Gospel Story Finder

Jay Roberts stared out the window and sighed, then slowly stirred his cereal. He could hardly believe that summer was already gone.
“Hurry up, Jay,” Mother called from the hall. “Dad is ready for family prayer before he leaves.”
After the prayer, Jay carried his cereal bowl to the sink, then trudged up the stairs to brush his teeth. Who invented school anyway? he wondered.
When the school bus arrived, he dutifully climbed on. There were only a couple of seats left. He chose the one across the aisle from his best buddy. “Hey, Lance,” he said.
“Yo,” Lance replied. He said “yo” all the time now, after seeing a guy in a movie do it.
“Who do you want for a teacher?” Jay asked.
“Anyone except Mrs. Turnbull,” Lance replied. “I heard she’s really hard.”
Suddenly Jay was aware of a slight groan beside him. He turned around and saw a very small boy sharing the seat. “Hey,” Jay said to his neighbor, “I’m Jay.”
The little boy hesitated a moment before mumbling, “My name’s Rickey.”
“Well, hello, Rick,” Jay answered. “What grade are you in?”
“None.”
“None? What does that mean?”
“I’m just in the kid garden.”
“You mean in kindergarten?” Jay asked, trying not to smile.
Rickey nodded solemnly. “And I’m not sure where the garden is.”
“It’s OK,” Jay assured him. “There will be teachers at school to help you get where you’re going. And if there aren’t, we’ll show you.”
Rickey stared at Jay for a moment and then asked, “What’s your grade?”
“Lance and I are in fifth grade,” Jay replied, motioning toward his friend.
The little boy looked across the aisle and waved to Lance.
“Yo, Rick,” Lance said, nodding his head.
“This bus is pretty scary, huh?” Rickey said. “I mean, I never was in such a big car before.”
“Yeah,” Jay replied, “it’s bigger than anything else on the road. Everybody gets out of the way of the bus. And all the cars have to stop when we’re getting off and on.”
“Oh,” Rickey replied, looking around with a new interest. He turned toward the window. “I do kind of like looking down at all the cars.”
“I’ve been riding the bus for years,” Jay said importantly. “It isn’t too bad.”
Rickey looked at Jay’s bag. “What’s in there?” he asked.
“It’s my lunch—a peanut-butter sandwich, an apple, some raisins, and if I’m lucky, a brownie.”
“How do you know?” Rickey asked.
“I told you, I’ve been doing this a long time. Mom used to pack a different sandwich every day, but then she found out that I just traded them off, so now she just packs peanut butter.”
“Traded?”
Jay nodded. “Right. It works pretty good. Whatever you don’t like, you just trade with someone else. Sometimes you can get some really good stuff.”
Rickey considered this information. “Lunch sounds fun.”
“Did your mom tell you about recess?”
“Yes,” Rickey replied. “That’s playtime. But I don’t know who to play with.”
“You’ll make friends,” Jay replied, looking at Lance. “I guess friends are the best thing about school.”
“How come?” Rickey asked.
“Because they help you solve problems and get you through the tough stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Like when you don’t do so well on a test, and they play with you at recess and help you remember you’re the best soccer player in school. Or when you get a goofy part in a play, and they tell you it’s cool in front of all the other kids. That kind of stuff.”
The bus pulled up in front of the school, and Rickey still looked scared.
“It’s OK, Rick,” Jay told him. “Come on.”
“I’m afraid of the teacher.”
Jay gently pulled Rickey to his feet. “You don’t have to be afraid of the teachers. They’re kind of like your mom or dad away from home.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely,” Lance chimed in. “I even called my kindergarten teacher ‘Mom’ once.”
Jay looked at his friend with a raised eyebrow.
“Well, it was only once,” Lance said, shrugging.
“Let’s go,” Jay said, as the three boys walked toward the door. When they arrived at the kindergarten class, Rickey peered inside and was greeted with a smile from his teacher.
“Gotta go,” Jay said. Lance was already hurrying toward the fifth-grade classrooms.
“Listen, Jay,” Rickey told him, “if anyone makes fun of you about that play or something, just tell them you’re my friend.”
Jay nodded his head. “For sure!” With a wave he started off down the hall. Turning the corner, he saw Lance motioning to him.
“Hey, Jay,” Lance called, “we’re in the same class. We have Mrs. Turnbull!” Surprised by the grin on Jay’s face, he asked, “Did you hear me?”
“Absolutely!” Jay kept on grinning.

