,” his father said, reaching for his hat. “They’re talking about closing the mill again this winter, so every extra job you can get will help out here. Let’s go.”
Allie rushed through her housework, then dashed upstairs to change clothes before Kim came. She had just finished fixing her hair when she heard a truck pull into the yard. She was out the back door before she realized that it wasn’t Kim.
“Morning, Allie,” Mr. Kelly called. “Rod said that you folks could use some peaches. We had a good crop this year, so I brought you some.” He lifted two large boxes from the truck and stacked them on the porch. “Tell your mother that she’d better can them today, or they’ll be too ripe.”
A mouth-watering smell rose from the boxes. What a waste! Too bad Mom isn’t here to can them, Allie thought. Then she remembered what her father had said a few days earlier: “If the mill closes again this winter, we’ll need all that Mom has canned and more.”
When Kim arrived a short time later, Allie had changed back into her old clothes and was washing jars.
“Aren’t you ready yet?” Kim asked.
“I’m not going.” Allie shook the soapy water from her hands. “I tried to call you.”
“Not going! Why not?” Kim demanded. “You can’t miss this competition. Diane Pringle is going to be there with Shalazod. It’s the last time we’ll see her gorgeous horse before she goes away to college. And what about the rescue race? I thought that you were dying to be in it.”
“I’m sorry,” Allie said, motioning toward the back porch. “Mr. Kelly brought us some ripe peaches. I can’t go off and let them spoil.”
Three quick blasts on a horn put an end to the discussion. “Mom’s getting impatient. See you later,” Kim called as she ran down the steps.
Allie rushed to the back porch. She wanted to yell to Kim to wait for her. But she caught her lower lip between her teeth and turned back to the kitchen. As she got out the canning equipment, she tried not to think about the horses and all the fun that she was going to miss.
It was past noon when Allie finished the first box of peaches. She was hot and tired. Peach fuzz made her arms itch, and the floor and stove were sticky with juice.
“Mom always makes it look easy,” she grumbled as she started on the second box of peaches.
Allie was lifting the last rack of jars from the canner when her father and brother came home from work.
“What’s all this?” her father asked. “I thought that you were going to the horse show with Kim today.”
Allie added the hot jars to the ones already covering the counters. “I was, but Mr. Kelly brought us two boxes of peaches this morning, and they needed to be canned before they spoiled.” She looked at the cluttered kitchen. “Sorry—I haven’t had time to start dinner yet.”
“I think that we can make do with soup and sandwiches,” Dad said. “Rod, give Allie a hand while I make a phone call.”
When dinner was over, Allie was almost too tired to move, but she felt a surge of pride when she looked at the rows of bottled peaches.
“How about taking a walk with me,” her father said.
“Right now?” Allie didn’t want to get out of her chair.
“If you’re too tired, I guess I’ll just have to pick out the best stall for Shalazod by myself.”
“Shalazod?”
Dad nodded. “Mr. Pringle asked me today if we could board him while Diane is away at college. Diane likes the way that you handle horses. At first I had decided to say no because I figured that you’d spend all of your time with the horse and neglect everything else. But after what you did today, I’ve changed my mind.”
“Oh, Dad!” Allie threw her arms around his neck. “It’s a dream come true! It’s almost as good as having a horse of my own.”
“Come on, let’s go pick out his stall. Shalazod will be here the day after tomorrow.”
Allie didn’t feel tired at all as she raced her dad to the stables.

Since I’ve been in school, I’ve had friends who haven’t understood the moral standards of our religion. At first it was difficult, but over time my friends have become used to the idea of my being morally clean. I made a goal in my life to be clean and pure, and it’s worked out well, both for me and for those who used to criticize me. Over time, respect, peace, and joy have become a part of our loving circle of friends.

