Gospel Story Finder

Even though Alicia Settle must rely on her motorized wheelchair to get around, it didn’t stop her from going to the Oakland California Temple to do baptisms for the dead. She went in response to the bishop’s assignment that all worthy members of the ward participate in temple work on their ward’s temple day. Alicia was able to perform the task with the help of her ward leaders and classmates and some advance planning.
Alicia is a member of the Milpitas First Ward, San Jose California Stake.

I have spoken here of heavenly help, of angels dispatched to bless us in time of need. But when we speak of those who are instruments in the hand of God, we are reminded that not all angels are from the other side of the veil. Some of them we walk with and talk with—here, now, every day. Some of them reside in our own neighborhoods. Some of them gave birth to us, and in my case, one of them consented to marry me. Indeed heaven never seems closer than when we see the love of God manifested in the kindness and devotion of people so good and so pure that angelic is the only word that comes to mind. Elder James Dunn, from this pulpit just moments ago, used that word in his invocation to describe this Primary choir—and why not? With the spirit, faces, and voices of those children in our mind and before our eyes, may I share with you an account by my friend and BYU colleague, the late Clyn D. Barrus. I do so with the permission of his wife, Marilyn, and their family.
Referring to his childhood on a large Idaho farm, Brother Barrus spoke of his nightly assignment to round up the cows at milking time. Because the cows pastured in a field bordered by the occasionally treacherous Teton River, the strict rule in the Barrus household was that during the spring flood season the children were never to go after any cows who ventured across the river. They were always to return home and seek mature help.
One Saturday just after his seventh birthday, Brother Barrus’s parents promised the family a night at the movies if the chores were done on time. But when young Clyn arrived at the pasture, the cows he sought had crossed the river, even though it was running at high flood stage. Knowing his rare night at the movies was in jeopardy, he decided to go after the cows himself, even though he had been warned many times never to do so.
As the seven-year-old urged his old horse, Banner, down into the cold, swift stream, the horse’s head barely cleared the water. An adult sitting on the horse would have been safe, but at Brother Barrus’s tender age, the current completely covered him except when the horse lunged forward several times, bringing Clyn’s head above water just enough to gasp for air.
Here I turn to Brother Barrus’s own words:
“When Banner finally climbed the other bank, I realized that my life had been in grave danger and that I had done a terrible thing—I had knowingly disobeyed my father. I felt that I could redeem myself only by bringing the cows home safely. Maybe then my father would forgive me. But it was already dusk, and I didn’t know for sure where I was. Despair overwhelmed me. I was wet and cold, lost and afraid.
“I climbed down from old Banner, fell to the ground by his feet, and began to cry. Between thick sobs, I tried to offer a prayer, repeating over and over to my Father in Heaven, ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me! I’m sorry. Forgive me!’
“I prayed for a long time. When I finally looked up, I saw through my tears a figure dressed in white walking toward me. In the dark, I felt certain it must be an angel sent in answer to my prayers. I did not move or make a sound as the figure approached, so overwhelmed was I by what I saw. Would the Lord really send an angel to me, who had been so disobedient?
“Then a familiar voice said, ‘Son, I’ve been looking for you.’ In the darkness I recognized the voice of my father and ran to his outstretched arms. He held me tightly, then said gently, ‘I was worried. I’m glad I found you.’
“I tried to tell him how sorry I was, but only disjointed words came out of my trembling lips—‘Thank you … darkness … afraid … river … alone.’ Later that night I learned that when I had not returned from the pasture, my father had come looking for me. When neither I nor the cows were to be found, he knew I had crossed the river and was in danger. Because it was dark and time was of the essence, he removed his clothes down to his long white thermal underwear, tied his shoes around his neck, and swam a treacherous river to rescue a wayward son.”

I mentioned the young man in another setting. Later I received an unsigned letter that began, “Elder Gong, my wife and I have raised nine kids … and served two missions.” But “I always felt I would not be allowed in the celestial kingdom … because my sins as a youth were so bad!”

The letter continued, “Elder Gong, when you told about the young man gaining hope of forgiveness, I was filled with joy, beginning to realize that maybe I [could be forgiven].” The letter concludes, “I even like myself now!”

When I served as a member of the Europe Area Presidency, I was in Ireland for a mission tour and district conference. At the conference President John O’Farrell, the first counselor in the Ireland Dublin Mission presidency, spoke and posed a most interesting question: “Where would I be without the Church?”