As a young boy I had great interest in anything that had to do with treasures. I often found myself absorbed in stories and movies about hidden treasures, secret maps, and brave explorers searching for lost riches. When my brothers and I visited our grandparents who lived at the base of the Andes Mountains in Mendoza, Argentina, we would spend hours searching through the fields for shiny rocks. We would eagerly break the rocks open in the hope of discovering something very precious inside—only to find more glittering minerals but never any real treasure.

Jane was happy. Today was the big race. Jane had practiced for the race with her brother Ben every day.
“I'm so excited!” Jane said.
Ben did not look excited.
“What’s wrong? Are you nervous?” Jane asked Ben.
“Yes,” Ben said. “Can Dad run for me?”
“This race is only for children,” Mom said.
“I will cheer for you,” Dad said.
Jane put her arm around Ben.
“This will be fun,” Jane said. “You will do great.”
Jane and Ben got in the car. Mom and Dad drove them to the race.
Jane and Ben stood at the starting line. Jane was excited. Her heart beat fast.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
“On your mark. Get set. Go!”
Jane started running. Many children ran. It felt good to run fast.
Jane looked for Ben. She could not see him. He was in last place.
“Come on, Ben!” Jane said. “You can do it!”
Jane ran back to Ben. Jane held Ben’s hand. Jane and Ben ran together.
Jane was slower now, but she was happy. She loved to help Ben.
Jane and Ben finished the race together.
“Thank you,” Ben said. “You ran slow for me.”
“That is OK,” Jane said. “We are still winners!”

President Kimball always reaches out with love to touch the “one.”

We were preparing for an area conference briefing, and as I entered President Kimball’s office, he was seated at a typewriter, his back toward the door. He finished typing and spun around in his chair to greet me. In one hand was a thirty-two-page letter from a young man who had read his book The Miracle of Forgiveness and, in the other, his personally typed reply to answer the special needs of a young man who wanted and needed his help to repent. The message was a clear one to me: No matter how busy you are, never forget those who need your help.

Kelly Ricketts, president of his teachers quorum in the Courtenay Branch, Victoria British Columbia Stake, steadfastly refuses to box on Sunday, although it is one of the busiest days for the boxing club he belongs to.
Instead of training on Sundays, Kelly chooses to practice at other times with both his father and his younger brother. Despite this sacrifice, Kelly has had much success in boxing. He won a bronze medal in the Canadian Junior National Amateur Boxing Championships and is both the provincial and Golden Gloves champion.
Kelly also enjoys wrestling and is on the merit list at his high school.

The sixth month wore on with no baptisms in sight. The tenth of the month passed, and they were without anyone who would be ready.

“Sister Johnson invited us over for dinner tomorrow night,” Elder Anderson announced as they were heading home one evening after a floundering discussion.

“I hope you told her no,” Scott said grimly.

“Why?”

“It’d be a waste of time. A 60-year-old widow isn’t likely to have any referrals.”

“It’d be nice to have a home-cooked meal. Besides she doesn’t have many people visit her.”

“Tell the home teachers. It’s not our concern.”

“What is our concern?” his companion asked with an edge of tension in his voice.

“To find somebody to baptize this month.”

“We’re already leading the mission in consecutive baptisms. What do you want, another record to add to your string?”

“Why shouldn’t we succeed? We can do it if we work.”

“Okay, maybe we can. But there’s one thing that bothers me about you.”

“What’s that?” Scott asked defensively.

“You’re doing all this for your own glory—so you can be zone leader.”

They walked into their apartment and got ready for bed, hardly speaking to each other.

Just before prayers, Scott gave in. “Okay, I was wrong. We’ll have supper with Sister Johnson tomorrow night.”

Much to their surprise, Sister Johnson had an elderly lady with her who wanted to be taught so she could be baptized.

And she was before the end of the month.