After my senior season with the Cougars, I knew I was going to be drafted by an NFL team, and it turned out to be the Cincinnati Bengals. By the end of my second season I was starting in the Super Bowl. In my third year with the Bengals, I led the team in sacks. Everything seemed great. But for some reason, at the beginning of my fourth year, I was sitting on the bench.
It seemed the coaches wanted bigger guys playing the defensive line positions, leaving me to stand on the sidelines. I knew I wasn’t in Cincinnati’s long-range plans, and sure enough I was cut toward the end of fall camp. The 1991 season was about ready to begin and I was out of football. All the other NFL teams had their rosters finalized, so I had to wait and hope a team would pick me up.
This was another terrible period in my life. I knew I was still good enough to play, yet I wasn’t being given the chance. A few weeks into the season the Seattle Seahawks seemed interested in signing me to a contract. Instead, they took another guy, which was one of the hardest blows of my career.
I came back to my home in Utah not knowing what to do or what was going to happen. I wasn’t giving up, but I was really down. To take my mind off my situation, I went to play golf by myself. It was fall, in the middle of the week, and nobody was there playing. I was out on the back nine all by myself crying and thinking about what I was going to do. I stopped my cart and had a word of prayer.
When I finished, I went from tears and this distraught feeling to the most wonderful, calm feeling that told me everything was going to be okay. That Sunday, I got a phone call from the Washington Redskins. They told me they had some injured players and needed a replacement.
It was amazing. One day I was crying, and the next thing I knew I was playing for one of the best organizations in the NFL. I left behind the Cincinnati Bengals, who finished 3–13 in 1991, and went to the Redskins, who went on to win the Super Bowl. I finished my first Redskin season with 12 tackles, three quarterback hurries, and one and a half quarterback sacks. Plus I earned a Super Bowl ring. Things couldn’t have turned out better.

Another thing that helped was realizing how much the Savior truly understood me. I realized that He knew exactly what I was going through and would always be with me. I focused more on getting to know Him through the scriptures and prayer. Sometimes when I prayed, I would imagine that He and Heavenly Father were sitting with me and listening. When I have difficult feelings and feel overwhelmed at how unfair Barbara’s situation seems at times, I remember that Christ will help me find peace and reassurance. Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explained this perfectly when he said, “In unfair situations, one of our tasks is to trust that ‘all that is unfair about life can be made right through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.’” 2

Henry serves as a great ambassador of the Church. Wherever he competes, all around the world, he is known as a Latter-day Saint. “When I compete in Europe I always have missionaries come up to me at races. I represent the Church wherever I go as far as people identifying me as being Mormon. When I was on my way home from the Spartakiad in Russia I was talking to a Finnish man on the plane, and I gave him a Book of Mormon. A couple of years later I was at a BYU basketball game when a guy came up to me and said, ‘Are you Henry Marsh? I was a missionary in Finland and I taught a guy you gave a Book of Mormon to.’ It’s a small world.

Students at Safford, Arizona, seminary are still talking about the day Miss Teenage America, Rewa Walsh, drove up to the seminary building in her official car and paid a visit to the classes. A new convert to the Church, Rewa bore her testimony and expressed thanks for the copy of the Book of Mormon containing class signatures.

There is a young woman in Korea who is the first member of the Church in her family. She held her well-worn Personal Progress book and said she dreamed of having a gospel-centered family. A Young Women president in Armenia is carrying out the Young Women program faithfully although she does not have a Church Handbook of Instructions written in her language.