He asked the congregation, “Where would you be without the gospel in your life?” He proposed that, “Here in Ireland, without the gospel we would likely be down at the pub with a pint in our hands, telling shady stories.”
Each of us might well ask that question: “Where would I be without the Church?”
What a blessing it is to have the gospel in our lives and to enjoy its saving power.
My dear young friends, may I share with you from the fire of experience and from personal testimony my conviction that the gospel has a dramatic power to change lives. The scriptures are full of stories of men and women whose lives were changed by its influence.
Think of Matthew, a despised tax collector who followed the Savior. Where would he have been had he not met the Master and had continued to seek earthly rather than heavenly wealth? (See Matt. 9:9.)
Think of Saul, the tent maker of Tarsus, and his dramatic confrontation with God on that fateful day near Damascus. He held the coats of those who martyred Stephen, and he went “breathing out threatenings and slaughter against the disciples of the Lord” (Acts 9:1.) Where would Saul have been—what would he have become—had not the Lord taken charge and turned anger and antagonism into desire and dedication?
Peter and Andrew, James and John heeded the call to leave their nets and become “fishers of men” (see Matt. 4:18–22). I dare say the call was not convenient—it seldom is, in purely worldly terms—but the call was heeded, and they were never the same again.
But what of today? Are there still such stories? Most assuredly, yes!
Let me take you to Huddlesfield, England, for a personal testimony of a sweet sister named Mina Kreslins. She was born in Amsterdam, Holland, into the Jewish faith. She had lost her parents and brothers and sisters during the wartime German occupation of that country.
She recounts in the testimony of her conversion, “I was bitter, and although I prayed, I just could not forgive.”
Then in early October 1983, her daughter Karla came into contact with the missionaries. Karla became interested in the gospel and was converted. She invited her mother, Mina Kreslins, to attend her baptism.
“It was at Karla’s baptism I felt the Spirit. It was so strong. I had never felt anything so beautiful in my whole life. I felt so elated and so wonderful, and I wanted to become part of it.”
The missionaries began teaching Sister Kreslins, and the Spirit bore witness to her of what they said. “During the third discussion—about Joseph Smith and the Restoration—the Spirit was so strong, from my head to my feet. I knew then, with all my heart, that the Church was true and that I had to be part of it.”
On January 22, 1984, she was baptized.
“My baptism was beautiful. No words can describe the feeling I had as I came out of the water. I felt so clean—almost holy. When I received the Holy Ghost, I felt wonderful. I wanted to shout for joy. Finally, there was rest and relief from the horrors and the hating of those war-torn years.
“Now, since I have become a member of this beautiful Church, I have forgiven and I have no bitterness in my heart.”
Where would Mina Kreslins be today without the gospel?
Such is the saving power of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Without its refining influence, each of us, in our individual way, would be lost and lingering in the backwaters and byways of life. The plan of salvation puts true purpose in living. It gives us an eternal perspective on our past, present, and future. Of all the people on the earth, we should be the most happy, for the Lord has given us knowledge of who we are and why we are here.
My young brothers and sisters, seek to be a good example to those around you. In your homes, your schools, your workplaces, and your community, seek to represent well your church and your faith.
When the call came, those apostolic fishermen of old did not procrastinate. They did not ask if it could be deferred until the close of the fishing season. They came “immediately” and left their nets “straightway” (see Matt. 4:20, 22).
The demands of Deity deserve to be met without delay.
I have asked that serious question of myself: “Where would I be without the gospel?”
It was that gospel testimony that persuaded me to say no to my Navy friends when our first “liberty” came to leave boot camp training in Farragut, Idaho, in early 1944. On the train from Farragut to Spokane, Washington, the invitations were presented in a most appealing way to go with them to get a “manly” tattoo and then be off to find the real pleasures that men seek.
I was the only Mormon in that group, and, yes, I felt a little lonely as I broke off to go by myself to the USO facility and then to a movie. The following day I found church services and church friends who strengthened and reinforced a lonely Mormon boy from Provo, Utah.
To have come home from the service in World War II with virtue intact has held for me eternal rewards.
Elder Neal A. Maxwell has wisely observed that “in the economy of heaven, God will not send a prophet when a priest will do.”
Remember that it was through the instrumentality of a young boy in his 15th year that the gospel light was given back to the world.
Age confers no inherent advantages in the kingdom; only righteousness does. You, in your youth, have the selfsame blessings therefrom. There is much you can do to build the kingdom—much, indeed, that a priest or a Laurel, a teacher or a Mia Maid, or a deacon or a Beehive can do.
Only Satan would have you underestimate your worth. Those who truly follow God know well the worth of souls (see D&C 18:10).
The power of Satan is increasing. You see it all about you in books, in magazines, in movies, and on television. You can resist that evil only by putting on the whole armor of God (see Eph. 6:13–17). Put on God’s spiritual armor, for it will protect all who wear it against the deadly weapons of evil and wickedness.
Without the gospel, we would not have available to us the whole armor of God, which is a shield of faith and truly a breastplate of righteousness.
Seeking then serving, and learning then living is the process. Let us learn our lessons well so that we might be profitable servants. Make full use of your educational opportunities, but temper them with the “steel” of seminary.
I testify to you that the gospel can change lives and that we have a loving and caring Heavenly Father who knows each of us and our aspirations and attitudes, our strengths and weaknesses.
Think deeply: “Where would I be without the Church?”
Thank the Lord every day that you have membership in his Church and that you can go to a loving Father in daily prayer and obtain direction and inspiration for the decisions of life.
Give thanks daily that the mission and atonement of Jesus Christ is for you personally and individually and that you can obtain the fullness of his mission. This fullness, however, is predicated upon your personal righteousness.
Don’t compromise. Don’t rationalize your weaknesses. Really go for the improvements and righteousness available to every member of the Church.
May we ever be mindful of him and of his love.