For Loralee, an 18-year-old from South Jordan, Utah, SOS began as a question: What can we do to show the world that teenagers are good? She was tired of all the negative attention teenagers were getting—especially in the media. So she decided to do something about it. During her junior year at Bingham High School, Loralee started thinking of ways young people could do something positive for the community. She came up with the idea of organizing students from around Salt Lake into service teams, one at each participating school. Schools Offering Service, or SOS, would be a huge volunteer force of students working together to serve.
“People need to know that kids are good, that they are involved in positive things,” Loralee says. “I wanted a service club in my school, so I just decided, ‘Let’s make this work.’”
But for all her enthusiasm, Loralee had a hard time getting SOS started. When she began suggesting the idea her junior year, her student government leaders wondered if she could make it work. “A lot of people said it was too big of a thing to take on,” she says.
Discouraged, Loralee put her ideas for SOS on hold. She turned her attention back to student government—she was junior class secretary—and to applying to colleges. Later that year, however, she was elected vice president of the Utah Association of Student Councils. Now she had the resources and the contacts to make SOS work.
Armed with posters and fliers, Loralee went from school to school recruiting volunteers. “I’d go to the school to tell people about SOS and get them signed up and into teams,” she says. Each school’s team would do monthly service projects like visiting retirement homes and reading to the blind.
For example, students from Copper Hills High School, a school located in a Salt Lake suburb, organized a Christmas talent show for South Valley Care Center. After performing, they decorated the care center for the elderly with handmade ornaments and handed out candy canes. Tiffany Tolbert helped coordinate Copper Hills High School’s SOS projects. She says SOS has helped her make new friends and learn to lead. Most of all, it has given her a chance to help people. “I really enjoy doing service because I want to make a difference,” she says.
And as if monthly service projects weren’t enough, twice a year SOS teams from each school combined for regional service projects like feeding the homeless.
More than 300 people joined SOS during its first year. For regional projects volunteers collected clothing, blankets, and more than 2,000 pounds of food for the homeless. They also prepared kits with brightly colored school supplies and collected teddy bears to send to developing countries. And, in only a year, SOS spread to 25 schools in the Salt Lake area. For her work with SOS, an insurance company awarded Loralee its 1999 Spirit of Community Award. Salt Lake County commissioners declared February 10 “Loralee Anderson Community Service Day.”
But Loralee insists that you don’t have to be in something like SOS to make a difference. “You don’t have to do a huge 24-hour service project to make an impact on someone’s life. The small acts of kindness, a kind word, a smile—those small acts are what count,” she says.
Small acts of service like smiling are what Loralee is known for. “She has always loved people and cared about people; she has real compassion,” says Loralee’s mother, Sandra Anderson.
In addition to Loralee’s work with SOS, she has volunteered with special-needs children and worked with Peer Leadership, a statewide organization that teaches youth to say no to drugs. She also has held many student government positions and has served as president of her Laurel class.
Loralee says she just wants to follow the Savior’s example. She says her love of the gospel deepens as she serves. “For some reason, when you are serving, humility comes upon you. You can show Heavenly Father that you love Him. My testimony has grown so much through service,” she says.
Now a freshman at BYU, Loralee is considering majoring in, what else, youth leadership. She wants to inspire youth to focus on what they each can do to make the world better. “I think people underestimate the power they can have. Individual deeds do impact lives,” she says. “The youth are going to take the world by storm.” A storm of service, that is.

Mele, daughter of ‘Ahongalu and ‘Ana Fulivai of Vava‘u, was also healed. Nine years ago, Mele collapsed with an unknown illness. From March to December she lay in the hospital with fever, seizures, and hallucinations. Her mother stayed with her during the day. At night her father, who had worked all day, came to the hospital and sat by her bed. Mele would relax as she held her father’s hand all night, drawing comfort from the knowledge that he held the priesthood.

Mele has recovered gradually, with only occasional problems. “We have learned to trust in the Lord,” says ‘Ana. “He has blessed us in ways we did not expect.”

