Gospel Story Finder

“Okay, give me a big smile,” the photographer said to Natalie Omer of West Valley City, Utah, as he snapped her senior picture.
Natalie had no idea that would be her last big smile for some time. Three hours later, her face would be destroyed.
That afternoon, the energetic redhead went about her duties as track team manager, measuring shot put distances. Perhaps the senior prom was on her mind—she’d been asked the week before. All she knows is that it was between heats, and no one was supposed to be throwing. So when she heard the call, “Heads up!” the last thing she expected was to see a 12-pound ball of iron hurtling toward her.
A thrower had tried to get in one last practice throw. His shot smashed into Natalie’s face, crushing bones, blackening eyes, knocking out teeth. Blood was everywhere. Fortunately, Natalie’s memory fled, and she doesn’t remember a thing.
She does remember, however, waking in the hospital more than 24 hours later. Her pain was intense, but she had a question she wanted answered immediately. “Who did this?” were her first cognizant words through bruised and swollen lips. “Find out who did this!”
Her mother said she’d find out. She’d been so concerned over her daughter she hadn’t thought about whoever was responsible for the terrible accident, but now knew she’d better.
“Mom,” Natalie murmured. “Find out who did it, and tell him that I’m okay. He doesn’t have to worry. I’m not mad. It was an accident. I forgive him.”
Natalie’s mother was stunned. “Those wouldn’t have been my first words or reactions,” she admitted.
Several months later, Natalie, smiling again, talks about the accident. Her jaw is no longer wired, and she hardly notices the metal plates embedded in her face, or her permanent false teeth. “The doctor said I could have gone to the prom afterwards,” she says. “But my face was purple and my teeth were gone, so I decided not to. I did graduate with my class though,” she laughs.
“I really think I had help in forgiving the one who did it,” she reflects. “I never felt any anger, but I worried that he thought I might. My injuries were physical and could heal. But his injuries were emotional, and he might have to carry them for life. I don’t want him to be miserable. These things happen.”
Just to make sure, Natalie wrote him a note as soon as she got home from the hospital, telling him she didn’t hold him responsible. Since he was from another school, she told him she’d even like to meet him in person—after she healed, of course. She knew it would make him feel worse to see just how bad her injuries were.
“I learned so much from this,” Natalie says. “I learned how supportive my family, friends, and ward could be. I learned a lot about the power of prayers and blessings. And I learned about the power of forgiveness. It would have been pointless to have to heal bad feelings on the inside while I was trying to heal on the outside. Forgiving quickly was just as good for me as it was for him.
“So I guess you could say I learned a lot about Christ, too,” she added. More than many of us ever do.

The gospel has helped him in other ways, too. One is that since he joined the Church, Richard has been able to overcome a speech impediment. Before receiving the Holy Ghost, “I could not say a word in public,” Richard says. After his confirmation, he was able to bless the sacrament, give talks in church, and take roles in two road shows. “Like it says in Ether 12:27—my weakness became a strength,” he says.

I know that you have a great feeling if you live the law of tithing. I remember a time just after my wife and I married; I was working my way through school, and I was working at the post office eight hours a day and carrying a full course of law. We had lost a baby, and we had a large hospital bill. I decided to quit the post office and start the practice of law. I quit in September and failed to pay tithing that month because I had built up a retirement benefit with the government that was to be paid to me in November; I felt I could pay my tithing with that. But it didn’t come in November, and it didn’t come in December. I had to report that year to my bishop that I had not paid a full tithe. But I did not feel good about it, so I kept a record and paid it in installments at eight percent interest until I had paid the deficit in full. I had a good feeling after I got it paid. I knew the Lord had understood and accepted my performance.

“Before I was eight years old, I sometimes walked in my sleep. I would get up at night without knowing it and do strange things. One night I went to a neighbor’s home and told them that my parents weren’t home. Another time, I walked into a neighbors’ home in the middle of the night and gave them a bunch of daisies because they had just had a new baby. When I learned about what I had done, I became very frightened and couldn’t sleep at night. My mother suggested that I pray about my problem. She prayed with me that I would be able to sleep without sleepwalking. From then on, I was able to sleep without fear. Praying and receiving that help was a personal, spiritual experience for me.”

There is a much repeated story by an American clergyman Russell Conwell (1843–1925) about hectares of diamonds.
Ali Hafid, an ancient Persian, owned much land, many productive fields, with orchards, gardens, and money loaned out with interest charged. He had a lovely family and was content because he was wealthy, and wealthy because he was content.
An old priest came to Ali Hafid and told him that if he had a diamond the size of his thumb, he could purchase a dozen farms like his, and Ali Hafid said, “Will you tell me where I can find diamonds?”
The priest told him, “If you will find a river that runs over white sands, between high mountains, in those white sands, you will always find diamonds.”
“Well,” said Ali Hafid, “I will go.”
So he sold his farm, collected his money that had been loaned with interest charged, left his family in the care of a neighbor, and away he went in search of diamonds. He traveled through many lands.
The man who purchased Ali Hafid’s farm led his camel out into the garden to drink, and as the animal put his nose into the shallow waters, Ali Hafid’s successor noticed a curious flash of light in the white sands of the stream. Reaching in, he pulled out a black stone, containing a strange circle of light. Not long after, the same old priest came to visit Ali Hafid’s successor and found that in the black stone, containing a strange circle of light, was a diamond. As they rushed out into the garden and stirred up the white sands with their fingers, they came up with many more beautiful, valuable gems. Thus were discovered the diamond mines of Golconda, which were the most valuable diamond mines in the history of the ancient world. So, had Ali Hafid remained at home and dug in his own cellar or anywhere in his own fields rather than traveling to strange lands, he would have had hectares of diamonds.