One day while studying for my seminary class, I had a beautiful and distinct impression. As I was reading over the lesson for the next day, I saw the face of a friend from school and had the strong feeling that I should share my testimony with her.
Despite the clarity of this impression, I was afraid. I was worried that my friend might reject me, particularly because she didn’t seem to be the kind of girl who would be interested in joining the Church.
I thought back to a talk by Sister Mary N. Cook of the Young Women general presidency in which she challenged us to work hard and be valiant.1 I wanted to be like this, so I wrote this girl a letter and testified of the truthfulness of the Church and of my love for the Book of Mormon. The next day I slipped a copy of the Book of Mormon, together with my letter, into her bag.
To my surprise, my friend was very receptive to the gospel. Starting that day, she would tell me about what she had learned in her study of the Book of Mormon. A few weeks later, I introduced her to the missionaries. Almost immediately, she received a confirmation from the Holy Ghost that what she was learning was true. The missionaries and I cried as she told us of her feelings. My friend was soon baptized, and her parents were amazed to see the changes that had occurred in her.
I am so happy I was able to overcome my fears and help bring the gospel into her life.

While serving as a missionary in the Philippines, I met Maria Jocelyn Castillo, or “Jocey,” as she was called.
We taught Jocey and her cousin Nestor the first discussion. The Spirit was strong, and Jocey agreed to read the Book of Mormon.
On our next visit, we found an excited Jocey and Nestor and about five additional people who were interested. On another visit, we taught another first discussion to Jocey’s sister Julie and some neighboring cousins.
The discussions went great. Jocey read all her assignments and started reading the Book of Mormon on her own. She soon committed to baptism. But as we got closer to her baptism, I could feel some concerns. I knew why. Jocey had only one leg and used a crutch to get around. She also wore a handkerchief on her head. On our third visit, we learned that Jocey had cancer and three years earlier had had her leg amputated. That had only slowed the disease. She started painful chemotherapy, and when her hair fell out, she wore a handkerchief on her head.
We hesitantly invited Jocey to attend church. I say “hesitantly” because Jocey lived about two miles from the church at the bottom of the biggest hill in the area. She had only one leg and not a lot of money for transportation; I really didn’t expect to see Jocey at church.
Sunday came, the meeting started, and 20 minutes later I saw Jocey and her cousin walk through the gate. I could see a wince of pain on Jocey’s face with each step. When she saw me, she smiled. I turned away so she wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes. I thought of the times I had missed church because my head hurt or I was too tired. I thought of the sacrifice she was making to get to church.
Jocey never missed a Sunday. I knew the cancer was taking its toll as she coughed and tried to cover her pain. When her baptism day came, she told me she wasn’t ready. She wanted to be baptized, but she thought she would be embarrassed to remove her handkerchief with everyone watching. I said a quick prayer and was able to reassure her. She grabbed her change of clothes and a towel, smiled, and said thank you.
I’ve never felt the Spirit stronger than I did at her baptism. Jocey cried, and so did the others in attendance.
Jocey didn’t stop there. She helped the rest of her family, her next-door neighbors, and friends in their conversions. Finally, her mother joined the Church.
But Jocey’s cancer progressed quickly, and she moved on to the next life. It was hard for me to watch her die after becoming such close friends with her. Finally, I realized how blessed I had been to have been able to help this young woman become closer to the Savior.
On the day of the funeral, the members of her ward helped with the service, showing that great love King Benjamin talked about. As they lowered the casket into the grave, Jocey’s mother fainted and was unconscious for about 30 seconds. When she regained consciousness, she looked up and said softly, three times, “Alam ko kung nasaan na siya,” which in Tagalog means, “I know where she is now.” And she calmly walked away.
I learned from Jocey how important the Church is and how much light the gospel can bring to our lives and the lives of our families and friends. I will always remember Jocey.

One morning my wife said to me, “Hans, I dreamed something very strange last night. Two young men told us about a different church, and we joined it. What do you think about that?” she asked hesitantly. We agreed that the dream didn’t seem to have any meaning because we would never want to leave our own church.
The dream had long been forgotten when, nearly a year later, my wife greeted me after work with the news that “two young men were here today to tell me about their church.” I saw a trace of worry in her face. “But we are going to stay with our church,” I responded confidently. “Well,” she said, “they want to come back to talk with you.” I was not happy with the prospect.
A few days later, I opened the door to see two fine-looking young men. They introduced themselves as missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In the conversation that followed, they asked, “Do you believe that the church of Jesus Christ is on the earth today?” My wife and I had already considered this question while studying the Bible. We concluded that if there were a true church, it would have to have all the doctrines Jesus taught. The churches we knew, including our own, were not complete. “If it exists,” I said, “it must have all the things Jesus taught. But it does not exist.”
A few days later, as I was sitting with my wife, she asked, “Hans, can you still remember my dream?”
“What dream?” I wondered.
“The one I had about the two young men who visited us. They told us about their church and we joined it. Remember?”
Memory of the forgotten dream came back. Joyfully we realized that the dream was a revelation of what was to come, and its memory a confirmation of our testimonies. It was a dream that had come true.