My doctor told me I have diabetes and that I would need to take shots of insulin before every meal. I was really sad because the disease would be with me the rest of my life. I asked my dad to give me a priesthood blessing. During the blessing he told me that I would have courage and be tough enough to take the injections. My mom and I went to the hospital to spend the night. I practiced using a needle to inject water into oranges because oranges are kind of like human skin. At dinnertime, the nurse asked me if I wanted to do my own injection. I said, “Yes, I will try.” I did it! The nurses were amazed that I was brave enough to do my own shot the first time. I have done all my own injections and blood sugar tests since the very first day. I know that my priesthood blessing helped me to be brave. I know that Heavenly Father will always be there to help me.Christopher Hall, age 10,Mountain Home, Idaho

Oksana has had some challenges in her life. About two years ago, she developed a lot of pain in her back and legs, so much that she couldn’t walk or bend over. Her parents took her to the hospital, where the doctors discovered a tumor on her spine. As the doctors prepared to operate, they told her parents that she had a 50% chance of being paralyzed from the waist down. “I prayed that Heavenly Father would help me,” Oksana says.

“The doctors scheduled an emergency operation on fast Sunday,” Oksana’s mom, Andreé, explains. “Members of our ward fasted for her. And when the doctor came out of the operating room, he said it was like a miracle.” The doctors were able to easily remove the tumor without damaging Oksana’s spine, which they had not thought would be possible. “It was a miracle,” Oksana’s mom adds. Today Oksana is healthy and happy, though she still has one more surgery scheduled to remove some metal rods placed in her spine, which are helping it to grow straight again.

I have a good friend who was struggling in his spiritual life. He is a good person, but he was drifting into inactivity in the Church. His testimony was wavering. He was struggling to break his bad habit of swearing. He’d watch violent movies and spend time playing violent video games. I really wanted to help him, but I wasn’t sure how.
One Sunday during testimony meeting, a priest in our ward spoke of a scripture that had helped him in a time of doubt and confusion: “Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things. Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God? And now, behold, you have received a witness” (D&C 6:22–24).
I thought this scripture might help my friend. So in class on Monday I wrote down the scripture and suggested he read it. The next day he thanked me, telling me he had read it and that it had helped a lot.
But he hadn’t told me half of it. A few days later, he told me just how this scripture had affected him. He told me that his mind had been continually turning to violent thoughts and that it was almost beyond his control. It was also beginning to become more difficult to control his actions. When he read the scripture I gave him, he got rid of his worst video games.
I was astonished at what my friend told me. Although he is still striving to put his life back in order, that one scripture I shared helped him a great deal at the time he needed it most. I know that if you are always a good example and you follow the promptings of the Holy Spirit, you will be able to help others grow closer to Heavenly Father.

Bathsheba’s early life was filled with excitement as she witnessed the beginnings of the restored Church. Born May 3, 1822, in Shinnston, Virginia, to Mark and Susannah (Ogden) Bigler, Bathsheba was a cheerful child, and she loved to spin, weave, and do embroidery with her mother and to go horseback riding with her father on their three-hundred-acre plantation. Religiously inclined, she was careful to say her secret prayers.
She wrote in her autobiography about joining the Church at age fifteen: “Some Latter-day Saint Elders visited our neighborhood. I heard them preach and believed what they taught. I believed the Book of Mormon to be a divine record, and that Joseph Smith was a Prophet of God. I knew by the spirit of the Lord which I received in answer to prayer, that these things were true.” Bathsheba’s immediate family and her uncle and his family were baptized.
One of her first experiences as a member of the Church was ridicule by her young acquaintances, and when the family decided to join with other Saints in Far West, Missouri, Bathsheba was disappointed that she couldn’t leave immediately with her married sister, Nancy. While pondering this disappointment, she seemed to hear a voice say, “Weep not. You will go this fall.” And her family did leave for Missouri that autumn.
During their journey, they were stopped by men who gathered around their wagon and tried to prevent them from going any farther. But after talking among themselves, the men said, “As you are Virginians, we will let you go on, but we believe you soon will return for you will quickly become convinced of your folly.” But Bathsheba and her family never thought of the gospel as “folly,” and events such as this only caused them to cling more strongly to their beliefs.