Max McDonald and the Aaronic Priesthood boys in his Scout troop from Hooper, Utah, know about the strong ice, about the water and the fish beneath. They know that in the depths, down in the realms where the mythical Bear Lake monster roams, the cisco congregate all winter. But during the January thaw the small fish pull in close to shore and spawn. The cisco run lasts one week, maybe two. Then the fish retreat deep into the turquoise once again.
Now it was the last week of January, and the cisco were coming in.
Chris, 12, and Kevin Chase, 13, of the Hooper First Ward, Hooper Utah Stake, cracked open the front door of their parents’ home and headed for the chapel. Their breath puffed up white around them, lingering, then mingling in the gray air. There was still sleep in their eyes, but the biting chill was enough to make them alert. So was the walking. Chris pulled his orange hat down tighter so it met the collar of his blue parka.
It was 4 A.M. It was cold. It was a crazy time to leave a warm bed and go outside. It was an adventure.
Max, the Scoutmaster, and Kent Summers, a fisheries biologist who serves as the ward Scouting coordinator, had already endured the morning ritual of scraping windshields, shivering under the blast of cold air before the car heater warmed up, unbending their frozen fingers from around the steering wheel, and maintaining calm as the boys loaded into their station wagons. Kevin and Chris arrived just in time to make the passenger list complete.
They nodded to friends inside the car: David Kite, 14, and Shawn Park, Jon Housley, and John Summers, all 13 years old. Max’s sons, Travis, 9, and Cordell, 8, love to fish, and the night before they had begged to tag along. Max loves to fish almost as much as they do. And he loves to spend time with his sons even more. So his boys had claim on the back seat.
On the freeway, headlights stabbed through the darkness. The heater purred. Static on the radio interrupted agricultural news of soy bean prices and pork belly futures. The Scouts started out joking and teasing each other. Some talked about the weather, about the awful fog that had been trapped in the valley for weeks now. Some found a few doughnuts to munch on. But it wasn’t long before everyone but the drivers fell asleep.
It seemed only minutes later when the boys sat up to a startling sensation. It was bright. The fog—the dingy gray curtain hanging over Salt Lake and Ogden—was gone. Climbing through the mountains, they had risen above the temperature inversions. A clear, clean day full of light was dawning with not a cloud in sight. “It made me feel like shouting hurray,” said John. “We’d been in the fog so long, every day for weeks and weeks. I’d forgotten what it was like to see the sun.”
The cars pulled through a deep canyon, out onto the flat around the shore, and turned off the highway. Already dozens of fishermen were out on the ice, silhouetted in the rising sun.
The cars turned off the beach road and onto some gravel, then stopped. The Scouts were instantly alive. Within five minutes the cars were empty. Fishing poles, tackle boxes, blankets, folding chairs, firewood, food, and hatchets were all stacked on the shore or carried out on the ice. Kelly Lucas, 14, even strapped on ice skates and raced back and forth, helping speed up the transportation of equipment.
The best cisco fishing on Bear Lake is often along the east shore, about the same place where scuba divers practice in the summer. “That’s why we’re on this side,” Max said. “We’re next to the hills, and the sun won’t hit the water for a while. That makes the fish crowd around.”
“Last Saturday is when you should have been here,” Brother Summers added. “That’s when they were really running.”
The leaders checked each boy to make sure he had a fishing license. They warned them not to leave their poles unattended and cautioned them about accidentally stepping through old holes not yet frozen over, which are easy to spot by their color. Max talked a little about how to use a dip net close to shore for cisco and a rod and reel further out for trout and whitefish. They reminded everyone to stay in the same general area. And then they turned the group loose on the ice.
A hatchet makes a strange sound when it hits ice, a kind of echoing “chunk.” It also sends up a spray of chips and splinters. Kevin soon had them all over his coat. But he had also opened up an old hole and was ready to fish.
“You can only make a new hole with an auger,” Kevin explained. “It’s like a giant drill.”
And Brother Summers just happened to have one along.
Grunting with the effort, he and Max took turns drilling a new hole in a place where the ice was nearly two feet thick. They twisted the auger around and around and let some of the young men have a try. Eventually the blade cut through, and some water bubbled up, black like india ink. Then Brother Summers pumped the auger up and down in the hole for a minute to clean it out. The water melted the frost off the ice and turned it clear. Sure enough, there was the turquoise, deep underneath.
“It’s an eerie thing to look down and realize you’re standing on something solid that’s made out of water,” said Roy Fowers, 12, “and then to look through it to the water underneath. It’s almost spooky. It feels so solid, but it looks fragile.”
Max reassured him that even trucks have driven on the Bear Lake ice without going through.
That was little comfort a minute later, however, when there was a groaning sound, followed by a quiet snap and a pop. Everyone looked around, then ran to find the crack and see how far it reached into the thickness of the ice.
Then they laughed.
“Hey Cordell,” Chris said. “Did you hear something?” And with theatrical fear and trembling, Chris put his hatchet down and said, “I’m not chopping anymore.”
Those who had been ice fishing before knew that any patch of ice shifts and adjusts when sun hits it and temperatures change. But for newcomers and those with tender nerves, the occasional cracking sounds were a bit unsettling.
And so was the cold.
Dave kept complaining about the line freezing in the top of his pole. Jon looked a quarter mile out, where the trout fishermen were dropping lines through the ice.
“The only thing they’re catching out there is a cold,” he said.