Although Mary managed to get some additional cattle to help pull the wagons to the Salt Lake Valley, the trek still tested and refined her faith. One day one of her best oxen became very sick, lay down, and was apparently near death. Had this happened, she could not have continued on the journey to the Valley. Mary got a bottle of consecrated oil and asked two brethren to administer to the sick ox. Although administration to the sick had only been used for humans, Mary believed that the Lord would heal the animal that she needed so desperately.

After the blessing, the ox got up and was soon ready to pull the wagon again. Two more times other oxen became ill, and twice more Mary asked the brethren to bless them. Each time, they were healed instantly. Despite all difficulties, Mary and her family arrived in the Salt Lake Valley on September 23, 1848, a full day before the rest of the company.

Caridad peeped out between the pieces of cardboard that mended the broken window in the one-room house. The lady missionaries had said that they would return mañana por la tarde (tomorrow afternoon). At ten years of age, Cari was old enough to understand the message of hope that they brought.
The tinkle of a bicycle bell floated across the dirt courtyard, and Cari raced outside. “You’re here! Welcome, hermanas (sisters),” she said joyfully.
“We came as soon as we could,” Sister Martin said as she leaned her bike against the adobe house. The dwelling was whitewashed outside, but it still showed the mud bricks inside. “Where is your mother?”
“Waiting inside. Come on!” Cari rushed ahead and opened the door. “Mamá, aquí estan (they’re here)!” she called.
Señora Arguello hurried forward, taking the missionaries’ outstretched hands and giving the sisters the customary kiss on the cheek. “Pasen, no mas (Come in),” she welcomed them as she showed them to the chairs at the table, the only furniture other than the bed in the tiny room. “Cari, see that the sisters have cups,” Señora Arguello said, bustling outside to the rustic stove where hot cocoa was warming.
Cari quickly set the table for four. Of course, she and her mother would drink very little of the precious cocoa, but perhaps the sisters wouldn’t notice.
When the cups were empty, the lady missionaries began teaching Cari and her mother more of the marvelous truths that had brought such hope to the Arguellos. As Sister Martin and Sister Darnell told about the Savior’s love and plan of salvation for all men, Cari felt a tear sting her eye. Her father had died four years before in an accident. Would she really see him again someday? She sniffed loudly.
“Here, Cari.” Sister Martin handed her a handkerchief. “Borrow mine,” she said with a wink.
Cari dabbed her eyes, then smoothed the handkerchief out. The material felt fine and soft. “This feels good, Hermana,” Cari said. “What a shame that some of the embroidery has come out.”
“It is beautiful,” said Senora Arguello. “If you like, I can mend it for you.”
“Oh, would you? It was a gift from a former companion.”
“Of course. I’ll have it ready tomorrow.”
“Hermana Arguello,” Sister Martin said, turning again to her lesson, “we’re holding a baptismal service on Saturday. Will you and Cari be baptized then?”
Cari held her breath. She had only been to church once. She had to take turns with her mother, since they owned only one pair of shoes between them.
“Sí (Yes), we will be most happy to become members of the true church,” she answered.
“Wonderful! And on Sunday we want you to come to church together! No more excuses.” Sister Darnell smiled at them.
Cari exchanged worried looks with her mother.
“Perhaps. We’ll see,” her mother said softly.
“Sister Arguello, I know the Lord wants you to attend. When you are baptized, you are making a commitment to attend every week. Both of you.”
“I know. I know. We’ll try.”
The sisters looked doubtfully at one another. Cari could see they were not satisfied. They left a few minutes later, with promises to return mañana.
That night Cari and her mother talked long about the Church. They tried to think of some way to get enough money for another pair of shoes, but there just wasn’t time between then and Saturday.
The next day, Cari waited in the courtyard for the sisters. When they finally wheeled in on their bikes, she called out excitedly, “Guess what? I’ve read all of First Nephi! Mamá and I read very late last night, and she was still reading when I fell asleep.”
“That’s wonderful, Cari,” said Sister Martin, drawing her close for a hug and kiss. “I think you really do want to become a member of the Church.”
“Oh, yes. More than anything!”
Sister Martin paused, “Then you be sure to go to church next Sunday. They need smart little girls like you in Primary!”
Cari’s face fell. Next Sunday was her mother’s turn. “I’ll see,” she mumbled.
The missionaries didn’t urge her further as they all went inside.
“Here is your pañuelo (handkerchief), Hermana,” said Señora Arguello, handing it to Sister Martin.
“What lovely work! Thank you!” As she looked at the handkerchief, a smile began to light up her face. “Hermana Arguello,” she said, “this gives me an idea. Could you embroider some pañuelos for my friends in the United States? I’ll be glad to pay for your time and the materials.”
Senora Arguello’s eyes lit up. “Of course! If you’ll bring them over, I’ll do them right away!”
Later, when the sisters brought the handkerchiefs, Cari looked longingly at the lovely, fine cotton squares. She had never owned anything so delicate. Her hand caressed one gently.
Sister Martin noticed Cari’s longing. Leaning down, she said, “I brought an extra one. Would you like it, Cari?”
“Oh, yes!” Cari clapped her hands. “Thank you!”
Later Cari’s mother pulled her close. “Mi preciosa (Honey), why don’t you help me embroider the pañuelos? If we do yours, too, we might just make enough money to buy a pair of shoes. Can you part with it, darling?”
Cari fell silent. She had never owned anything of beauty in her life. She reached out and touched the pañuelos again, then answered, “Sí, Mamá.” She turned and went out to scrub clothes in the cold water from the spigot in the courtyard. She would try to forget the lovely gift.
When the sisters returned on Friday, the pañuelos were ready.
“Here, take all of them.” Señora Arguello handed the beautiful handkerchiefs to Sister Martin. “Thank you for the one you gave to Cari, but it would be foolish to keep it when we need the money for necessities. Está bien (Is that all right with you)?”
“Of course. Here you are.” Sister Martin paid Señora Arguello for all of the handkerchiefs, then carefully tucked them away.
Cari smiled bravely at Sister Martin. After all, there were things more precious than handkerchiefs. She would have shoes for church. What else mattered?
The baptismal service was beautiful. Cari could hardly wait to go to Primary as a real member of the true Church! On Sunday she and her mother entered the chapel together. People they had met only briefly hurried up to them and made them welcome.
“¡Buenos días (Good morning)! We knew you’d both be here!” Sister Martin and Sister Darnell each gave them big abrazos (hugs).
Cari sat proudly by her mother, and as the sacrament came by, she reverently thought of the Savior. A small tear of happiness escaped, and Cari wiped it away with the back of her hand.
“Here,” Sister Martin whispered. She handed Cari a small handkerchief. “Use mine.”
After sacrament meeting, Cari told Sister Martin that she’d return the handkerchief as soon as it was washed.
“Please don’t bother,” Sister Martin said. “It’s such an old worn-out thing. It’s about time I threw it away.”
“May I have it, Hermana?” Cari asked, looking longingly at its little pink flowers and dainty lace edge.
“If you really want it—but it won’t last long, I’m afraid.”
Sister Martin was wrong. It would last forever as a reminder of the most precious thing in Cari’s life, the gospel of Jesus Christ.

