Gospel Story Finder

“Thy people shall be my people” (Ruth 1:16).
“Before my mission, I studied geology,” says Anthony Clah of Shiprock. “I thought, ‘I can learn where gold is formed, find it, then retire.’” He smiles. “But my priorities changed. At the end of my mission, I felt impressed that I should spend my life helping as many young people as possible. I thought, ‘Coaching and teaching is the best way for me to do that.’ So I decided to pursue a degree in physical education, and that came with a coaching certificate.”
He soon met and married his wife, Alohilani, who is from Hawaii. After three years in Shiprock, Anthony was hired as an assistant strength and conditioning coach at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. Then it was on to a similar position at BYU–Hawaii, much to Alohilani’s delight.
“While we were there,” Anthony says, “I learned about the ‘aloha spirit.’ I had never seen anything like it before. I knew that God had brought us there, particularly me, so I could learn what it means to have a loving spirit.” The family also enjoyed living near the temple, attending regularly.
After a few years, however, Anthony felt prompted to move again, not to become a trainer in the National Football League, although he had received such an offer, but to return to the reservation.
“But Hawaii was my home,” Alohilani says, “and he knew I would want to stay.” The family fasted and prayed. Then Anthony and Alohilani went to the temple. “I kept remembering something I had recorded in my journal—a dream where I was standing in front of a group of Native American children, teaching,” Alohilani says. “I knew we needed to be with Anthony’s people.”
Today, the Clah family is, in a way, refining human gold. “We’ve brought the aloha spirit from the islands to the reservation,” Anthony says.
The Clahs often host kids who are struggling. As a high school football coach, Anthony helps draw out the best in student athletes—three have now gone on to play in college. Three of the Clah children are on missions, and the younger ones are building friendships and strengthening the Church where they live. And Alohilani is teaching Native American children.

“I’m sorry, but no one is allowed in the garden area.” The tall Franciscan monk spoke with a firm voice in answer to my request to photograph inside the Garden of Gethsemane. Determined to return another day and try again, I walked down the gradual slope of the Mount of Olives and crossed the top end of Kidron Valley on the way to the old city of Jerusalem.
A paved highway runs down this upper end of the valley; it rises and winds around the base of the Mount of Olives on its way to Jericho. Gethsemane sits to one side of the road, next to the hustle of buses and taxis and donkeys braying with heavy loads of goods on the way to markets of the Old City.
Mount of Olives hillside
Gethsemane is just a simple grove of trees in a garden on the side of a rocky hill. It is a quiet place, except for the occasional tourist groups and hawking peddlers, and the nearby traffic.
Yet, in this grove of ancient trees one of the most important events in the history of mankind took place. In this little garden the Savior agonized as he suffered for the sins of all the world. He made it possible for us to return to the presence of God. That means that if we repent and live in sweet obedience to the Father’s will, we will not be required to pay the awful debt for the sins we have committed; Jesus did that in Gethsemane.
An olive tree in the Garden of Gethsemane
Leaving Gethsemane, you can easily see old Jerusalem above terraced hillsides. Next to the wall of the city, Arab shepherd boys often bring their sheep and goats to graze in the grass around the Moslem gravestones. Seeing the sheep silhouetted against the sky, it is easy to imagine what it was like here during the Savior’s lifetime.
Jerusalem seen from the Mount of Olives
Further up the hill, the road branches to one side, going up to Saint Stephen’s Gate and the base of the ancient temple mount. Here you can look back at Gethsemane from above. On this particular afternoon, the garden lay half in shadow with the sun glistening in several light-filled corners. A few Arab buses careened noisily around the serpentine curves of the highway below, but the air seemed somehow quiet. There in the stillness of my thoughts, I wondered about the little procession of disciples meandering across the valley toward Gethsemane, the Savior leading them in calm dignity as he approached the terrors of that incredible night.
Darkness falls swiftly in Jerusalem, and soon the blackness of the night was all around me. There was a slight chill in the evening air as I hurried home.
St. Stephen’s Gate in the wall of Jerusalem
Several days later I arrived after closing time, and the great iron doors to the garden were shut and locked. After much persistent bell ringing, a monk came to the gate and kindly allowed me to enter the empty courtyard. We talked for a minute, and then he surprised me with, “Would you like to go into the garden area?” Taking a handforged key from his belt, he opened the small iron gate that led into the garden.
I wandered along the flower-lined gravel paths, next to the great patriarch olive trees. The color of the red flowers reminded me of the blood that came from every pore of the Savior’s body as he suffered here. The old gnarled and pitted trunks of the olive trees spoke of the struggle and pain of spirit that Jesus felt in this garden. Pondering these things, I didn’t notice the darkness gathering around the garden.
A path in the Garden of Gethsemane
Reverently and privately knelt for a moment, there in Gethsemane, to thank God for the blessing of his Son. The trees were dark and gray as I left them. But looking up toward the city I could see one of its radiant sunsets. Jerusalem, the “City of Gold,” the hope of ages past, present, and future because of the atonement that took place here.