Despite almost superhuman effort, Lame Hawk had fallen behind with his second load of fish. He could not keep up with his friends and cousins. The braves were taking a mighty catch from vine nets they were casting in the river; and the young boys were carrying the fish to the women, who were waiting to prepare them for smoking on racks set over smoldering fires.
The youth was deeply humiliated and frustrated by his lameness. He sank down on a log to rest and stared at his moccasins with bitterness. He strained to stretch his legs out so they would be even. It was a futile effort. Lame Hawk had been born with one leg much shorter than the other. When he walked he reeled from side to side like a crippled bear! I’ll never be able to run, trail, or hunt as well as other braves, he thought angrily.
Lame Hawk started as Nimbock suddenly stepped out of the forest and sat down beside him. The youth’s keen ears had not heard Nimbock’s approach. Lame Hawk felt ill at ease. Nimbock, too, was different, or so everyone said, and many people avoided him if possible.
The big man was a harmless dreamer who lived apart from the tribe. The people said that, although he was at least forty years old, he was neither brave nor child, but trapped somewhere in between.
Nimbock could not speak, but he seemed able to read thoughts. It was disconcerting to be the target of his unblinking stare. Lame Hawk flushed with resentment and drew up his feet to hide his crippled leg. Nimbock arose, a look of disappointment on his face, and faded back into the trees.
Lame Hawk started to shout a warning about the high wind that had forced his people to detour around the forest today because of the danger of falling limbs and dead trees. But for Nimbock there was no other way; his home was deep in the forest, and to get there he had to risk the danger that he was certainly aware of.
The Indian youth was sorry he had not spoken to Nimbock or given him some fish. Nimbock, of all people, knew the agony and loneliness of being “different.” I should have been friendlier. Did other youths taunt Nimbock when he was young? Is that why he lives alone now? Lame Hawk wondered. He knew that feeling too. Even one’s friends could be cruel when they were angry. And the hurt remained long after the irritation was over.
But Nimbock had other talents. He could carve wood into almost anything. He made beautifully detailed animals and birds. When his carvings were painted and mounted in lifelike poses, one almost expected them to run or soar away. And his painted clay pots were works of art. The women traded Nimbock clothing and woven rugs for such treasures.
Lame Hawk arose and braced himself against the wind just as the ground trembled, and a mighty tree toppled and came crashing down. As he bent to pick up his fish, the youth was puzzled by a rhythmic drumming sound. It was different from that made by a male grouse. Twice more he heard it, although fainter now, as he limped along fighting the wind.
Nimbock! The tree must have fallen and struck him! The silent one cannot cry out for help, but he could use one piece of wood to drum on another, Lame Hawk thought hopefully.
Forgetting about his own safety, Lame Hawk dropped the fish and hurried into the forest where the tree had thudded down. He caught his breath with horror when he reached the spot. Only Nimbock’s head, shoulders, and arms were free; the rest of his body was trapped under the tree trunk. One hand still clutched the short limb he had used to signal for help, but Nimbock had fainted.
The youth circled the tree and tried to pull Nimbock free from the other side, but it was hopeless. Panic overwhelmed him as he considered the size of the tree. Even if he were able to run to the river, it would not help. A hundred braves could not move such a giant tree without chopping it into sections, and the blows of many axes would add to its crushing weight!
Sadly, Lame Hawk had to admit that without a miracle there was no need to hurry to the river. He would sit near the trail and wait for the men, then bring them here to remove Nimbock’s dead body. He knelt near Nimbock’s head, and was surprised he could still hear the silent one’s ragged breathing. Nimbock has always lived alone, but it doesn’t seem right that he should have to die alone, Lame Hawk decided. He sat cross-legged and waited.
Being slow of limb Lame Hawk had had to use his mind to solve problems. If his body could not do something others could do, he found another way around the obstacle. The youth tried to forget about Nimbock and consider nothing but the tree. Suddenly his face brightened with hope. Not he nor a hundred others could raise it, but he could remove the soil and let Nimbock settle into a ditch, away from the crushing force!
Using his bare hands and sharpened sticks, Lame Hawk began to tunnel under Nimbock’s limp body. He worked tirelessly, ignoring his blistered and bleeding hands and watching with satisfaction as the ditch deepened. Fortunately a loose layer of leaves and soil had cushioned the crushing force, and Lame Hawk felt more optimistic about Nimbock’s survival now.
The weary youth stopped to wipe trickles of perspiration from his grimy face. He was surprised to see Nimbock awake now and watching him, a slight smile on his face.
“You’re almost free,” Lame Hawk panted. “I’ve dropped you down clear of the tree. Now I have to scoop a trench away from the trunk and slide you out, like pulling a knife from its sheath.”
With incredible effort Lame Hawk pulled the man from the box-like depression and out into the trench. But he couldn’t have done it if Nimbock had not braced his hands against the trunk and pushed with his feet. When Nimbock was free, Lame Hawk’s throbbing leg collapsed and he fainted from exhaustion.
It was Nimbock’s drumming that drew the returning braves to them at dusk, and the two of them were carried to the village on stretchers made from the fishing nets. The women took turns nursing Nimbock back to health, and his strong body responded.
A bond of friendship was welded between Nimbock and his rescuer, but Lame Hawk was puzzled by Nimbock’s curious interest in his crippled leg. He sent for the youth several times a day and motioned for him to walk back and forth in front of him. Then he would closely examine both of the boy’s feet. He also sent for old Seque, the finest moccasin maker in the tribe, and made dirt drawings with a stick. He always hid the wood he was whittling when the youth came to see him. And only Lame Hawk seemed to notice that Seque was making a pair of brightly beaded and quilled but mismatched moccasins—one at least four inches taller than the other! It was all very mysterious.
There was feasting and a dance after the fish were smoked and stored away for winter eating. Nimbock was almost fully recovered and would probably return to his home after the festivities. He and Lame Hawk sat together, watching the firelight play over the dancers and enjoying the chants and throbbing drums.
Lame Hawk was surprised when his friend pressed something into his hands. He drew back dismayed when he saw that the gift was the ridiculous-looking mismatched moccasins! Everyone was watching them now and smiling as broadly as Nimbock, who was urging that Lame Hawk try them on. The youth felt betrayed. How could Nimbock focus everyone’s attention on his lameness!
Nimbock sensed with disappointment that Lame Hawk had misunderstood his gift. He took back the tall moccasin, and with signs he showed how he had carved a platform to fit inside. The bewildered youth still didn’t understand its purpose, but he tried them on to please Nimbock.
A look of wonder crossed Lame Hawk’s face when he stood up and walked a few hesitant steps without lurching to his crippled side! For the first time in his life, his legs seemed the same length!
With practice, he thought exultantly, I’ll soon be walking with scarcely a limp. Lame Hawk stood straight, happy to find that he was as tall as his friends who rushed to surround him, pushing and shoving with joy.
“Tall Hawk! Tall Hawk!” they shouted, giving him a new name.