The link also created new twists. Two of Christine’s cousins, Sharon and Shailani Realigue, noticed the special kind of friendship between their cousin and her two friends. Christine introduced the Church to them, they were baptized, and the two cousins started to help reactivate less-active young women. They visited with Margie Paragoso, and that led the way for the baptism of Margie’s mother, sister-in-law, and cousin. “I really think this wouldn’t be possible were it not for my cousin’s example,” Sharon says.

During the middle of a busy day in my neurology clinic, I was running behind schedule. Fortunately, one visit went quickly. I felt a sense of relief as I stood up to leave, but my patient began to tell me something unrelated to our visit. Despite my impatience, I felt that I should sit back down and listen.

The man stopped speaking. Apparently he had said all that he wanted to say. I told him how sorry I felt. He shook my hand and left. I’m glad I sat back down to listen. I’m glad I didn’t leave when I intended to! How would he have felt if I had rushed out of the room right when he was about to share his burden?

My mother also taught me in her own unique ways. She understood the importance of teaching us through action, not lectures. I remember occasions when my brother and I would play outside. We would be enjoying ourselves when we heard my mother call. When we stopped and I came into the house to attend to her call, sometimes she would ask me to grab her something that was close to where she was sitting.
I would obey and then wait to hear the real reason she called. When she didn’t speak up, I asked, “What else do you need?” And she would reply, “That’s it.” I would wonder why she didn’t just get the thing for herself, why she wasted energy calling me into the house.
I didn’t understand then, but she was teaching me about serving others. Later in life, I came to understand that serving others almost always involves giving up something that I prefer to do. She was teaching me through life, not lectures, that family and obedience are important and that we are stronger when we help each other.

May I take a few moments at this session of our conference to discuss what I believe is perhaps the most misunderstood meeting of all the meetings that convene in the Church. I refer to the bishop’s court. I would like to begin by relating a story.
The brief episode I am about to relate is true, and the facts are accurate because those who were present will never forget them.
The hour was very late; the room was quiet except for the audible sobs of a young man who had just received the verdict of a Church court. Justice had taken its true course. There was apparently no alternative. The unanimous decision, following serious deliberation, fasting, and prayer, was excommunication.
After several minutes, a weary face looked up, and the young man’s voice broke the silence as he said, “I have just lost the most precious thing in my life, and nothing will stand in my way until I have regained it.”
The process leading up to the court was not an easy one. Certainly, courage is a most important factor for every person who has seriously slipped but wants to get back on the Lord’s side.
After the meeting was finished, the communications that followed the young man’s dramatic statement of hope for the future were so reassuring. From some there were firm promises of help during the ensuing months of continuing repentance; from others a pat on the back and a handshake, with an eye-to-eye assurance that conveyed a feeling of confidence and the hand of fellowship. There was complete knowledge among all present at that meeting that all could be regained in the life of this young man if it were done in the Lord’s way.
This young man had just taken his first giant step back. As an excommunicated member of the Church and with his heart determined to make things right, he was far better off than just a few days before with his membership record intact but carrying deceit in his heart that seemed to shout the word hypocrite with every move he made toward doing something in the Church.
This episode took place a few years ago. The young man’s pledge has been fulfilled, and in my opinion, no member of the Church stands on ground more firm than the man who has had the courage to unburden himself to his priesthood authority and to set things in order with his Master. What a relief to have once again the peace of mind that “passeth all understanding.”