I don’t think I worried about the promises I had made at baptism, until I met Darren. Getting baptized was just something a guy did when he turned eight. When I was baptized, Grandpa and Grandma were there, along with Uncle Rick and Aunt Teri and all of my own family. It was like a big celebration, so I wasn’t thinking much about promises. In fact, I didn’t really think about the promises until I was in the fifth grade.
The Sunday before Darren moved to our school, Sister Murray talked to us in Primary about when the prophet Alma was by the waters of Mormon and invited his people to be baptized. He told them that if they were willing to enter the waters of baptism, they needed to promise to mourn with those who mourned and comfort those who needed comfort. She gave each of us a small white card with these baptismal promises written on it.
Darren and his little sister, Tanya, were the first black people I had ever seen at my elementary school. Maybe that’s why he surprised me so much. When the principal brought Darren to Mrs. Riley’s class, all I could do was stare. In fact, the whole class was quiet and just stared.
When Mrs. Riley asked us where Darren should sit, no one raised a hand to invite him to sit next to them, which we usually did when a new student arrived. No one said anything. Everyone just stared silently. Finally Mrs. Riley invited Darren to sit at a desk at the back of one of the rows.
All during the morning lessons, I couldn’t help sneaking peeks at him. He seemed so different from the rest of us. I wasn’t the only one—everyone in class sneaked looks all morning. Darren pretended he didn’t notice by keeping his head down, working on his math and English papers.
I think Mrs. Riley was the only one in the whole class who said anything to him that day. At lunchtime, he got in line with the rest of us and picked up his tray from the kitchen. He went to the long table along the wall and sat down. Usually I sat there, but I didn’t go there that day. It wasn’t that I was afraid of him—it was just that he was so different. No one else went to that table, either.
During noon recess, I played football with the rest of the guys. Darren didn’t come over, and we didn’t invite him. He just wandered around the playground by himself.
In the afternoon, when Mrs. Riley had us work in groups on our science project, no one invited him to be part of their group. Mrs. Riley finally assigned him to work with Tanner, Whitney, and Lance.
As I started home after school, I saw Darren and Tanya walking in front of me. I was in a hurry, but they weren’t walking very fast, so I hung back, not wanting to pass them. I didn’t want them saying anything to me, and I didn’t know what to say to them. I ended up running to the other side of the street and walking past them, acting as though they weren’t even there.
As soon as I reached home, I rushed into my bedroom to change my clothes. My friend Brandon and I had decided to ride our bikes over to the creek to catch minnows. As soon as I stepped into my bedroom, I saw the little white card I had hung on my mirror, and I thought of Darren.
At first, I didn’t understand how that card could possibly be talking about him. When we had talked in Sister Murray’s class about mourning for and comforting others, we had thought of someone’s grandpa or grandma dying, or someone whose house had burned down. We hadn’t talked about someone like Darren. But I thought of him that afternoon.
For a long time I stared at that white card, and I remembered what it was like to move into a new school. Two years earlier I had been the new kid. At first I was afraid and was sure that everyone in the whole school was staring at me. Then Brandon invited me to sit next to him in class. His friends became my friends. We sat in the cafeteria together. We played at recess together. That very first afternoon he even invited me to his house after school.
I thought about Darren’s first day. No one had spoken to him. No one had invited him to join them. No one had eaten lunch with him. No one had asked him over after school to play. And all during the day, he had been forced to face the silent, scary stares from the rest of us.
As I stared at Sister Murray’s white card, I realized that although I had thought Darren was different from the rest of us, he really wasn’t. He had a different color of skin, and darker eyes and hair, but he felt and hurt just like the rest of us. He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to have friends. He wanted to play. He wanted to go places without everyone staring at him.
Suddenly I felt sorry for Darren. I decided that by really feeling sorry for him, I was doing what Alma talked about at the waters of Mormon. I told myself that that was all I needed to do, that that was all I could do without the whole school staring at me like I was someone extra strange. I changed my clothes and rushed outside to play.
The next day I grabbed my football and charged out of the house for school. Before I could leave the yard, I slid to a stop. There were Darren and Tanya coming down the street on their way to school. Barry and Trevor were fifteen or twenty steps behind them. I saw Barry pick up something and toss it toward Darren and Tanya. Then Trevor said something that I couldn’t hear, and both of them burst out laughing. Darren and Tanya just kept walking with their eyes straight ahead.
Instead of starting down the street close to Darren and Tanya, I pretended to have forgotten something and slipped back inside the house until all four of them were far down the street. I tried as hard as I could to not think about the white card stuck on the mirror in my bedroom.
During the day, there were several times that I could have said something to Darren, but I didn’t.
I didn’t stare at him and snicker like some of the other kids, but I didn’t try to comfort him at all. At lunchtime, I was right behind him in the line, and when he went to sit down, I almost followed him to his table. Then Brandon called to me from another table, and I went over to him.