And this is what he told me.
The greatest day of my life, up to that point, was the day I received my mission call. Not even being accepted for the all-state basketball team or even achieving Eagle Scout could compare. Dad and I were home alone, because Mother and the girls were spending two months in Phoenix with Grandma. I had just finished telephoning Mom to tell her the good news.
“Wow, Dad!” I said as I hung up the telephone. “I still am very surprised! Mom thinks it’s great, too. She says to tell you Grandma’s feeling a little better, by the way. Wow! I am very surprised,” and I leaped to catch hold of the top of the door frame, executing a quick little swing.
“How would you like to start your mission right away?” Dad asked quietly.
“You bet! I wish it were tomorrow! I can’t wait to get into the LTM and then take a plane for—”
“No. I mean it, Rich. How would you like to begin your mission now?”
“Now? But Dad, the letter says, ‘You will enter the missionary home in Salt Lake City on the 20th of March.’ I don’t think they let you go in early. I think you have to—”
“I don’t mean start it in the Missionary Home. I mean start it here.” He was still sitting quietly in his big chair, looking at me very steadily. Something in his expression caused me to become thoughtful. I sat on the footstool near the fireplace and just waited.
“I don’t want to make any speeches, Rich. You’re ready for your mission; we all know that. You’ve done all the right things to prepare. By the way, in case I haven’t said it lately, I’m proud of you.”
For some reason, I became emotional and tried to hide my tears by pretending to tie my shoelace.
“But a mission’s hard on the best of young people. That early adjustment brings frustration and problems most kids your age haven’t had to deal with. And I guess a certain amount of frustration is good for the soul. It makes you grow up. But sometimes, if a fellow isn’t able to tolerate those frustrations, it can really interfere with his mission, and mix him up; it can—”
“But Dad, you said I was prepared.”
“In all the big things, yes. You’ve honored your priesthood, worked hard in your quorums, done well at seminary and in the institute this past year.”
“Well then?”
“I’m talking about the little things. Your mother and I have tried to teach you a lot about personal responsibility, and I think you are a mature person—well, most of the time!” he laughed. “But you know your mother likes to spoil you a little—”
“Aw, Dad!”
“Well, she does! And I guess that is her privilege. All I’m saying is this: there are lots of little surprises in store for the missionary. If you and I begin working on them now, then your adjustment should be easier. With the two of us living alone for the rest of the summer, we could operate on the missionary companion basis and see what we can learn.” Now he sat back and waited.
“I don’t quite understand, Dad. You mean, like you’re the senior companion and I’m the junior? Great! But then what? What will we do? Go tracting? I can see us at Sister Bigelow’s door—or Brother Young’s!” I grinned as I thought of the startled looks that would appear on our neighbor’s faces if my father and I donned dark suits and went around knocking on their doors.
“No, no tracting. You’ll see what I have in mind tomorrow. Right now, I think it’s time for us to go to sleep.” He got up and stretched.
“Okay, Dad. Pretty soon. I just want to catch a little bit of the late show, and then I’ll—”
“No late show. It’s time for bed, Elder.” And something about the look he gave me made me wonder about this new senior companion of mine.
“Rise and shine!” The call came loud and clear.
I bounded out of bed, startled. Dad usually tip-toed past my room, especially in the summer. Then I saw the clock. Six A.M.! I sunk back into the bed with a laugh.
“Stop joking, Dad!” I called as I rolled over.
The door banged open.
“Out of the bed, Elder! And make it up as soon as you’ve finished praying. You’re due in the kitchen in 20 minutes.” The door shut again, this time quietly. I stared at it in amazement.
When I finally made it to the kitchen, the table was set, but Dad had done nothing else about breakfast. He sat reading the scriptures in Mom’s rocker by the window, where the sun streamed in through her white curtains and over the African violets.
“You’re on breakfast detail, today,” he said, smiling. And, as I reached into the cupboard for a box of cold cereal, he said, “Sorry, You can’t do a missionary’s work on that. Now listen carefully; I’ll only say this once.” He held up the four fingers of his right hand.
“Basic four. Remember that from health? Every meal. Milk or milk products, meat or protein, fruits and vegetables, cereals and grains. Every meal. Basic four. Now get going.”
As I searched wildly in the refrigerator, glancing back over my shoulder at Dad from time to time, I wondered what had happened to my quiet, easy-going Father.
Without tears, but with plenty of sweat and a drop or two of blood (cut myself on the fruit knife), I managed to put a basic-four breakfast on the table by 7:00 A.M. I felt pretty proud. Dad said nothing, just knelt beside his chair and talked to the Lord as he had every morning of the world since I’d been in it, and before.
Later we cleared the table together and did the dishes. Then Dad said, “Study time Elder. Let’s sit right here.”
“Now I know you’re working mornings at the supermarket. But that gives you the afternoons free. I’ve talked with the bishop, and he was delighted with my plan. He’s changed our home teaching assignments; here’s the new list.”
I took one look at it.
“Good night, Dad! This list must contain every inactive member in the ward!”
“No, not all of them. But they’ll keep us busy. This afternoon I want you to go over the list. Think about the people, the families. Think about what we can do to help them, how we can reach them. Think especially about the Marlins—we’re going there tonight and you’re giving the lesson. Well, Son, time for me to go. See you a little before five. I’ll fix dinner tonight; since you’ll be working on the lesson.” And with that he was gone.
I guess my mind has kind of confused that first meeting with the Marlins. But I know that I did everything wrong. Preached to them instead of talking. Started coughing—not on purpose, I promise—when Brother Marlin lit a cigarette (trying to catch me off guard, I was sure). I asked Linda Marlin how school was, completely forgetting that she’d dropped out.
The next morning, Dad moved into phase two. Instead of getting me up at six, he opened the door at 5:30, dressed in his jogging outfit. Seems he thought I might have gotten out of shape since basketball season.
“Missionaries do a lot of walking—especially where you’re going. Need to be in good shape,” he said as we strode briskly into the foothills north of our house. “Now then—”
Now then? I thought. What could be next? Here we were jogging in the darkness, with not even the sun to keep us company. What could be “now then”?
“Brothers and Sisters,” he began, puffing only slightly between phrases, “Today we’re happy to welcome Elder Richard Ericson, who is new to our branch. We’d like to have Elder Ericson say a few words to us. Perhaps Elder Ericson would like to talk briefly on faith.”
“Elder Ericson,” slightly short of breath, rolled his eyes and began to mumble a pretty standard two-and-a-half minute talk on faith. At the conclusion of this wonderful woodland sermon, Elder Ericson, Senior, said, “Tomorrow, brothers and sisters, Elder Ericson will give us a real talk on faith.”
That evening, one tired junior companion spent the evening hours with a triple combination, concordance, and a copy of Joseph Smith’s, Lectures on Faith. But the next morning, I felt pretty good about the talk.
Soon we were jogging every morning; I was making a basic-four breakfast every other day and a basic four dinner on the days in between; we were making regular evening visits to our home teaching families; and I was spending the evenings memorizing scriptures and preparing for the talks I was “assigned” to give while jogging. I was also doing my own laundry, cleaning my room, and budgeting every cent I earned. I can’t say as I was crazy about the hours we were keeping—up at 5:30 and in bed before 11:00—but I really felt I was building myself into a missionary. So naturally, that was time for me to get humble.