I converted to the Church as a young boy of 13. One summer day in 1971, my father took me to town for our haircut. While the barber was cutting my hair, suddenly two American ladies arrived at the barbershop. They were introduced by the barber to my father as missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He told Father that they have a good doctrine that he can try investigating. At first, Father was hesitant to accept the invitation but he was finally persuaded to accept an appointment at home.
So we were taught the true gospel of Jesus Christ and were given a copy of the Book of Mormon. My parents read and pondered the sacred book. As they studied its contents, and they felt its power. They decided to be baptized with us their children.
Before becoming members of the true church, our mortal path seemed dark and hopeless, we had no knowledge of God’s plan, and we didn’t know about eternal life. Our motto was “eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we die,” but when we found the true church, our path became brighter with all the ordinances and the covenants we made with God.
Our baptism into the Church allowed us to enter the covenant path which will bring us back to God’s presence. If we continue pressing forward, keeping the commandments, and enduring to the end, we will have eternal life. We can achieve this by making, keeping, and honoring our covenants at baptism and at the temple.

After we moved our things from the dugout, Ed said, “Now I get to sleep in the barn.”
“Me, too,” I said.
“Nothing doing,” Mama warned. “The barn’s for animals, not children.”
“Papa promised,” Ed told her.
“It’s all right, hon,” Papa told Mama. “The loft’s clean and warm and close enough so that we could hear them call if they needed us.”
“Well, it is pretty crowded in here,” Mama relented a little. “Just one room for the seven of us.”
“Please, mama,” Ed coaxed.
“Please,” I echoed.
“I guess it won’t hurt to try it,” she conceded, and we started out the door.
Frank grabbed my legs and shouted, “I wanna sleep with Dora! I wanna sleep with Dora!”
“Let him come, Mama. I’ll take care of him.” She knew I would too.
“Watch him, then, so he doesn’t fall down the ladder,” she cautioned.
“I don’t fall down ladders.” Frank said indignantly. “I climb down.”
So the three of us moved into the barn.