By the end of the day, I was glad that it was Friday because I had a whole weekend without having to think about or to see Darren. On Saturday, I hardly thought about him. By Sunday morning when I was rushing about to get ready for church, Darren was the last thing on my mind.
As sacrament meeting started, I sat on the bench next to Mom. She teaches Primary and had her manual and lesson materials piled neatly on the floor in front of her. Right on top was a picture of Jesus wearing a red and white robe. And He was staring right at me. We sang the sacrament hymn, and I began to think about my white card with those special baptismal promises written on it, promises that I was about to renew when the deacons brought the bread and water around. I was going to promise to mourn with those that mourn and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and I knew—and I knew that Jesus knew—that for me that promise included Darren.
For a moment I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t see that picture of Jesus looking up at me. But I could still feel His eyes staring at me. They didn’t stare at me like the eyes at school stared at Darren and Tanya. Jesus’ eyes were asking me to do something for Darren.
That Sunday was the first time that I was a little afraid to take the bread and water as it came down the row toward me. I knew that I wasn’t eating plain old bread or drinking regular old water. I was supposed to be thinking of Jesus and promising to do what I thought He would do if Darren was in His class at school.
I hesitated as Mom handed me the bread tray. In fact, I hesitated so long that Mom nudged me. Slowly I reached out and took a small piece of bread. When I did, I knew that I was repeating the promise I’d made three years ago, when Dad had led me down the tile steps into the baptismal font. For me, that shiny clean baptismal font was the same as the waters of Mormon for Alma’s people.
On Monday morning, I said an extra long prayer because I needed all the help and courage I could get. I grabbed my football, slipped out the door, and looked up and down the street. Darren and Tanya were still over a block away. Barry and Trevor were a few steps behind them.
I knew that I could start for school without running into Darren just yet. I could wait until I was in Mrs. Riley’s class and look for a chance to be nice to Darren there. Then I thought of that picture of Jesus, dressed in His red and white robe, staring up at me.
I gripped my ball and waited for Darren and Tanya. I was going to keep a promise.
“Hi, I’m Steve,” I said with a nervous smile. “I think you and I are in the same class.” I glanced anxiously down the street toward Barry and Trevor; then my gaze returned to Darren and Tanya. “Do you mind if I walk with you?”
Darren thought a moment and then shook his head. I smiled and took a deep breath because my heart was pounding and my hands were shaking a little bit. I tossed my football to Darren and he caught it. “Good hands,” I said. “Do you like football?”
“I love it! I used to play at my old school.”
“He was good, too!” Tanya spoke up, grinning up at her brother and then over at me.
“Then you’ll have to play with us. We can always use a good football player.”
We started down the sidewalk. I heard Trevor and Barry snicker, and I knew that they were staring behind us, but I kept walking with Darren and Tanya.
“Did you think of a frightening experience to write about in class?” I asked, remembering an assignment that Mrs. Riley had given us on Friday.
Darren laughed. “I can think of a lot of scary experiences that I’ve had. I haven’t written anything down yet, though.”
“Mrs. Riley said we could work in pairs. Maybe you and I can work together,” I invited. “We can help each other come up with something really good.”
When we reached the school, we went over to where the guys were starting the morning football game before the bell rang. As we approached, the playing stopped for a moment and all eyes were on Darren, Tanya, and me. No one said anything, but I could feel all of those staring eyes on me.
For a moment, I wished that I had hurried to school without waiting for Darren and his sister. I wasn’t used to those staring eyes. Then I realized that ever since Darren had entered this school, he had been facing those same staring eyes all the time. There was no place for him to run and hide from them, and those eyes hurt him as much as they hurt me—probably even more.
“Darren’s going to play with us this morning,” I burst out boldly. “Before he came here, he played a lot of football. He’ll be on my team. We can play with my ball.” I silently prayed that my voice wouldn’t crack or shake as I spoke. I didn’t want anyone to know how scared I was.
“We don’t need any extra guys,” Rusty spoke up, staring up at Darren and me.
“We can always use someone good like Darren,” I came back. “He’s playing,” I repeated. “Go out for a pass,” I said, turning to him.
While all eyes were on us, Darren raced across the field. I gripped the ball, cocked my arm, and threw with all my might. My pass was a little high and a little long. I figured that Darren would probably miss it. But just as it sailed over his head, he leaped and stretched out his arms. The ball touched his fingertips. It was as though they had invisible glue on them, because he held onto the ball, pulled it into his chest, and clutched it tightly as he fell to the ground.
“Awesome!” I heard someone mumble behind me. “What a catch!”
I grinned and waved Darren back to us. “Come on, Darren, we’ll kick off.”
The eyes still stared, but I didn’t mind them so much, because I remembered the promise I had made the day before, when I had taken the bread and water. Into my mind came the picture of Someone in a red and white robe with His eyes staring at me. As I raced across the field alongside Darren, I was glad for His staring eyes and how good they now made me feel.