At my baptism I received a set of scriptures. I was so excited. The black-bound books had my name engraved on them in bright gold letters. I proudly carried them to church every Sunday. Previously I had had only a Book of Mormon. Now I felt extra special carrying the other scriptures too.
As a new member of the Church, I decided I would read the Bible every day. But that only lasted about a week. I got confused with all the names and years in the first part of Genesis. So I tried just reading during the sacrament on Sundays. After a while I wasn’t thinking about Jesus anymore; I was just trying to piece together who was who in the Bible.
A year later, our family started reading the Book of Mormon together. When we finished the following year, I had forgotten almost everything we had read.
As I became older and could understand things better, I decided to read the Book of Mormon by myself.
I started okay, but soon began forgetting—or thinking I didn’t have enough time. When I did read, it went through my 11-year-old brain like water. I was just reading to read and was not really understanding what the book was saying.
Then, the summer right before I turned 12, I went to girls’ camp with my ward’s Young Women.
We had time each night for scripture study in our tents, and I decided I was going to read the scriptures every night I was there. I began with the first words of the first verse that almost everyone has memorized: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents …” (1 Ne. 1:1).
It was so incredible. I don’t know how, but the scriptures started making more sense. I felt how hard it would be if Heavenly Father commanded my family to leave our home and go somewhere so far away. I had always known the story of how the Lord commanded Nephi to go get the brass plates, but those three nights at camp I could actually see a young man going to an evil man’s home, needing the plates.
I have read the scriptures every night since girls’ camp. I haven’t forgotten, and if I accidentally turn off the light before I read my scriptures, I am not able to sleep. After I finish reading the Book of Mormon, I plan on reading the Bible.
Now that I have learned to “liken all scriptures unto us, that it might be for our profit and learning” (1 Ne. 19:23), I hope others will learn from my experience and be able to enjoy reading the scriptures too.

Once upon a time there was a flabby heart. It sat all inflated and bunchy in the chest cavity of an inert teenager. Rather pressed for space by over-sized and flabby organs like the stomach (a terrible space hog!), the head was always elbowing the ribs for more room.
All day long this flaccid pump would heave blood through the circulatory system—lub dub, lub dub, obviously with little relish for its job. Life did have its rewards for the heart though. Between a lub and a dub it would pause for a minute to nibble on a few of the fatty acids the stomach was processing. (For all the crowding the over-sized stomach caused, the heart certainly enjoyed all the goodies it put out. Why only today the stomach had processed four milk shakes and three orders of French fries.)
The flabby heart led a rather peaceful, routine existence and was fairly happy. It could shove the blood around pretty well most of the time, and it had the body it ran well disciplined. When the heart shook with fear at the sight of a long flight of stairs, it could usually talk the person into taking the elevator. If subjected to a short run on the way to the refrigerator from the TV, it would simply pound ferociously against the chest and scream, “Stop this instant!” Usually the person stopped running immediately. And when it was once again in front of the TV munching on those delicious fatty acids, life for the heart seemed just wonderful.
Resting there in front of the TV, the heart was blissfully unaware it was part of a growing problem. For out there in front of thousands of other TV sets were many more flabby hearts, victims of a lack of exercise and physical conditioning common in today’s convenient society. Even with (and possibly because of) the currently faddish “no sweat” conditioning programs and “30 second” fitness apparatus, America’s, and the world’s, hearts continue to get flabbier and flabbier.
The flabby heart had obviously never heard of a cardiovascular endurance program; it was too busy resting. Then one day the person visited his doctor. The doctor gave him a complete physical and delivered a short but firm lecture on the dangers of being physically unfit. All the talk disturbed the heart, and as the steely cold stethoscope pressed against it, the heart somehow knew its days of delicious fatty acids and complete inactivity were drawing to a close. Resigning itself to this horrible fate, the heart heaved another batch of blood on by and considered resigning, retiring, or just plain going on strike. But instead, it began running.
The flabby heart got busy working toward physical fitness the very next morning after seeing the doctor. And at the beginning it wasn’t too enthusiastic.
The first time the person ran around the block, the flabby heart decided he’d teach the person a good lesson. He pounded and thumped as hard as he could, making only the required efforts at supplying oxygen, until the person was out of breath, red in the face, and sweating profusely. Thinking the person would forever give up such activity after such abuse, the heart was surprised to be subjected to the same treatment the next day. The person was determined to make his conditioning program successful.
Oh, and if you are wondering what happened to the flabby heart, the person kept on running. Day after day, week after week. It took quite a while for the heart to get used to all that extra work, but soon it found it could really throw the blood around through the arteries. The stomach got smaller, and the heart found it had more room to work in. After several months it was beating more slowly and efficiently and didn’t miss the excess fatty acids at all.
That was one heart that did live happily ever after.