Shawn was shivering. “Right now I’m just freezing,” he said. “I wish I was home!”
“It’s only five miles to the other side of the lake,” Max replied. “Run over there and back. That’ll warm you up.”
Then, all of a sudden, the fish arrived.
It looked like catching cisco would be easy. The small fish were swimming in schools at shallow depths, close to shore. Dip nets are legal when fishing for cisco, so all that’s necessary is to sneak the net near them, move it quickly, then snatch them out of the water. Simple, right?
Well, not quite. For one thing, the fish are wary, and they’re quick. They dart away when something else moves in the water. And the long pole of a dip net creates a lot of resistance when pushed or pulled through the water. Cisco will swim into the net and back out before they get lifted out of the water. It’s fair to say they have at least a fighting chance.
Just the same, once the Scouts got used to the technique, they managed to catch a few fish at a time, until small piles of silver at their feet gave evidence of success.
And toward the center of the lake, the trout fishermen were having their day, too.
“Take a look at that one,” Roy said, pointing to a small, pale cutthroat he’d caught in a nearby hole. “Isn’t it beautiful? In the winter they aren’t quite as colorful as in the summer. Maybe they lose color when they get cold.”
Actually, the fish was just above the limit for size. But Roy couldn’t have been prouder. And when the next one he caught was even bigger, that was all right, too.
“Isn’t fishing great?” he said, untangling a lure in his tackle box. “And up here, we can do it in the middle of the winter.”
Over on the shore, Max had started a fire and called Kevin and Chris in to start frying some bacon. Within minutes they also had potatoes and onions, with just the right touch of pepper, steaming in a dutch oven. Undisturbed by the makeshift kitchen around them, Travis and Cordell sat together on the same folding chair. Huddled under an old sleeping bag, they propped their stocking feet on a log by the fire, thawing out slowly.
The sun topped the hill. Its rays beat down, pure and hot, chasing the cisco and trout to deeper, colder water. One by one the fishermen meandered in to eat.
The freshly caught cisco were cleaned and wrapped in foil, then buried deep in the coals.
“We’ll save the trout to eat at home tonight,” Jon said. “But the cisco are best if you cook ‘em fresh out of the water.”
In truth, though they have a troutlike flavor, cisco are quite bony. But half the fun of an adventure is bragging. And as far as the young men of the Hooper First Ward were concerned, at the moment there weren’t any better tasting fish in the world. Well fed and happy, the Scouts and their leaders took a moment to chat.
“I love coming out on stuff like this,” Kevin said. “It’s fun. I get to be in a troop with my friends and share everything with my brother, too.”
“It seems weird that a whole lake could freeze over,” Dave said. “Just imagine where we’d be, trying to fish from the same spot in the summer. You’d have to have a boat.”
“I love to look down through the hole and see the trout,” Shawn said. “You can see them green against the rocks on the bottom.”
He also talked about previous Scout activities, mostly camp-outs in the mountains. “This is my first time ice fishing,” he said.
And Kelly remembered another activity, one that had been a lot of fun.
“We played ice hockey at a place in Hooper, but only two of us knew how to skate very well, so the others took off their skates and played with shoes on.”
And that was how the hockey game at Bear Lake got started. A couple of old coats served as goal markers, feet served as sticks, and a pop can became a puck. Up and down, up and down along the ice, the battle for points raced with a fury. No need to check opponents—the ice took care of that. As soon as anyone got running well enough to gain an advantage, he’d hit a slick spot and tumble, leaving the can behind. Conveniently, the score was tied when Shawn spotted deer on the slope above the lake, and suddenly nature became more important than hockey.
“Look at them run!” John said, watching a buck zigzag from rock to rock. “There’s been a lot of snow. It’s forced them down low this year.”
While they were all busy looking at the slope, Max took a minute to talk about his “boys.”
“We’re real proud of them,” he said. “They’ve all progressed at least two ranks this year. But it isn’t the ranks that count. It’s the boys.” Then he told a story about one young man who’d had a problem with littering.
“We were up here in the summer, and he threw a can in the lake after he’d promised not to. I made him wade out and bring it in. Later, we had a demonstration from the forest service about the effects of littering. People don’t usually think of littering as pollution, but it’s one of the most visible kinds.”
Caring enough to go beyond just saying no, to help young men understand why they need to be responsible for their actions—that’s what Max is all about. But he shrugs off such praise lightly.
“I just want to help them have some good experiences, to help them have some fun. If one of them ever got lost in the winter and needed food, maybe ice fishing would be one of many skills that could help him survive. If one of them needs to know he has some friends, he can always come join with us. And that might also help him to survive.”
The deer eventually disappeared from sight. With a slight amount of prodding Kelly, Shawn, Dave, John, and the others returned to help gather up cooking gear and fishing equipment and load it back into the cars. Even though it was still early in the afternoon, it was time to head back to town.
And even though that meant they would soon descend back into the haze and fog, the young men from Hooper were content. They had a good supply of fish for the days to come. Their spirits had been buoyed up by fresh air and bright light. They had enjoyed being together and learning from their leaders. They had stories to share with their mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters. They had gazed deep into turquoise waters and walked on crystal ice. Without spending lots of money and without driving far, they had enjoyed their day in the sun.