Third, we promise as we take the sacrament to keep His commandments, all of them. President J. Reuben Clark Jr. (1871–1961), a counselor in the First Presidency, as he pled for unity in a general conference talk—and he did so many times—warned us against being selective in what we will obey. He put it this way: “The Lord has given us nothing that is useless or unnecessary. He has filled the Scriptures with the things which we should do in order that we may gain salvation.”
President Clark went on: “When we partake of the Sacrament we covenant to obey and keep his commandments. There are no exceptions. There are no distinctions, no differences.” President Clark taught that just as we repent of all sin, not just a single sin, we pledge to keep all the commandments. Hard as that sounds, it is uncomplicated. We simply submit to the authority of the Savior and promise to be obedient to whatever He commands (see Mosiah 3:19). It is our surrender to the authority of Jesus Christ that will allow us to be bound as families, as a Church, and as the children of our Heavenly Father.
The Lord conveys that authority through His prophet to humble servants. Then faith can turn our call as a home teacher or a visiting teacher into an errand from the Lord. We go for Him, at His command. An ordinary man and a teenage junior companion go into homes expecting that the powers of heaven will help them assure that families are united and that there is no hardness, lying, backbiting, nor evil speaking (see D&C 20:54). Faith that the Lord calls servants will help us ignore their limitations when they reprove us, as they will. We will see their good intent more clearly than their human limitations. We will be less likely to feel offense and more likely to feel gratitude to the Master, who called them.
There are some commandments which, when broken, destroy unity. Some have to do with what we say and some with how we react to what others say. We must speak no ill of anyone. We must see the good in each other and speak well of each other whenever we can.
At the same time, we must stand against those who speak contemptuously of sacred things, because the certain effect of that is to offend the Spirit and so create contention and confusion. President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) showed the way to stand without being contentious as he lay on a hospital gurney and asked an attendant who, in a moment of frustration, took the name of the Lord in vain:
“ ‘Please! Please! That is my Lord whose names you revile.’
“There was a deathly silence, then a subdued voice whispered, ‘I am sorry.’ ” An inspired, loving rebuke can be an invitation to unity. Failure to give it when moved upon by the Holy Ghost will lead to discord.