In grade school and junior high, Kalin participated in athletics, but by the time he was a sophomore in high school, things began to unravel. He was skipping too much school and his grades were going downhill. He played in four games; then his poor academic record forced him off the team. For two years of high school he watched games from the stands. He started hanging around some guys with gang affiliation. The bond between these guys appealed to Kalin, who was not used to being close with anyone. He became a follower.
Then things hit bottom for Kalin. He got kicked out of school for fighting in defense of a friend. He got caught riding on a scooter someone else had stolen. He wrote a suicide note to his mother. “I don’t know if I was serious,” says Kalin, “but I put it in my mom’s purse, and she found it.”
His mother took him to a hospital for help, and things turned around for Kalin. “I decided I had to change. I saw a lot of guys older than me doing nothing, hanging around selling drugs. I couldn’t see myself that way. I knew I was a fairly bright kid. I knew there was a purpose for me. I always prayed every night before I went to bed. I didn’t know why I did that. Nobody taught me. It was something I felt I had to do.” Only later did Kalin realize that those early feelings that helped him to pray every day prepared him for the changes he would make in his life.
Looking for a new group of friends, Kalin watched the people he admired to see what they were doing. He saw they were going to class, getting good grades, and playing sports. In one semester of school, he raised his grades to As and Bs. He played football and basketball his senior year of high school. As a high school running back, he was all-conference, all-region, and all-state. He was named Nevada’s Gatorade Player of the Year. But he paid a price for messing around for two years of high school. He was not eligible to be recruited by a Division I football school. He was headed to a junior college. He chose Dixie College in St. George, Utah, because it had a good football program and was close to home.

President Brigham Young recalled:
“Over [the] kitchen was situated the room in which the Prophet received revelations and in which he instructed his brethren [the School of the Prophets]. The brethren came to that place for hundreds of miles to attend school in a little room probably no larger than eleven by fourteen [feet—about 3.3 by 4.2 meters]. When they assembled together in this room after breakfast, the first thing they did was to light their pipes, and, while smoking, talk about the great things of the kingdom, and spit all over the room, and as soon as the pipe was out of their mouths a large chew of tobacco would then be taken. Often when the Prophet entered the room to give the school instructions he would find himself in a cloud of tobacco smoke. This, and the complaints of his wife at having to clean so filthy a floor, made the Prophet think upon the matter, and he inquired of the Lord relating to the conduct of the Elders in using tobacco, and the revelation known as the Word of Wisdom was the result of his inquiry” (Brigham Young, in Journal of Discourses, 12:158).
Brother Zebedee Coltrin adds the following information to this story: “When the Word of Wisdom [D&C 89] was first presented by the Prophet Joseph … there were twenty out of the twenty-one who used tobacco and they all immediately threw their tobacco and pipes into the fire” (minutes, Salt Lake City School of Prophets, 3 October 1883, page 56).

I collected pencils for children who need them. My mom’s friend said that at one school in Africa, seven kids had to share one pencil! I set up boxes around my school, sent home flyers, and even called everyone on the school phone list to ask for donations! Now my school wants to do the “Pencil Project” every year. I feel so good inside knowing I helped kids be able to learn.
Colleen N., age 11, North Carolina, USA

In elementary school, I always heard about the “popular” kids. Being popular wasn’t something you did, it was who you were—and by the beginning of my first year in middle school, I was at the top of the middle school popularity chain. I hung out with the popular kids in the popular part of the hallway, had the same popular brand clothes, and most importantly, ate lunch with them at the exclusive Popular Table in the cafeteria.
The Popular Table had the perfect location, right by the lunch line but far away from the teachers. Even better, it was the only table where boys and girls sat together. I felt so cool as I sat with them, and we talked about our TV shows and our clothes.
But one thing was just a little off—these popular kids weren’t really that nice. When I was with them I felt popular, but I didn’t feel happy. Sometimes we all gossiped or made fun of others. There was a lot of swearing and talking about things I knew were not appropriate, and I didn’t feel like they cared about me. My “friends” rarely did anything really nice for me, and eventually I began to feel like a doormat.
“You should try to make some new friends,” my older sister said. “By the time those kids get to high school, they’ll probably be drinking and maybe even doing drugs. That’s what happened to a lot the popular kids from my middle school.”
I was shocked. “These are my friends,” I thought, “and they’re not going to do anything that would bring me down. Besides, even if they aren’t that nice, at least they still let me hang out with them.”
One day, as I was walking to my lunch table, I saw Cindy, a girl from church who was in the grade above me. She sat on the complete opposite side of the cafeteria.
“Hey there!” Cindy called to me. “Do you want to sit with me and my friends?”
“Ah … no thanks,” I said, “I have my own lunch table.”
But one day, at the Popular Table, one of the girls was rude to me. She hurt my feelings, and I was tired of feeling like my friends just tolerated me. But where else could I go?
Then I remembered Cindy’s offer.
“All right,” I thought. “I’m going to sit with Cindy. But just today.”
I picked up my lunch tray and tried to hold back the tears as I walked away from the best table in the cafeteria.
Cindy saw me, smiled, and said, “Hey, Meredith! Want to sit with us?”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Sure,” I said and sat down at her table.
Cindy and her friends welcomed me to their table and were really nice. It was a completely different feeling from sitting with the popular kids. I was surprised. Not only were these girls nicer, but we also had similar standards, and that made it easier to go through lunch without having to listen to swearing or crude stories.
I decided to eat with them the next day, and the day after that, until eating with Cindy and her friends became routine. I was still nice to the popular kids, and we got along fine in class, but I stopped hanging out with them in the hallways.
One day, at the end of the year, Cindy and her friends had a field trip and were gone during lunch. I walked over to the popular side of the cafeteria and sat with my old friends again. During lunch, there was all the old swearing, telling crude jokes, and making fun of people, but now they were also talking about drugs and immoral activities. I couldn’t believe how much they had changed over the course of the year, and I was so grateful I had moved to the other side of the cafeteria when I did.
My sister was right; their standards were different from mine, and it would have become more difficult to follow the counsel of the prophets and stay close to the Lord if they had been my only friends. That year I made friends who were not of my faith but who shared a lot of the same standards and made it easy for me to practice my beliefs. They stayed my friends all the way through high school.
I’m grateful for my friend Cindy, who invited me sit with her, and to the Lord for giving me courage to change lunch tables. It seemed like such a big deal, but having friends with different standards was an even bigger deal.
The Lord blessed me to find friends who were fun, encouraging, and shared my standards. Trading being “popular” for being happy was definitely worth it.