Stake conferences are usually pretty routine. A visiting General Authority can add excitement; but otherwise there’s just the established procedure of talks and music and (for me at least) trying to pay attention and not become distracted by crying children and my own daydreaming.
Daydreaming in stake conference can be dangerous, for Dad usually quizzes us about the talks on the way home. But this Sunday he seemed unusually quiet and thoughtful. Not until we were halfway to Newton did he speak up.
“Did any of you kids pay attention to President Betts’s talk?”
What kind of question was that? Ammon, Jennie, and I exchanged glances.
“He said a bunch of stuff about priorities and goals,” Ammon finally remarked.
“And, as usual, he talked about missionary work,” Jennie added with a flip of her blonde ponytail.
Somehow I didn’t think that was what Dad wanted to hear. I leaned back and let my mind replay the stake president’s talk.
“He mentioned that his health had been poor lately and apologized for any inconveniences it might cause.”
Dad nodded, looking rather somber. “And?”
Mom came to our rescue. “Poor Lester. He even managed a joke about not being able to get any gardening done this spring. He’s always loved gardening so much—it must be hard for him to let it go.” She sighed. “I’d hate to have to give up my gardening because of bad health.”
We were all very quiet, even Fred and Willy. I couldn’t get a visual image of President Betts out of my mind: tall, thin, gray haired, slightly stooped. He’d always looked that way, it seemed, in the years and years he’d been stake president. But lately, now that I thought about it, he appeared much thinner, much grayer, much more bent over, much older. I shivered a little. I couldn’t imagine a stake conference without him on the stand.
Mom frowned at our gloomy faces. “Now, now, it’s not that bad! He’s not in the best of health, but he’s not dying either!”
Dad, stopping for a light, glanced over his shoulder at us. “What could we all do to help President Betts?”
“Pray,” Fred said instantly.
“Yes, we can always do that,” Mom agreed cheerfully, rubbing Fred’s short brown hair. “What else?”
Ammon and Jennie lit up simultaneously. “Do his gardening for him!” Mom and Dad nodded, all smiles, and I silently groaned. I hate gardening. It’s the one family activity I automatically excuse myself from. Gardening makes my whole body sore and strains my eyes. Besides, I can’t tell a flower (or vegetable) from a weed, and I usually kill everything I touch.
“Let’s go over to his house tomorrow, for family night,” Ammon said excitedly.
How much homework did I have? Or maybe I could wangle an invitation from Ahna to watch a TV special, or a request from the Nickles to baby-sit.
“Should we tell President Betts first or just show up?” Jennie asked. She was really thrilled about this.
“Oh, let’s keep it a surprise,” Ammon quickly replied. “It will be twice as fun.”
“It’s all settled then,” Dad said, and, as if he could read my mind, continued in a rather stern voice, “right, Stephie?”
“Right,” I agreed weakly. But I had one last defense.
“What if President Betts doesn’t want anyone to do his gardening? Some people get kind of fussy about things like that, you know.”
Mom gave me a penetrating look. Could she read my mind too? “I don’t think you need to worry about that, dear,” she said in a no-nonsense manner.
I shut up. I obviously wasn’t going to get anywhere with my excuses. Secretly, I was a little relieved that I was being forced to participate. If I didn’t, I knew from prior experience that I’d have guilt feelings for weeks. But that didn’t mean I had to enjoy myself.
The next evening, after the usual quibbling and teasing, we finally managed to get all of us and all our gardening equipment (just in case President Betts had his tucked away) into the car and drove across town to his home. Perhaps I could be nice and chat to Sister Betts while everyone else was working.
Dad led us around the garage and into the garden while Mom rang the doorbell to explain what we were up to. Maybe, despite Mom’s reassurances, President Betts would be offended or upset and tell us to go away.
When President Betts came out onto the patio with Mom, he was beaming like a little kid. “You wonderful people! I never expected—” He broke off, his eyes damp.
Dad put his arm around the president’s shoulder. “We’re glad to help,” he said gently. “Just tell us what you want done.”
“That’s right,” Ammon said, pushing forward a lawn chair. “You can sit here and direct the troops.”
President Betts laughed. “If you insist—I’ll be delighted to take advantage of all these willing hands.”
He was so happy and pleased that I felt ashamed of my negative attitude. I followed Dad over to a stretch of yard.
“You’d better keep an eagle eye on me so I don’t ruin everything,” I warned.
Dad agreeably guided me through the various steps. With Ammon and Jennie on their own and Mom watching over Fred and Willy, we were soon busy at work, digging, planting and watering under President Betts’ direction.
After what seemed an eternity but was actually only 30 minutes, I straightened up and rubbed my back. Oh, how I hurt! My muscles were sore, my clothes were damp and dirty, my fingernails were black, and my glasses were dusty. I took them off and rubbed my eyes.
We had made a little progress. But there was so much left to do! We couldn’t possibly finish the whole yard in one night.
At that moment, voices—strangely familiar voices—sounded from the driveway. Feet tramped around the garage. We all waited curiously.
“Good heavens!” Brother Giberson stood stock still, his wife and children all holding gardening tools behind him, and stared at Dad. Dad stared back, and then he and Brother Giberson burst into laughter.
“Two minds with but a single thought,” Brother Giberson said jovially. He walked over to President Betts, who was open-mouthed with amazement, and shook his hand. “I’m surprised the whole stake isn’t here!”
The Gibersons set to work immediately, and between all 13 of us we were able to get the whole yard in shipshape order—and have fun while doing it! As Dale Giberson and I dug, he told me corny jokes culled from Boy’s Life. As Jana Giberson and I planted, we compared notes on school teachers and assignments. As Sister Giberson and I watered, she sang children’s songs and hymns with such verve that I couldn’t help joining in. The whole yard resounded with music as Mom, Lenna Giberson, and I tidied up and as Jennie, Ammon, and I set our gardening tools back in the car. When we finished with one last chorus of “I Am a Child of God,” the next-door neighbors leaned over the fence and applauded.
“What’s family night without a treat?” Sister Betts called as she set up a card table and brought out bowls, spoons, and several containers of ice cream.
“Mint chocolate chip, my favorite!” Tommy Giberson exclaimed. “Did you know we were coming?”
“No, but I guess it pays to stock up on certain foods,” Sister Betts said with a smile which faded a bit as she looked at our grubby hands. “Why don’t you use the bathroom first to clean up? Two at a time, one in the kitchen and one in the basement.”
Hot water and soap never felt so good. I not only scrubbed my hands, I washed my face and polished my glasses. Ah! At last I could see!
“Hurry up!” Willy called plaintively. “The ice cream’ll be all gone!” I let him in and boosted him up to the sink. He energetically splashed, soaped, and rinsed.
“This was fun, huh, Stephie?” he asked as he dried off. Without waiting for an answer, he dashed up the stairs.
Fun? I trudged, very slowly, up the stairs. I felt totally exhausted; my whole body complained with every step I took; my jeans would never be the same. I hated gardening even more passionately than I had the day before.
The patio was bustling with people talking, laughing, giggling, teasing. The feeling of caring and affection was so strong I could literally sense it. President Betts seemed vigorous and glowing, and the garden looked fantastic.
“Yeah,” I said to myself. “It was fun.”