Bonnie H. Cordon
Growing up, my father was a career Army officer. The only downside to his job was that he had to go to war. I was 13 years old when my dad left for Vietnam for the second time. The fear of him not returning was always on my mind, but so was my trust in the Lord. Before leaving, my dad gave me a father’s blessing assuring me that the Lord would be with me and help while my dad was away. I felt peace. Although I did not know for sure that my dad would return home safely, I trusted that everything would be OK, regardless of what happened.

Dear brothers and sisters, this is very humbling, and I pray sincerely for the Spirit of the Lord to sustain me. Since being called as a General Authority last April, I have developed a greater love for the gospel of Jesus Christ and a much deeper appreciation and love for a great and wonderful wife who has stood by my side through every facet of married life. I am grateful for our five children who sustain us and live as they should, and thankful for parents who taught correct principles and set a marvelous pattern for us to follow. I have learned to love and appreciate good men and women who have influenced my life and stood by my side through many Church callings.
I am most thankful to a kind Father in Heaven for the privilege of serving in the Area Presidency of the South Pacific Islands under the leadership and direction of a great and spiritual leader, Elder Robert L. Simpson, and of being one with a counselor, companion, and friend, Elder Philip T. Sonntag. What a thrill it has been in the last month to participate in the dedication of a beautiful temple in faraway Australia, and to see thousands of wonderful Saints as they came from all corners of that great land and raised their voices in song and prayer and appreciation—true evidence that temples are being built in many countries across the face of the earth and that thousands of righteous men and women and children will visit them to be sealed together in family units for time and for all eternity.
We visited the Saints in New Zealand and felt the same sweet spirit. Our spirits were lifted and our testimonies strengthened. What a privilege to participate in the dedication of the first LDS chapel in Papua, New Guinea—where 450 wonderful native people sat with tear-filled eyes as President Robert L. Simpson dedicated their beautiful building. A handsome young New Guinean stood in that meeting with a Book of Mormon in one hand and a Bible in the other; he held them high above his head and bore a strong witness and testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ to his people. We thrilled after traveling sixty-five miles to a jungle village to witness the faith and testimony of our members there. They gave us gifts that had been handed down from generation to generation because we represented the gospel they love so much. And we gave a prayer and blessing on their village before we left. Tears filled our eyes as we saw President Kimball’s picture hanging in a building in far-off New Guinea.
We felt the spirit of missionary work as we literally watched the prophecies unfold that the gospel of Jesus Christ should be taken to every nation, kindred, tongue, and people. (See Mosiah 15:28.) I am grateful for the spirit of the gospel, the spirit of missionary work, and the spiritual leadership of great latter-day leaders. I support and sustain them with all my heart.

I can still remember my experience praying about the book. After reading from it one night, I closed the book, knelt down, and asked my Heavenly Father if it were true. I felt a blanket of warmth surround me, something I had never felt in the Buddhist temples I had attended all my life. This feeling was different. I knew someone was listening. In that moment I went from believing the Church was true to knowing it was true, and I decided to be baptized.

I have been a member of the Church for seven years. During that time, I have always known that this is the only true Church of the Lord Jesus Christ, but at one time in my life, I wasn’t very active.
The problem started when our family moved to a new town. It took us a few months to identify the location of the meetinghouse we were supposed to go to and a few more weeks to start attending. I wasn’t very excited about the change, and after a few weeks, I stopped attending.
One day I received an unexpected but welcome visit from my bishop. He invited me to come back to church on Sundays and to attend seminary. I decided to accept these invitations.
A few weeks after I started going back to church, the bishop introduced the Duty to God program to me. He explained what it consisted of, and I became interested in starting on it.
I started filling out and completing the goals in the pamphlets. I began to realize that the Duty to God program was helping me change my life for the better. I became more active in the Church and loved going to seminary. I am trying to live the standards of the Church better, and I love to read the scriptures and the Liahona.
When I started the Duty to God program, I set goals such as going on a mission and attending the Latter-day Saint preparatory school Benemérito de las Américas, along with many other goals. Last fall, I received the Duty to God Award and the Melchizedek Priesthood, and I’ll be going on a mission soon.
I thank my Heavenly Father each day for giving me the chance to change and become a worthy member of His Church. I am grateful for the programs and leaders of the Church that helped me change.

Thank you for the article “Eating Disorders: A Deadly State of Mind” (February 1993). I went on my first diet when I was 11 and suffered from bulimia for six years. I pray for the others out there who are headed on the same track. Please get off now before you lose more than just pounds. An eating disorder becomes a way of life, and it leaves little time for others or yourself because your energy and attention is always focused on food. I look back and see how much I missed and the people I distanced because of this self-absorbing cycle. I am now 24, and I’m learning to eat and look at food in a whole new way. Make no mistake about it, eating disorders are just as dangerous as an alcohol or drug addition.
Kristen AbtsEugene, Oregon