Maybe this move won’t be so bad after all, Tanya thought as she watched Josh Tartello walk to the front of her fourth period creative writing class.
It was Tanya’s first day at Washington High, but she’d already met Josh in early-morning seminary. It was a small class—only seven kids strong, and they represented the entire LDS population at Washington. The interesting thing was that they all seemed to stand out in something. The Mormons were well known. Let’s see, there was the president of the jazz band, the captain of the swim team, the school newspaper editor—she couldn’t remember them all. But there was no way she could forget Josh, the junior class president with curly black hair and crystal blue eyes to die for.
What luck to come across him in creative writing—especially since it was a subject she felt confident in. She’d feel relaxed with the subject matter, and maybe be more relaxed about getting to know Josh. Was that a smile he flashed at her as he began to read his most recent fiction composition?
“Hey, Matt, where’d he come from?” Josh began, reading the first line from his story. Beginning with an interesting question—not a bad lead, Tanya thought, as she settled down to listen to the rest. The story was set around a basketball game and involved two guys—one with a bad mouth, and one with a bad attitude. They ended up resolving their problems. It was a good story, but it sounded vaguely familiar. Had she heard it before somewhere?
Just as the teacher congratulated Josh, Tanya’s stomach lurched. She realized where she’d seen the story. It was the fiction piece from the New Era a couple of months back. She was almost sure. Before she jumped to any conclusions though, she would go home and check it. After all, there was the remote possibility she was imagining things.
“Hey, Mom, do you know where the box with all the old Church magazines is?” Tanya called as she walked into the living room of their new apartment. There were boxes stacked everywhere, and her mom was kneeling over one of them, looking exasperated.
“I can’t even find my purse, and you want to know where the Church magazines are?” she asked incredulously. “Looks like you’re going to have to find them on your own, and if you come across my purse, let me know. Otherwise I don’t know what we’ll do for dinner tonight.”
Tanya realized that helping her mother unpack all those cartons was probably a little more important at the moment than checking to see if Josh had copied his paper. In a way, Tanya didn’t want to know. Mom had stayed home from work that day to try to get things organized, so Tanya decided to dig in and help.
With a new school, a new ward, and a new apartment to get used to, checking on Josh’s story soon dropped to the bottom of Tanya’s priority list. Besides, Josh was being friendly to her and had introduced her to all his friends. She almost forgot about the plagiarism issue entirely—until it was Josh’s turn to read another paper in front of the class.
“There they were again. Those ten white pins—staring straight at me,” he began.
This time there was no doubt in her mind. Tanya remembered well that story about bowling. She’d identified with it when she read it in the New Era, because she’d had a similar experience. Now she was positive Josh was lifting his stories from the New Era. What should she do?
She was too agitated to let it drop this time. She waited for him at the door of the classroom and walked into the hall with him. “Uh, Josh,” she began, not really knowing what direction she would take. “Your story—it was good, but it sounded kinda familiar.”
“I had a feeling you’d catch on to what I was doing,” Josh said, looking very apologetic. “There are only seven other people in this school who read the New Era, and it’s just my luck to have one of them in my class. I know it looks bad, but let me explain. Buy you lunch?” he asked.
How could Tanya resist? As they made their way to the cafeteria, Josh tried to explain.
“It’s not like I lifted it directly,” he said. “I took out all the parts that talked about the Church so it wouldn’t confuse Ms. Dougherty. She doesn’t know anything about the Church, and I didn’t want to have to explain.”
“She’d get a pretty bad impression of the Church if you had to explain that one of her star LDS students was plagiarizing.”
“Exactly!” Josh cried. “Well, not exactly. I don’t really feel like I stole it, since I did change it a little bit. Besides, you know the LDS kids are pretty well respected at this school. How would we look if one of us was caught cheating? You know the story would be all over the campus in five minutes.”
By that time they’d made their way to the cafeteria line and students were crowding everywhere. By mutual understanding, they dropped the conversation for a while as they chose their lunches. Tanya really wasn’t hungry, so all she took was yogurt and corn chips. She felt strange about letting Josh pay.
As Josh carried their tray to a table in the corner by a window, Tanya said, “You know, in the time it took you to copy those stories, you probably could have come up with something pretty good of your own.”
“You might be right,” Josh agreed. “But I just didn’t have the mental energy. Look, with all the things I have to do for church, for seminary, for student council, for the soccer team, for my family—I’ve got to coast somewhere. I need a good grade in this class. For my sake, and for the sake of the LDS reputation at this school, couldn’t you please just let it drop for now?” Josh was almost pleading.
And Tanya was almost taking it in—almost. What bothered her was the fact that Josh had worked long and hard to come up with every reason imaginable to justify what he was doing and to keep the truth from getting out. At this point, he seemed more worried about getting caught than about being honest.
“What’s the worst that could happen to you if you tell Ms. Dougherty you copied those stories?” Tanya asked. “Maybe she’d be so happy with your honesty that she’d let you do those assignments over again.”
“You’re dreaming,” Josh replied. “I’d probably get an F in the class, which would blow my whole GPA, I’d get suspended for a couple of days, and I’d get kicked off student council and the soccer team. That would look great on my record. I’d probably never get into college.”
“You feel good about cheating to get into college?”
“C’mon, everyone cheats once they get there. You can hire people to write your papers for you. Fraternities have files of tests and papers you can use any time. Borrowing ideas from the New Era is small-time stuff compared to that.”
“I guess everyone starts somewhere,” Tanya said quietly, more to herself than to Josh. She’d finished her yogurt but hadn’t touched her chips. She stood up.
“So what are you going to do?” Josh asked, looking up at her with those crystal blue eyes to die for.
“I’m going to start doing what’s best for everyone,” she replied, as she slowly walked away.