We lived several years in Brazil. Soon after arriving, I met Adelson Parrella, who was serving as a Seventy, and his brother Adilson, who was serving in our stake presidency. Later I met their brother Adalton, serving as a stake president in Florianopolis, and another brother Adelmo, serving as a bishop. I was impressed by the faith of these brothers, and I asked about their parents.
The family was baptized in Santos, Brazil, 42 years ago. Adilson Parrella said, “At first, Father seemed very excited about joining the Church. However, he [soon] became less active and asked our mother not to attend church.”
Adilson told me that his mother sewed clothing for the neighbors to pay for her children’s bus fare to church. The four little boys walked together over a mile to another town, boarded the bus for 45 minutes, and then walked another 20 minutes to the chapel.
Although unable to go to church with her children, Sister Parrella read the scriptures with her sons and daughters, taught them the gospel, and prayed with them. Their humble home was filled with the rich blessings of priesthood power. The little boys grew up, served missions, were educated, and married in the temple. The blessings of the priesthood filled their homes.
Years later, as a single sister, Vany Parrella entered the temple for her own endowment and, later still, served three missions in Brazil. She is now 84 years old, and her faith continues to bless the generations that have followed her.

I went through a time when I began to wonder if the Church was really the only true church on the earth. My friends all seemed to believe that their churches were true, and they are good people with high standards.
I set a goal to gain a testimony. I knew it would take time. I prayed, studied the scriptures, and made sure I attended all my Church meetings and activities. I really listened and asked questions, and I thought about all my parents had taught me. After I truly understood the gospel, I began to learn more about my friends’ churches. As I talked with my friends, I realized how fulfilling the gospel is in my life. As I shared with them my beliefs, I realized that I did know that the Church is true. A feeling came over me that was so great.
Don’t ever give up. A desire to gain a testimony is a sign that you are building one already.
Kerianna Copeland, 14Franklin, Pennsylvania