As a mission leader, I visited one of my branches one Sunday morning. I noticed that the branch president kept taking a card out of his pocket and writing on it. I decided to ask him about that after the closing prayer. Once the meeting ended and before I could inquire about the card, the branch mission leader raced to the podium, where he was handed the paper. I quickly followed this enthusiastic leader to his weekly branch missionary coordination meeting. Before they started, he took the paper out of his pocket. It was filled with the names of members who had been missing from sacrament meeting. Within a few minutes, each member of the council had selected a name or two, committing to visit them that very day to make sure that they were OK and to let them know that they had been missed. Now that is counting and accounting.

The 36 young women in the Ocean Springs Ward, Gulfport Mississippi Stake, made Father’s Day special for their dads and learned a new skill while they were at it. The young women chose material, cut out patterns, pinned, and sewed for hours. Finally, each of their fathers had a handmade tie to wear to church on Father’s Day. The girls also made extra ties for the bishopric, the Young Men presidency, and the ward’s missionaries, who weren’t lucky enough to have daughters in Young Women.

Twelve-year-old Will hurried through the stony fields of the English countryside, driving his sheep against the bitter wind. But when a crippled ewe slowed down again, he stopped and lugged her, puffing and panting, down to the fold where Cyr the shepherd waited.
Will had dallied too long with Brother Gregory again today, and he wondered what excuse he could give the master shepherd this time. Still, he had learned three new letters today! He could hardly wait for another meeting with the shepherd-monk. Brother Gregory seemed eager to hear what Will could tell him about life at the castle—where the great hall and the count’s chambers were and about the rich fur-trimmed robes the count wore. All these splendors impressed the monk, for in the monastery the brothers knew poverty and lived simply. Will didn’t think of Brother Gregory as he did the solemn monks he had seen before. He was witty and wise and a good friend.
“Late again, lad,” Cyr grumbled as Will eased the animal to the ground.
“The ewe has a bad leg, and I can’t leave her alone tomorrow. It looks like I’ll not be sharing in the Christmastide feasting.”
The older shepherd smiled, “I’ll tend the ewe, lad,” he offered. “I’ve seen many a Christmas feast, and if I’m lucky, I’ll see one or two yet. Besides, I’m waiting to hear more news of the Duke of Wormsley from the castle guard,” the older man added with a sly grin, as though he were keeping a great secret.
“What news?” asked Will, curious.
“He’s burned two outlying huts as a warning to Count Hector. You mark my words, there’ll be battle between the two lords over their inheritance.”
The following evening Will glanced about the great hall. Surrounding Count Hector, Lady Ursula, and other nobles at the large raised table were tables for lesser folks—wandering priests and lute-playing minstrels and traveling merchants and adventuring knights. Beneath these the peasants were gathered, Will among them. Attendants carried salvers heaped with food, and children scurried about underfoot. Dogs growled and snarled under the long trestle tables, waiting for choice scraps. Huge meat pies were served and peacocks and fragrant new bread, washed down by tankards of mead.
Suddenly, Will stared in disbelief. In his black hood and cassock, Brother Gregory sat gaily chatting with the guests around his table. But when he rose slightly to scoop up a second helping of meat pie, Will glimpsed a sharp glinting beneath the folds of the monk’s robes.
Beads of sweat broke out on the boy’s upper lip when he realized that Brother Gregory was carrying a dagger! Will knew that true monks did not go to Christmas festivals, nor did they carry daggers. The monk is an imposter!
Anxious about what might happen, Will slipped from his place into the kitchen. Attendants were hurrying in and out, and the place smelled hot and steamy. A cook motioned to a huge meat pastry and said gruffly, “You, boy. Take this in to the count.”
Will obediently grabbed the pie and hefted it to a corner of the busy kitchen. Then grasping a butcher knife, he quickly scratched into the crust the words BLACK HOOD in the same large block letters that the false monk had taught him. His eyes blurred from the steam and he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He wondered if Brother Gregory had seen him too.
Holding the huge pastry high to shield his face, Will bore it in to the great hall and set it directly before the count. The lord and his group were laughing and talking, but when Count Hector leaned forward to grasp his goblet, he spied the words. Peering at Will, and then around the tables, he spotted the only black hood in the hall. Before Will could blink, Brother Gregory had whipped the dagger from the folds of his black robe. It zinged past Will’s ear just as the count ducked to one side. As the imposter raced for the door, an alert guard grabbed him around the neck and forced him down.
The week after the Christmas holiday was over, Will was silently packing a poultice on the ewe’s bad leg. Cyr watched admiringly with weary eyes. “I think you’ll do well as a shepherd, lad. It would be wise to be content in your place.” He shook his head. “I know that idea is painful to you now, Will, since your friend Brother Gregory disappointed you. It’s too bad he turned out to be a spy of the wicked Duke of Wormsley.”
Will shrank from the words and stared at the sheep’s festered leg, his eyes burning. Now that it was known that he had been used by the imposter-monk to gain information about the castle and its lord, he felt he would be shamed forever.
As Cyr went out of the fold for a moment, a page beckoned Will from the doorway. “The count wants to see you, lad,” he rasped.
A few minutes later Will sat on a stool in the count’s chambers, afraid to look at the man who had summoned him. After what seemed a terribly long silence, the count finally spoke, “The whole castle knows of your association with the Duke of Wormsley’s spy, lad, but I believe you meant no harm.” He paused. “Did he teach you to make those letters?”
“Yes, my lord,” Will whispered.
The count leaned forward and his bright eyes pierced through the boy like a knife. “Those letters you wrote saved my life!”
At the fervor in the count’s voice, Will looked up. Count Hector settled back in his chair and continued, “The monastery is without a shepherd these past days, and the abbot tells me that if I consent to let you tend their sheep, they’ll teach you more letters and such that the imposter began. He tells me that if this arrangement is made, in a few years I would have a new scribe to copy books,” Count Hector concluded. Will sat in stunned silence, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. The count snapped his fingers impatiently. “Well, boy?” he demanded.
“I—I think the plan is excellent, my lord!” breathed Will, his eyes bright. “Thank you, my lord. Thank you!”