In 1967, a friend of the Simonets in Nancy, Francine Babin, and her children, were baptized. Her husband, Jean-Albert, was baptized six months later. “When Francine read the Book of Mormon,” says Brother Babin, “it was as though the sun exploded inside of her. She is normally rather quiet, but after the missionaries taught her the gospel, she could not stop talking about it.”

Like the Simonet children, the five Babin children are examples of the strength that second-generation members bring to the Church. They are bringing up their children and serving as leaders in Paris, Versailles, and Mantes-la-Jolie.

A few years ago, I participated in an activity with other youth and several missionaries. Our goal was to invite people to come and attend a special sacrament meeting.
I was excited to put myself in the shoes of our missionaries. We managed to distribute our invitations to a few people we met. When it was time to give out the last card, the Spirit prompted me to go to a specific person. But she reacted badly to our invitation and sent us away.
It made me sad to see this person rejecting the love of our Savior. I know that many people refuse Christ’s invitation to come to Him. But I also know that by simply extending this invitation, we are planting a seed in people’s hearts. This experience strengthened my testimony even though my invitation was rejected. I know that with Christ, anything is possible, and I have continued preparing to serve a mission and bring others to Him and our Heavenly Father.

Hey, wanna buy a cool pen? It has four different colors.
Where’d you get it? How much do you want for it?
My dad gave it to me. You can have it for a dollar.
Dad did say I could spend part of my birthday money any way I wanted.
Do you know where he got that pen? He saw some kid drop it and grabbed it before the kid turned around. He bragged about it to me.
Later, at afternoon recess …
I don’t want anything that was stolen. Just give me my money back.
Too bad. I already spent the money on nachos for lunch.
What am I going to do with this?
… and it has four colors, and it was a birthday present …
Are you looking for this?
Maybe I lost a dollar, but I get to keep my self-respect.

President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, once attended an ox pulling contest, where he drew out an analogy. He said of the experience: “A wooden sledge was weighted with cement blocks: ten thousand pounds [4,535 kg]—five tons. … The object was for the oxen to move the sledge three feet [91 cm]. … I noticed a well-matched pair of very large, brindled, blue-gray animals … [the] big blue oxen of seasons past.”
In speaking about the result of the contest, he said: “Teams were eliminated one by one. … The big blue oxen didn’t even place! A small, nondescript pair of animals, not very well matched for size, moved the sledge all three times.”
He was then given an explanation to the surprising outcome: “The big blues were larger and stronger and better matched for size than the other team. But the little oxen had better teamwork and coordination. They hit the yoke together. Both animals jerked forward at exactly the same time and the force moved the load” (“Equally Yoked Together,” address delivered at regional representatives’ seminar, Apr. 3, 1975; in Teaching Seminary: Preservice Readings [2004], 30).

Petey didn’t want to be a Sunbeam. I knew because I sat on the row behind the little chairs. At first they were empty. Then, one by one, the new Sunbeam class walked in.
I nudged my friend Ryan. “Hey, there’s your little sister Maggie!”
He shrugged, but I could tell by his smile that he was proud to be a big brother in Primary now.
I knew some other Sunbeams, too. There was Ralph’s little brother Jakey and Caitlyn’s little sister Ashley. The only one I didn’t know very well was the boy with the wild brown hair—Petey. His hair stuck out all over the place like a bird’s nest.
The bishop had introduced Petey’s family to the ward during sacrament meeting just last week. I’d turned around to see if they had a boy I could play with, but the only names he announced were the parents’ names and “Peter Alexander.” Petey didn’t have any brothers or sisters. Maybe if he’d had a brother or sister, he wouldn’t have been so scared.
As soon as the Sunbeams walked to their chairs in front of the whole Primary, Petey started to cry—loud. Sister Evans tried to make him feel better by holding him on her lap and showing him her happy/sad-face puppets, but it didn’t do any good. He sucked in big gulps of air and cried even louder. Finally, Sister Evans carried him out.
Some of the children giggled when they could still hear him bawling in the hallway, but I felt sorry for him. I remembered going to a friend’s birthday party once. There must have been 20 children there who I’d never seen before. It was scary being around a bunch of people I didn’t know, but at least I knew my friend and his parents.
Petey probably didn’t know anybody at Primary. That’s when I got an idea—what if I wrote him a letter? I could draw him some pictures and tell him that I’d be his Primary buddy if he wanted. I was so happy with my idea that I didn’t even mind when Janice kept kicking the back of my chair or when my brother took my favorite spot on the bench during sacrament meeting.
With Mom’s help, I wrote my letter that night. It was fun! I told Petey he’d learn a bunch of neat songs in Primary. And I told him about the Primary talent show that was coming up. Maybe he’d get to hear me sing with my brothers and sisters. Then I drew a picture of Nephi shooting an arrow and my remote-control monster car racing another car. I figured if I liked those things, then maybe he did, too. I signed my name and asked Mom to help me find his address. Then, at the last minute, I cut out one of my school pictures and dropped it in the envelope so he’d recognize me at church. Mom mailed it for me the next day.
I got so busy at school that week I forgot I’d even sent the letter—until Sunday! After we arrived at church, I hurried to the Primary room and waited for him to come in. That’s when my stomach started doing flip-flops. The longer I waited, the more I wondered. Had he gotten my letter? What if sending it had been a really bad idea? What if he didn’t like it? What if he didn’t want a Primary buddy? What if he didn’t want to come back to Primary at all?
Then I saw him! He trudged in behind Sister Evans and slid onto the little chair right in front of me.
“Hi, Petey!” I said, but he must not have heard me because he didn’t turn around or say “hi.”
I could tell he still didn’t want to be a Sunbeam because he sat really close to his teacher and stared down at his lap. “At least he’s not crying,” I thought hopefully.
Then disaster struck!
“Peter, would you please come up front so we can sing you a welcome song?” Sister Peterson asked. She hadn’t been at church last week, so she didn’t know that Petey was shy.
I held my breath.
“Come on up, Peter,” she said with a smile. “Don’t you want to hear our welcome song?”
Petey shook his head, clutching his teacher’s arm even tighter.
All the other children were waiting for Petey to burst out crying. And maybe he would have. His chin was already trembling, and his eyes were wide like a frightened rabbit’s.
That’s when I surprised myself. “I’ll go up with you, Petey,” I heard myself say.
Petey switched from looking at all the children to looking at just me. Did he recognize me from my picture? I guess he did, because a tiny smile crept across his face.
“OK,” he said quietly.
He held my hand really tight as we stood in front of the whole Primary. They sang the welcome song nice and loud like they did every time they welcomed someone new.
“Way to go!” I whispered when I took him back to his seat.
He grinned and waved at me.
And that’s when I knew—Petey was going to like being a Sunbeam after all.