Nine-year-old Gabriella Kate Willson has several names. Her dad nicknamed her Nugget since she is a very happy, bright, and precious girl. She is happy at home as well as at school where she won an award for the student with the brightest and happiest smile. But the name most people like to call her is Gabbi.
Gabbi knows that part of making a house a happy home is keeping it clean, and she enjoys doing it! Her mother says, “I appreciate Gabbi’s good attitude and sense of responsibility in doing her chores.” She and her sister, Alicia (11), take turns doing the dishes, setting the table, and fixing breakfast. Every Saturday they take turns vacuuming, dusting, and cleaning their bedroom and the bathroom. Gabbi also likes to help her brother, Bradley (5), do his chores.
Becoming a member of the Church was a very happy day for Gabbi. She remembers eagerly looking forward to her baptism and confirmation. “I felt fresh and clean after my baptism. I decided I would try to be nicer to my brother and sister. I’m trying to be very patient with my brother while I help him learn to read.”
Scripture charades and scripture mastery are two activities Gabbi enjoys participating in during family home evening. One lesson that she liked preparing with her sister was on Christ’s Crucifixion. Biko (sticky coconut rice pudding) is a favorite family treat.
Each morning before Gabbi’s dad goes to work, the family gathers together to read the scriptures and have family prayer. Gabbi is happy they start each day this way because she loves to read the scriptures. She learned to read at the age of four and read the Book of Mormon at the age of five. “I especially enjoy reading about Alma, Helaman, and the stripling warriors,” Gabbi says.
Maths and spelling are two subjects Gabbi enjoys. And playing T-ball at recess is fun. She knows that one of the best ways she can be a missionary at school is to set a good example and be kind. “If my friends are doing something wrong, I tell them that I won’t do it because I don’t feel good about it,” Gabbi explains. Each year the school has a speech contest. One year she talked about the Church and the next year she talked about the changes in the environment. When Gabbi was asked to represent her grade in the speech competition, she thought it was very scary. “I practiced and practiced so I wouldn’t be afraid,” she says.

Being still is tricky for me. I always have a never-ending to-do list. While I do get a lot done, I am often stressed and overwhelmed by everything I’ve committed myself to. When I was looking for ways to become more receptive to personal revelation, I realized that I was living my life like Martha instead of Mary.1 I wasn’t giving myself time to just be still. After reading conference talks that counsel us to create a place and time to regularly listen to the Spirit, I knew I needed to do that.2 I now do my morning scripture study at a desk (instead of in bed), and I use my paper scriptures so I won’t be distracted by my phone.

I remember the same mixture of feelings on a much smaller scale when I was a teacher in Provo Ninth Ward. When the presidency of the quorum became vacant, I felt qualified to assume the position. However, another young man was selected. I did not question his worthiness and capacity, but I did ask myself if I were not as worthy or prepared as I should have been. I resolved to try to keep my life constantly in order and to improve myself so I would be ready for any future church calling which might be extended to me.

Jax was super nervous about performing his talent, Irish dancing, at the FSY variety show. “I was really, really terrified. Like I’m-in-a-pit-of-snakes terrified,” he says. “I said a little prayer before I got up there. I was still terrified, but then the music came on. I pretended no one was there. And I just started dancing.”

Jax hopped and moved his legs in traditional Irish fashion. But seeing Jax’s cheery face, most people probably wouldn’t guess that it was quite the journey to get there.

“In 2020 I was really stressed and even suicidal,” Jax says. “I was in a mental health hospital for a month. I found out I had pediatric brain inflammation and learned I was autistic. It was really, really hard.”

Once Jax had received some treatment for his mental health, his mom encouraged him to find a physical outlet to help manage his stress. He decided to seek personal revelation about what he could do.

“I prayed about it and asked for help,” he says. “And I remembered that my aunt was teaching Irish dance. So I started the class right before our big Christmas show. I had to learn like five dances in two weeks, so that was fun,” Jax jokes. Soon, Irish dance became a huge blessing in his life. “It really helped with my stress levels and dark feelings,” he says.

At FSY, Jax’s company asked him if he had a talent he could share in the variety show. So he danced on the sidewalk for them. When they told him he should perform, Jax’s first thought was, “Oh, no.” But he decided to share his talent even though he was afraid.

Now that Jax has seen videos of himself performing at FSY, he can’t help but laugh. “I had a completely straight face for the first part,” he says. “But then people started cheering, and I started smiling.”

For youth who are struggling, Jax gives this advice: “It’s better to talk about it with someone than hide it like I did. The Lord knows who you are, and He’ll be there for you. The Lord wants to help you.”

Overall, Jax feels that learning Irish dance has been a blessing from Heavenly Father.

Amanda puzzled over her patriarchal blessing. It said she would be a great influence on her children and grandchildren, but she was past childbearing years and had never married. Then she met Patrick, a pilot. They enjoyed listening to music and playing golf together. After a while, they got married.
Patrick’s first wife had died, with whom he had three daughters. Although they grieved the loss of their mother, they eventually warmed to Amanda’s love. Years passed.
One day, Patrick went flying and never returned. After weeks of searching, the plane was found in a nearby lake. Amanda realized that she was the only living parent Patrick’s daughters had left. She made an extra effort to support and communicate with them, especially through their grief.
Now she and her stepdaughters have a strong bond. They call her for advice and turn to her after a stressful day. With humility and gratitude, Amanda realizes that her patriarchal blessing is being fulfilled after all.