My wife and I are at a very exciting point in our lives, with two teenage girls in our home who have so many questions, and I am always amazed at my beloved wife, Busi’s, answers. She just never gets tired or impatient with them. A little while ago she explained the importance of reading the scriptures daily and used an analogy that has stuck with me.
She started by asking them how often they brush their teeth. They looked at her as if to say, “What kind of question is that?” Almost instantly they answered her question with, “Mom, that’s easy—we do it at least once a day!” She then proceeded by asking them, “Why don’t you just brush them once every week or once a month?”
I wondered where this conversation was going until she explained to them how brushing our teeth can be compared to reading the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon. We don’t read once a week or once a month. In the same way, we don’t wake up one day and read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover. Instead, we must strive to follow the counsel from living prophets and apostles by making time as families and individuals to read daily from its sacred pages.
President Boyd K. Parker (1924–2015) once said, “In a world ever more dangerous . . . the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ, has the nourishing power to heal starving spirits of the world” 1 . When we look around us, whether it be while watching television or reading newspapers or just going through mainstream social media, we are forever bombarded with a host of negative things happening around us. I have learned that as my family and I have made time to read daily from the Book of Mormon, we have grown closer to each other and have had an increased desire to be more Christlike.
The Prophet Joseph Smith has this to say regarding the Book of Mormon, “a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book.” 2 I know that this promise from the Prophet of the Restoration is true. I also know that President Russell M. Nelson’s invitation for us to hear Him 3 will become a reality as we read daily from the Book of Mormon. From its pages we will hear the Saviour’s words and His promises. We will also hear His teachings as taught by His prophets. From those teachings we will gain the assurance of His divinity, especially of what we can do to learn of Him and to become like Him.
If you have not started reading daily from the Book of Mormon, please don’t get discouraged, or more importantly, do not give up. Please make a resolution to start reading a few verses every day. The most important thing is to start somewhere, and I promise you that once you start, you will experience the promise that was made by the prophet Alma in Alma 32:28 when he said, “Now, we will compare the word unto a seed. Now, if you give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if you do not cast it out by your unbelief, that ye will resist the Spirit of the Lord, behold, it will begin to swell within your breast; and when you feel these swelling motions, ye will begin to say within yourselves—it must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me.”
I testify of the power of daily reading from the Book of Mormon. I have seen the fruits of it in my life and in the lives of many of my friends and loved ones.

Christa worked for a seed company. One day she got a complaint that puzzled her.
“The seeds don’t work,” a customer said.
“Did you plant them in good soil and give them water and sunlight?” Christa asked.
“No! That would mean getting dirty.”
Christa decided to write instructions: “You must plant the seeds. You can’t set them on the shelf and expect them to grow.”
Soon she got another complaint.
“I planted the seeds, and I was hoping to have tomatoes for dinner. Now I am very disappointed.”
“Wait,” Christa said. “Are you saying you planted the seeds today?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the customer replied. “I planted them a week ago.”
Christa added another guideline: “You must be patient and wait.”
All went well until Christa received another complaint.
“I planted the seeds, gave them water and sunshine, and waited. But I got zucchini!” the customer said.
“You ordered zucchini seeds,” Christa said.
“But I don’t want zucchini. I want pumpkins! I planted the seeds in my pumpkin patch!”
harvest: the food picked from a garden
Christa wrote: “The seeds you plant determine the harvest.”

Chanta and Sounthara Luangrath sat in their home in California, USA, wondering what they should do. They had prepared their four children to serve missions, and now they knew it was their turn. The decision was bigger than they’d expected: they would miss their grandchildren so much! They were also concerned about a few health issues. And what would they do with their home and belongings while they were gone?
The Luangraths’ concerns about serving a mission are not unique to them. In fact, Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles identified four categories of obstacles to senior missionary work: fear, family concerns, finding the right mission opportunity, and finances.1
Overcoming these obstacles requires great faith, a trait the Luangraths demonstrated when they heard President Thomas S. Monson’s call for more missionaries in the October 2010 general conference. “We felt the Spirit so strong,” they reflect. “We wanted to follow the prophet, so we turned in our mission application.”
The Luangraths were called to serve as humanitarian missionaries in Laos, the land where they were born, raised, and married. Their worries faded as they prepared to serve: their family supported them, they resolved their health issues, and they made their home available for lease. They felt confident as they did what the Savior commanded: “Go thy way, … take up the cross, and follow me” (Mark 10:21).