The diary also serves as a family record. Because the family is the most important unit in eternity, a record of it should be at least as important as minutes of Church meetings. My journal is such a record, discussing births, deaths, illnesses, achievements, and the individual interests, tastes, and personalities of each member of my family. As one example, here is how my diary described our young family’s normal nighttime routine six years ago while I was in graduate school:
“(January 22, 1971) Nightly ritual—Daddy walks thru door about 6 P.M. Jeff (2) grabs his legs, Scott (9 months) follows him in bedroom. Coat etc. off. Both boys on lap in big green chair. Julie (nearly 4) waits in wings. Scott terribly fussy. Dinner. Julie cleans up plate, eats vegetables as it ‘makes her tough.’ Jeff so-so. Scott doesn’t let Linda eat. After dinner: PJ time. Julie easy. Chase Jeff down. Change him. Piggy back rides to Scott’s room. Tell all nursery rhymes off curtains. Prayers—both do it. Bed. Phonograph (Julie wants ‘Lemon Sisters’). Close door except for 6?, Scott tries to go in. Julie needs drink, etc. Jeff crawls out of crib over chest of drawers—gets Julie. Finally settle down. Dad restless. Doesn’t get studying til 9. Lin to bed by 10 or 11. Bill by 12. Kids wake up. 4 nites of 7 one ends up in bed with us.”

Once I heard a forceful appeal by a woman from the Mutual. Perhaps it was the approach she made or perhaps it may have been the mood I was in. She gave a rousing talk on the reading of the scriptures and making them our own; then she stopped her dissertation to ask this mixed congregation, about a thousand of us, “How many of you have read the Bible through?”

I think I was about 14 years old at the time. An accusing guilt complex spread over me. I had read many books by that time, cartoons, and light books, but my accusing heart said to me, “You, Spencer Kimball, you have never read that holy book. Why?” I looked around me at the people in front and on both sides of the hall to see if I was alone in my failure to read the sacred book. Of the thousand people, there were perhaps a half dozen who proudly raised their hands. I slumped down in my seat. I had no thought for the others who had also failed, but only a deep accusing thought for myself. In my slumped posture, I condemned no man, only my little insignificant self. I don’t know what other people were doing and thinking. I heard no more of the sermon. It had accomplished its work. The meeting closed. I sought the large double exit door and rushed to my home only a block east of the chapel, and I was gritting my teeth and saying to myself, “I will. I will. I will.”

Entering the back door of our family home, I went to the kitchen shelf where we kept the coal-oil lamps, selected one that was full of oil with a newly trimmed wick, and climbed the stairs to my attic room. There I opened my Bible and began on Genesis, first chapter, and the first verse, and I sat well into the night with Cain and Abel and Adam and Eve and Enoch and Noah and through the flood even to Abraham.

Learning the things of God must include, of course, the even more difficult part—that of becoming the perfected being. You must not only avoid adultery but also must protect yourselves against every thought or act which could lead to such a terrible sin. You must not only be free from revenge and retaliation but must “turn the other cheek,” “go the second mile,” “give the cloak and coat also.” (See Matt. 5:39–41). You must not only love your friends, but you must even love your enemies and those who do you injustice; you must pray for them and actually love them. (See Matt. 5:43, 44.) This is the way to perfection. You must not only be above burglary or theft but must be honest in thought and deed in all the numerous areas where rationalization permits dishonesty—in making reports seem better than they really are, in cheating on time or money or labor, and every slightly dishonest or questionable practice. You must not only cease from your worship of things of wood and stone and metal, but you must also actively worship in true fashion the living God. This is the straight and narrow way.

Now may I make a recommendation? Develop discipline of self so that, more and more, you do not have to decide and re-decide what you will do when you are confronted with the same temptation time and time again. You only need to decide some things once!

How great a blessing it is to be free of agonizing over and over again regarding a temptation. To do such is time-consuming and very risky.