My baptism was very special to me. I prayed with my mom that my dad would give me permission to be baptized. Heavenly Father answered my prayers, and my dad gave me permission. I was baptized, and I’m very happy to belong to the only true Church on the face of the earth, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My testimony grows every day as I learn more about my Heavenly Father.
Amy V., age 9, El Oro, Ecuador

John usually raced downstairs when Mom called him for family home evening, but tonight he was already sitting on the couch when Mom came in the living room. The smell of Dad’s brownies had teased him in, but that wasn’t the only reason for his smile. Every week at family home evening, Mom read the latest e-mail from John’s brother David, who was serving a mission.
“Did David talk about his wrist this week?” John asked. Last week, David had mentioned that he had been in a bike accident and might have broken his wrist.
“Let’s find out,” Mom said.
“Dear family,” she read. “The doctor says my wrist is definitely broken. The broken bone is pushing other bones in my wrist out of alignment. I will probably need surgery. I am not in pain, and it is not swollen. It just is very broken.”
Mom kept reading. David had written about his companion and the people he had taught, but John’s mind was still on his brother’s wrist.
“Mom? Can I say family prayer tonight?” he asked when Mom finished.
“Sure,” Mom said.
The family knelt for prayer, and John made sure he prayed extra hard for David.
When they had brownies, John felt a little better, but he was still worried about his brother.
During the next week, John spent a lot of time praying for David. The next Sunday at dinner, Mom had an announcement.
“David is going to have surgery this week,” she said. “But the doctors are concerned because this type of injury is difficult to heal. They aren’t sure it will heal properly after the surgery.”
“Will David be able to finish his mission?” John asked.
“I’m not sure,” Dad said.
John stared at his plate. As much as he missed his brother, he didn’t want David to have to come home from his mission.
“Dad and I have an idea,” Mom said. “I know we’ve been praying for David, but we’d like to have a special fast for him.”
“A special fast?” John asked.
“It wouldn’t be on fast Sunday, and we would ask our friends and family to fast and pray that the surgery will go well.”
“We think you’re old enough to fast, so you can fast with us if you’d like,” Dad said.
“I like that idea,” John said.
A month and a half later, after a difficult surgery and several weeks in a cast, David sent an e-mail.
“Dear family, my wrist is an interesting story, especially the reaction from my doctor. He couldn’t find any sign of the fracture! He took lots more X-rays and told me that the bone had completely healed and that he didn’t need to put me back into a cast. My doctor isn’t a member of the Church, but he said my healing was a miracle. It’s incredible how all those prayers really worked.”
John leaned over Mom’s lap to read the e-mail for himself. “The fasting helped cause a miracle, didn’t it?” he asked.
Mom nodded. “The fast and all those prayers.”

My favorite stuffed animal was missing. I looked for it and prayed for help. After a week, my brother found it. I remembered a Primary lesson about how God answers prayers. It can take a day, a week, or even 10 years, but He still answers our prayers.
Hunter S., age 9, Colorado, USA

One neighbor with 12 children has invited my two oldest children countless times to meals, family home evenings, and Church activities. I’m certain many neighbors would have preferred us to turn down our music or end our parties earlier, but they didn’t complain. I don’t think I would have been as receptive to the bishop if at any point I had felt my neighbors withholding their friendship because I didn’t attend church with them. Much good comes simply from loving our neighbors!

For example, we met a lady who was very sad because she had lost a child. I had the opportunity to bear to her my testimony of eternal families and to speak about the temple. I told her how happy I am to have a temple in France so that I can have the blessing of being united for always with my family and my ancestors.