One year the young women in my ward participated in an interesting experiment related to dressing modestly. Here’s an account of one young woman who learned about this gospel principle and applied it to her life.
Anna Larsen* was excited that her turn to shop for clothes had finally come. Sister Jensen, her Laurel adviser, had taken each girl in the class shopping to learn a modesty lesson. Anna wasn’t sure what to expect.
When they arrived at the store, Sister Jensen asked Anna to pick out three outfits. As they walked to the dressing room, Sister Jensen said, “After you’ve put on an outfit, come out. Be prepared to have your eyes opened.”
Intrigued by her leader’s directions, Anna put on the sleeveless button-down shirt and hip-hugging skirt. When she walked out, Sister Jensen motioned her to the mirrors. “Now we’re going to play a game.”
“I doubt the clerks would be happy with me playing in their clothes before I’ve bought them,” Anna said.
Sister Jensen laughed and shook her head. “We’re going to play ‘Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes.’”
Anna looked skeptical.
“I’m serious,” Sister Jensen said. “Let’s start with your head.”
Anna put her hands on her head and saw her shirt pull up, baring her skin. “Oops,” she gasped, tugging it back down.
Sister Jensen put Anna’s hands back up. “That’s part of the game. You see how much your shirt lifts up? Now try shoulders,” Sister Jensen said.
When Anna dropped her hands to her shoulders she noticed even more showing inside the armholes. She also saw the shirt straining at the buttons.
“Now bend over and touch your knees and toes,” Sister Jensen advised.
Between her shirt and skirt was a two-inch gap. “Wow,” Anna said.
“I know,” Sister Jensen said. “Now, go try on the next outfit.”
After repeating the game twice more, Anna’s mood dimmed. None of her outfits had completely passed the “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes” test.
“Don’t worry,” Sister Jensen said. “There’s hope. You just have to know how to put things together.” For the next hour Sister Jensen showed Anna how to layer different clothes to make them modest and stylish. She then challenged Anna to look through her closet and see if any changes needed to be made.
Later that night Anna looked at the mess on her bed. It had been overwhelming trying everything on to see what was modest or immodest. With a sigh she picked up one particular pile and carried it to her mom.
“Mom, I was wondering if I could donate these clothes.”
“Sure, honey. Why?” her mom replied.
Anna smiled. “Have you ever played ‘Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes’?”

Robert Minnick, a deacon from the Jordan Fourth Ward, Salt Lake Jordan Stake, has found a unique way to help others. He cares for, loves, and trains a puppy for 12 months, without pay, then gives the dog back after the end of the year never to see it again. The dogs are bred to be guide dogs for the blind, and Robert and his family have been chosen by the Guide Dogs for the Blind Kennel in San Rafael, California, to perform this service.
It isn’t easy to give up a dog you’ve become attached to, but Robert realizes there are people out there who need the dogs desperately. He has found a way to be involved in a worthwhile service project 24-hours a day.

Such a project is ongoing on the Pacific Island nation of Kiribati.
Tamana Natanaera, the local self-reliance manager for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, was tasked with finding members with gardening experience and a passion for growing things.
Working with local leaders, Tamana helped to identify seven qualified members whom he refers to as “champions.”
Each champion was given the equipment to set up a nursery tailored to fit in his or her available space.
A simple greenhouse was supplied to hold and protect seedling trays, as well as to offer shade as needed. Seeds were provided for growing nutritious produce such as cucumber, eggplant, capsicum, cabbage, tomato, watermelon, papaya and rock melon.
A watering system is a particular necessity in Kiribati. Although the 33 islands that comprise Kiribati stretch across 3.5 million square kilometres of ocean water, fresh water is very scarce.
The champions were thus each provided with a watering system composed of a small solar pump to draw water from a well, a water tank with a stand, and a piping system.
Tamana Natanaera noted that the water system given to the champions is a big help as it greatly improves their ability to produce more.
With these necessary tools, the champion gardeners are able to do their part. For two years now, they have been planting the seeds in the small trays and nurturing them.
When the seedlings are ready to be transplanted into a garden, the champions begin sharing them with neighbours and friends. They may ask their church leaders to announce to their congregation that seedlings are available. They may also give the seedlings to coworkers or to neighbours in their communities who are interested in growing their own produce.
When the champion has seedlings left over, they can transplant them into their own garden for their personal use or they may sell their excess produce to neighbours.
The Church will provide seeds to the champions for one more year and at the end of that period, the gardeners should be capable of producing their own seeds to maintain growing and sharing the seedlings. The program will continue to bless many people in Kiribati communities.
This project is not just an example of growing seedlings, but also of growing self-reliance, community spirit and neighbourly friendships. Underpinning all of this is a growing faith—among many participants—in He who created all things, and who cares for His children, one by one.