Likewise, my dear young friends, the positive things you will want to accomplish need only be decided upon once—like going on a mission and living worthily in order to get married in the temple—and then all other decisions related to these goals can easily be made. Otherwise, each consideration is risky, and each equivocation may result in error. There are some things Latter-day Saints do, and other things we just don’t do. The sooner you decide to do what is right, the better it will be for you!

From my infancy I had heard the Word of Wisdom stories about tea and coffee and tobacco, etc. Nearly every Sunday School day and Primary day we sang lustily, I with the other boys:
That the children may live long,
And be beautiful and strong,
Tea and coffee and tobacco they despise,
Drink no liquor, and they eat
But a very little meat;
They are seeking to be great and good and wise.
(Sing With Me B-24 “In Our Lovely Deseret,” 2nd verse.)
We sang it again and again until it became an established part of my vocabulary and my song themes, but more especially my life’s plan. Occasionally some respected speaker said he had never tasted the forbidden things we sang against and then I decided. Never would I use these forbidden things the prophets preached against. That decision was firm and unalterable. I would not and did not deviate.

In 1937 my wife and I were touring in Europe. In France I sat at a banquet table of the Rotary International Convention in a fashionable hotel. The large, spacious banquet room held hundreds of people. The many waiters moved about the tables, and at every place besides plenteous silver utensils, line napkins, and fancy serving dishes were seven wine glasses. No one was watching me. The temptation nudged me: Shall I drink it or at least sip it? No one who cares will know. Here was quite a temptation. Shall I or shall I not?

Then the thought came: But I made a firm resolution when a boy that I would never touch the forbidden things. I had already lived a third of a century firm and resolute. I would not break my record now.

Remember, O youth of a noble birthright, that “wickedness never was happiness.” (Alma 41:10.) The unrighteous may pretend to be happy and may seek to entice others into such a way of life because misery loves company, as you know, but you will never see a happy sinner. Even the discontent of good people is traceable to such shortcomings as they have.

A casual observer may feel that an unrighteous person is successful and has everything he needs, and for a fleeting moment it may even seem so. But gross sin produces a deep emptiness. Thus the wicked seem to do more of the same in order to reassure themselves and to try to fill the void. When you see a life filled with desperation, there is transgression in it. We may pity such people, but it is wrong and naive to envy them!

To know the patriarchs and prophets of the ages past and their faithfulness under stress and temptation and persecution strengthens the resolves of youth. All through the scriptures almost every weakness and every strength of man has been portrayed, and rewards and punishments have been recorded. One would surely be blind who could not learn to live life properly by such reading. The Lord has said, “Search the scriptures, for in them ye think ye have eternal life and they are they which testify of me” (John 5:39).

He is the same Lord and Master in whose life we find every quality of goodness, every quality we should develop in our own lives.

Can you find in all the holy scriptures where the Lord Jesus Christ ever failed his church? Can you find any scripture that says he was untrue to his people, to his neighbors, friends, or associates? Was he faithful? Was he true? Is there anything good and worthy that he did not give? Then that is what we ask—what he asks of a husband, every husband; of a wife, every wife; the girl, every girl; the boy, every boy.

Another word of counsel as you plan the course of your life. To do the special things given to this generation, you will need to guard against selfishness. One of the tendencies most individuals have which simply must be overcome is the tendency to be selfish. All that you can do now while you are young and are more pliant to become less selfish and more selfless will be an important and lasting contribution to the quality of your life in the years, and in the eternity, to come. You will be a much better wife or a much better husband, a better mother or a better father, if you can change the tendency to be selfish. Your children whom you will not know for a few years yet have an interest in your conquest of selfishness.

As in all things, we have the example of the Savior on the cross at Calvary. He did something that he was not forced to do—something which would benefit others with the gift of immortality which Jesus already had. His was the supreme act of selflessness.

You may recall reading in 3 Nephi about the visit of the resurrected Jesus to this continent and how after blessing the children he wept twice and he also said, “And now behold, my joy is full” (3 Ne. 17:20).

True joy can only come from giving ourselves to correct causes such as the building up of the kingdom, causes that are in a sense larger than we are. Pleasure tends to be self-centered. True joy always includes others.

Now is the time to set your life’s goals. Now is the time to set your standards firmly and then hold to them throughout your life.

Ernest Renon gave us this: “Everything favors those who have a special destiny; they become glorious by a sort of invincible impulse and command of fate.” (The Life of Jesus.)

I see in you, my young friends, a generation of Latter-day Saints rising up who will be much more familiar with the scriptures than previous generations of Latter-day Saints were at the same age. You can be lifelong students of the scriptures. I see in you a rising generation of young Latter-day Saints who will be more willing to do missionary work (both before and after your formal full-time missions) than previous generations. Speaking of your generation as a whole, your generation will see, even more clearly than your predecessors, how important it is to take the gospel to your fellowmen.

Your generation will be unashamed of the gospel of Jesus Christ and equally unashamed of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

I see in you a generation of young Latter-day Saints whose hearts will be turned to your forefathers as has never before happened on such a scale. You will develop a natural interest in research and going to the temple surpassing the interest levels of your parents and grandparents in this regard when they were your age.

I see in you a generation of young Latter-day Saints who will make effective use of your leadership experiences gained in the Church in the Young Men and Young Women programs, in Sunday School, in Relief Society, in Primary, and in the priesthood quorums, who will then be sought after by the thoughtful people of the world who will want young men and women of integrity and competency to serve in various ways. Such young Latter-day Saints will carry their beliefs with them as well as carrying with them their skills, their competency, and their integrity.

I see in you young Latter-day Saints testimonies much more advanced for your age than preceding generations.

And so, beloved youth, remember, when the temporal kingdoms of men topple, the kingdom of God stands firm and unshaken. When the earthly influence of those who are wise concerning the things of this world is silenced by death, the glory and progress of the faithful and valiant who have lived all requirement live on in majesty and power. There is no other way.