Will Spurlock, Jr., is a real whiz when it comes to electronics. His determination and excellence paid off when he was awarded a first-place trophy and medal, along with a tool kit, in the North Carolina State Electrical Trades competition.
Because of his first-place finish, Will went on to represent North Carolina in the Electrical Trades International competition. His project placed fourth.
For his hard work and achievements, Will was awarded a scholarship to a technical institute to continue his schooling. He is a priest in the Dunn Branch of the Fayetteville North Carolina Stake.

As we build our homes, we value spiritual growth more than material possessions. In the Hapi family in Nuhaka, New Zealand, the parents want to teach their five children to be thrifty, make their offerings to the Lord, and live within their means. When the children complain that their friends have more material things than they do, Sister Hapi reminds them, “We are preparing for an eternity, not today, and we cannot take those things with us to the hereafter.”

I remember coming home from the hospital that day. My parents helped me out of the car, through the house, and onto my bed. I remember lying there, feeling helpless for the first time in my life.
I grew up playing sports. I even hoped to run track in college someday. But toward the end of high school, I tore my anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) in my knee—for the second time. This required several surgeries and over a year of rehab to fix. My first surgery was right before I graduated, and I had to stay home while my friends started the next chapter of their lives studying at new colleges, serving missions, and moving to exciting cities. My future, once secure, was now full of uncertainty.
Admittedly, I knew these challenges were not unique or extraordinary, but they were my challenges—and they were hard! My immediate reaction was to reach out for any sense of certainty and create plans for my future. But in that process of striving for personal assurance or security, a process that is still continuing today, I’ve learned a few things.
Education has played an important role in helping me understand uncertainty. While I was recovering from surgery, I began taking Brigham Young University–Idaho courses online. I initially wasn’t sure if online learning was right for me, but the incredible experiences I had quickly changed my opinion.
I learned a lot from my classmates who were in different circumstances. My education helped me to think differently about myself and the world around me, and my priorities started changing. I began to enjoy learning rather than passively going through the motions, and the gospel of Jesus Christ had more significance in my life.
Without my education, I would not be who I am today. I believe that my decision to serve a full-time mission was because of those courses. I believe God was guiding me and will continue to work with me as I have faith in Him.
While the future is still filled with uncertainty, it isn’t as uncomfortable for me anymore. My experiences have strengthened my relationship with God and have helped me change my approach to life. Rather than overthinking everything (something I’m a master of), I’ve realized that sometimes I just need to act. This is not a carefree attitude, but confidence that I now know Heavenly Father will help me, inspire me, and open doors of opportunity for me as I step forward in faith.
President Russell M. Nelson recently said, “Positive spiritual momentum will keep us moving forward amid … fear and uncertainty.”3 With the momentum I’ve gained, the cloud of uncertainty has been replaced with a bright hope for the future. Looking back, I’ve realized that God has been with me—maybe not in the ways I’d expected, but He’s always been there in the way I needed Him most.

Heavenly Father knew that this strong-willed son needed a good father. He picked out a great one for me. My dad’s devotion to his children and grandchildren consumed much of his time. He loved the Lord and was about the Lord’s errand throughout his days. He was not only my dad; he was one of my heroes.
Dad was the president of my priests quorum and bishop of our ward during my teenage years. You who have been a bishop’s son know that sometimes performance expectations tend to be a little high for bishops’ sons.
During Dad’s tenure as bishop, a new meetinghouse was built in our area. Local financial shares were partially fulfilled by providing labor. Often I arrived home to find a note on the kitchen table inviting me to join Dad in working on the new building. These invitations were not always received with great warmth and enthusiasm. It seemed to me that the bishop’s son received more than his fair share of invitations to work on the new meetinghouse.
As the building neared completion, landscaping commenced. The priesthood brethren were extended a work opportunity to haul fertilizer to the site. Because the bishop was a part of the expedition, the bishop’s son felt an obligation to respond. We drove to a mountain sheep corral. Into a large truck we shoveled very finely ground, dry sheep fertilizer. The wind blew much of what we threw into the truck back to us. This unsavory material gathered in our eyes, throats, noses, ears, and down our backs. I can’t ever remember being more uncomfortable. I’m afraid I verbalized my feelings with emotion. When we arrived back at the meetinghouse to unload the material, I found my new bike had been stolen. My complaining was loud. Why would the Lord permit someone to steal my bike when I was about His work?
When Dad and I arrived home, we showered and sat down to an evening meal. My complaining about the day and my lost bike continued. As we knelt in prayer, Dad thanked Heavenly Father for the opportunity of the day’s service and expressed love for me. He asked forgiveness for the person who had taken the bike. He noted his sorrow for the loss but expressed gratitude that it wasn’t his son who had committed the theft. Dads make great heroes. I pray that if you are fortunate enough to have a father close by, he can be your hero. Dads, live in such a way that your sons and others can look up to you as heroes.