Hiking out of the Grand Canyon is no easy task. The trail is steep. The sun is hot. When you stop to rest, squirrels steal your candy bars. There must be a dozen different kinds of plants with stickers, and they all seem to be waiting just for your feet.
The only water on the way is in your canteen. It is warm and stale and tastes of halazone.
Granted, the scenery is spectacular. But after five days you’re starting to think you’ve seen it all. It’s at least four hours and a 4,800-foot climb to the top. What you want to do is get back to the car and head home, stopping at the first hamburger stand along the way for a nice, cold milkshake.
Why in the world, then, would you take any longer to hike out than you have to? And why in the world would you be carrying 50 pounds of extra gear?
If you were Willie Holdman, a 16-year-old priest in the 75th Ward, Orem Utah Windsor Stake, you’d know the answers to those questions.
Willie’s father, Floyd, is a professional photographer. The 50 pounds of extra gear is camera equipment. And the hike takes half again as long as normal because every time there’s a possibility of a good picture, the hiking stops.
Willie, who wants someday to be a professional photographer himself, has traveled with his father on assignments in Utah, Arizona, Wyoming, Washington, Florida, and the Caribbean. But he remembers vividly that long walk up from the depths of one of Earth’s deepest canyons.
“People just don’t realize how much work goes into taking pictures,” Willie said. “We got up before dawn—and it’s hard to get up early when you’ve done it all week and you’d rather stay in the sleeping bag for two more hours. We waited for the morning light to be just right. While other hikers were starting out early to take advantage of the cool morning temperatures, we spent an hour taking photos before we even thought of breaking camp. And then we couldn’t just throw things in our backpacks. We had to be careful to protect the film and cameras from heat and dust.
“Then, when we finally got on the trail, we’d just get moving and Dad would say, ‘Wait, we need to take a picture here.’ Sometimes you’d be ready to forget the whole thing.
“But,” Willie said, “when you get home and you see the pictures, it makes you glad you did it.”
That’s just one of many lessons Willie has learned from working with his dad: to work hard, even when you don’t want to work, because you know the reward comes later on.

Most birthday parties I am invited to are on Saturdays. However, one year I was invited to two of them on a Sunday. It was hard not to go as both parties were at the Canada Games Pool, and I knew they would be a lot of fun. But I also know that it is a commandment to keep the Sabbath day holy. I decided not to go. The next year when these girls’ birthdays came around, both of them held their parties on Saturday, and I was able to go.

For most of his early life, the only sports Stanley Moleni played were rugby and basketball. But before his junior year of high school, after his family had moved from New Zealand to Hawaii, Stanley discovered football. “I fell in love with it,” he says. It didn’t hurt that he was naturally good at it too.

Coaches were impressed with his size. Stanley is six-feet-two inches tall, and at the time he was a lean 200 pounds.

“I was still learning, but by my senior year I started catching on and the coaches stuck me at outside linebacker. I was still only 205 pounds, and I was missing a lot of plays. I really didn’t know how to play the game that well,” he says.

That didn’t stop college coaches from showing interest in him—especially after he bulked up to 250 pounds. The sport he’d taken up for fun was suddenly his ticket to college. After a lot of thought, he signed a letter of intent to play football for BYU. But instead of enrolling in school immediately after high school graduation in 1994, Stanley moved to Utah and worked to save money for a mission.

“My whole life I was planning on a mission,” says Stanley, now known as Elder Moleni as he serves in the California Ventura Mission. “There was nothing that was going to stop me from coming on a mission.”

And that included the glamour of playing big-time college football.

Says Elder Moleni, “One of our investigators said that he really admired us because he knew we really believed in what we were teaching. When he said he admired me for coming on a mission and leaving my scholarship behind, it felt really good.”

And now just three months short of the completion of his mission, Elder Moleni is concentrating on the work at hand. Soon enough, he’ll be a college student and an outside linebacker.

“I’ll be behind physically. I know that,” he says about football. “But I see a parallel between my not knowing how to play football and missionary work. Through hard work and sacrifice I became better at football. And through hard work and faith in the Lord, I’ve had a successful mission.”