Summers in San Antonio, Texas, can get hot, very hot. But this particular Saturday in July, the temperature was record breaking, well over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. And best of all—yes, best of all—most of the teens in the San Antonio Texas Stake were lost.
They had forgotten themselves, their own aches and pains, their own problems and worries, and even the heat. They were lost in service to a group of children they would never meet face to face. They were refurbishing the play areas, grounds, and buildings of Providence House, a day-care facility devoted to children with life-threatening illnesses. Because of the children’s illnesses, the group would not be allowed to meet those who would benefit directly from their work.
For these teens, their youth conference was devoted to service, the true kind of service that is given with no thought of reward, even the reward that comes from seeing the smiling faces of children. They had chosen to dress modestly, even though temperatures had virtually never been higher. They chose to work outside or inside until every job was finished. And they chose to work with an attitude that they hoped would please their Heavenly Father.
The adult leaders took every precaution. They made sure teens had plenty to drink and were taking rest breaks in the shade or inside in the air conditioning. They even broke out a shaved-ice machine to serve plenty of cooling, flavored ice. They had also worked carefully with the director of Providence House in identifying exactly what needed to be done so the correct materials and tools were on hand.
Carol Bova-Rice, the executive director of Providence Home and Family Services, said, “I cannot find the words to express our appreciation. Other groups have offered to help, but they didn’t want to do big things. With this group, we planned what really needed to be done in advance, no matter how big. It’s wonderful.”
Taking their theme from the scriptures, the stake youth council agreed on the title “Mission Possible.” They liked the idea that individually they could not accomplish much but “with God all things are possible” (Matt. 19:26). They were particularly excited about combining the usual youth conference dances and barbecues with an outstanding service project. They wanted something substantial so the teens could really pull together to accomplish something big, something that would be memorable, and something that would teach a great lesson of Christlike service.
Hannah Clark, one of the teen co-chairs of the youth conference, explained, “There are some people that need our help. That’s where we need to come in and be like Christ. We need to serve. That is the pure love of Christ. It’s charity. That is the way to do it, by serving, even if we can’t see them and even if we don’t even know who they are. We are becoming more the way that we should be when we do those things.”
“We’ll have to visualize the children coming in,” said Chris Weirich, another youth co-chair, “and seeing the new things in a room, the new murals, all the new materials, the repainted play equipment, the new grow boxes; you just have to visualize it. You won’t see them, but you can still feel their excitement.”
On youth conference Saturday, Providence House was bustling. Everyone was assigned a group, and each group was assigned a job. Because of the red T-shirts issued for youth conference, the scene was literally a sea of moving, shifting colors. Everyone had a cleaning rag, a paintbrush, a broom, a vacuum, a hammer, or a rake in hand. Every spot that needed cleaning was cleaned. Everything that needed a new coat of paint was painted. Every weed was pulled. Every toy was sterilized. Every shelf in the storage closets was stacked with donated food or supplies. The San Antonio Stake youth had indeed taken on the big things.
Even as hot and tired as they were, by early afternoon nearly everything had been finished. The group returned to the stake center for a testimony meeting. One after another, they spoke about the things close to their hearts, about giving service without complaint, about how positive they were about the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Sandra Clark summed up how she felt, saying, “I’ve never been so sore and so happy with everything that’s going on around me. So many things were done with the right spirit this weekend.”
There were some nice, unexpected moments. Brant Ellsworth mentioned one. “When we first got there, we were digging the holes for the grow boxes. Some girls were weeding along the fence, and they started singing. It was so beautiful. They were doing a hard job and singing as they were doing it. It made me think of the pioneers. They didn’t know how their actions would affect other people. They didn’t see us or know how much we appreciate the things they did for us. I felt that same spirit while we were working.”
Two girls, working in the building that houses the nursery and the offices, paused to look at some small metal stars engraved with first names and attached to the wall.
“What are these for?” they asked.
These represent the children at the center who have died from their illnesses, they were told. Suddenly, all the work and effort in such extreme conditions seemed like such a small thing. They had found those that the scripture speaks of when it says, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:40).
While planning things that needed to be done at Providence House, several items on the list became good ideas for one person to take on as a Laurel project or as part of an Eagle Scout project.
Steven Ellsworth took on the canned-food drive. Checking with the center about its specific needs, Steven set a goal to collect 750 cans. He also created a Web site to keep stake members informed about youth conference and about what specifically was needed for the food drive.
Amy Kreiger accepted the assignment to create school boxes suitable for the children at the center. She organized painting and assembling the boxes and arranging for the school supplies to go inside.
Megan Baillio was excited to take on the redecorating of several rooms used for children who stay overnight. She worked with her mother in learning to sew quilt tops and curtains for the rooms. She organized groups at the youth conference to tie the quilts.
Esther Crandall accepted the assignment to make baby-sized blankets for the center. She worked with her mother to learn to make blankets with decorative edgings.