“Mom, are you sure these seeds are going to grow?” Jason asked his mother, who was kneading a big lump of bread dough. She nodded her head.
He was still looking into a little pot where he had planted some green bean seeds, but all he could see was dirt. He wanted to put his finger in the dirt so he could feel or see if the seeds were sprouting, but he knew he shouldn’t do that. His mother had told him that seeds were damaged easily and needed tender care to grow.
“But are you really sure they’ll grow?” he asked again.
Mom stopped kneading and thought for a minute. “Jason, do you remember when we talked about faith during family home evening? We decided that one kind of faith is knowing something is there even though we can’t see it. Well, knowing that those seeds are sprouting is something like that. We can’t see them growing but we know that they are slowly getting bigger and bigger. And if we wait long enough, then we’ll see long, skinny green plants. And eventually we’ll be able to have green beans for dinner.”
“Do you think I’ll ever have any faith?”
“Of course. When you’re in the house and you decide to go outside, you know the sun will be up in the sky when you get there, don’t you?”
“Sure. Even if it’s raining, the sun is just hidden behind some clouds.”
“And you know your daddy loves you, even when he’s gone to work?”
“That’s right!”
“And when he comes home, you know he’ll be so happy to see you, that if you run up to him, he’ll give you a big hug?”
“He always does that,” said Jason, who was still trying to figure out what his mother meant.
“Well, all those things show that you have faith.”
Jason wanted to talk some more about faith, but the telephone rang and his friend, Dustin, invited him to come over to play.
Dustin had a new set of big yellow trucks. Since one of them could hold a whole bucket of sand, Jason and Dustin decided to build a big castle in Dustin’s sandbox. They wanted their castle to have lots of towers and windows and high walls.
The boys moved a big mound of sand to the middle of the sandbox. Then they poured a little water from the hose on it and dug their hands in. They wiggled their fingers. The warm sand mixed with the cool water felt good. Then they began packing sand into Dustin’s bucket, and turning it upside down to make six tall towers. They built a long drawbridge and put towers at each end.
When they were finished, they sat on the edge of the sandbox and smiled at each other.
“Pretty good, don’t you think?” asked Dustin.
“It’s the biggest one we’ve ever made,” answered Jason. “I want to see what it looks like from the top.”
He stepped up and stood on the edge of the sandbox. It wasn’t a high edge, but it was narrow. He started to sway, and reached for something to steady himself. He grabbed and grabbed again and then fell. His chin hit the sharp edge of one of the truck beds, and he felt something sting.
“Your chin’s bleeding!” Dustin cried, and he ran into his house.
Jason sat very still. It really hurt! After a minute, he saw Dustin and his mother come running from the house.
“Oh, Jason!” cried Dustin’s mother. “Let me help you.” She reached down and took him by the hand to help him stand up. “Let’s go in and wash that off. Does it hurt very much?”
Jason nodded his head. He didn’t want to talk, because he thought he might cry. He walked into the house with Dustin and his mother. Dustin’s mother wet a washcloth with cold water, and pressed it gently against Jason’s chin to help reduce the sting.
After she held the cloth there for about a minute, she took it away and looked at the chin again. “That looks a little better. Shall I call your more and have her come and get you?”
Jason nodded again. He still didn’t know if he could talk without crying. He heard Dustin’s mother tell his mother on the phone to come over. He felt good when he thought about her coming to get him. He knew she would come as fast as she could.
Then Jason remembered what she had said to him that morning—“Faith is knowing something is there, even though you can’t see it.” He knew his mother would come and get him, even though he couldn’t see her leave the house. Jason knew she would take care of his chin so it would get better. Thinking about those things, Jason realized that he did have faith and that he felt loved and safe—so safe that he fell fast asleep on Dustin’s bed.