Gospel Story Finder

A woman wondered how a friend living in a foreign country had helped her young children adjust so well to a different culture. She commented that she and her husband had been trying to teach their children to be tolerant and to value differences in others by inviting children from the community to play in their home. But their children were still judgmental and critical of the other children. “What more can we do to teach our children tolerance?” she asked her friend. The friend answered that she and her husband invited not only children into their home but also the parents of the children.

We can encourage our children to play with a variety of children, hoping the experience will enlarge their circles of friendships. But if in our own socialization we friendship only those similar to ourselves, all the encouraging and teaching we do will fall on deaf ears. The children will hear what is being said but will not be sure of what it means.

What I charge you with today is what I charge myself with, which is to discover more creative solutions to working these concepts into our everyday lives. You can tell this has changed my life a lot. I hope you can tell that it really has. When I was working on this research four years ago, I came home with a chapter from a book that showed these data analyses, and my wife read it. She reads everything I write. She tells me pretty honestly when it’s not so good. She read the chapter and said, “I think this is really something. I think we can use this.”

“Yeah, we should give more,” I answered. “We should write bigger checks. We should take this seriously.”

She said, “No, no, no. I think we should do something bigger. I think we should adopt a baby.”

And I said, “Sweetheart, it’s only a book.
But I had no argument. We had to do it. And we did it. It was the best thing we ever did. And that changed our lives even more.

As for your money being cheerfully refunded, I can’t guarantee that, but I promise you that this stuff really works. It works—if you want—because of God in heaven, or it works—if you want—because of your neurochemistry, but it really works, and I leave you with that and one more thought.

As an American citizen and as a person with great delight to be here at BYU and living in this great country, one of the things that I’ve learned as a result of my research is that I’m a happy prosperous person because I live in a country with people who serve. Because you give to your churches and the causes that you care about here in Utah, I have a richer, happier, and healthier life even though I live in Washington, D.C. So for all that you do between your student life and your giving and your missions and everything else that characterizes your life of service that helps me so much, my last words to you are thank you.
© Arthur C. Brooks.

Esther and her Merrie Miss classmates have a hard time liking Janet. She is a bully and often calls them embarrassing names at school. When they try to fellowship her, she accuses them of trying to bribe her to come to Primary. The teacher realizes that Janet must have a point, so she asks the girls to think about what Jesus Christ would do. Esther’s mother gives her some good advice that she later shares with the Merrie Miss class. Even though it won’t be easy, the girls agree that they need to pray for Janet and to try to make her their friend. However, when Esther invites her to play kickball, Janet walks off, sneering, “That’s a sissy game.”
I flinched and had to remind myself to be patient. I just hoped that it wouldn’t take another ten years for her to change her behavior.
Mandi called to Janet to come and sit with us in the lunchroom. Janet gave her a look of surprise but went to another table.
The rest of the week, we tried to get her to join us in some kind of activity, but she never did.
On Sunday we reported our lack of success to Sister Card. She said, “I’m glad that you are trying so hard. Don’t get discouraged. It may take Janet a while to understand that you really want to be her friends.”
The next week in school, Mrs. Shell moved Janet into the desk next to mine. Janet leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I hope those freckles aren’t catchy. One polka-dot face is enough in this classroom.”
I could feel the red creep up my neck and into my cheeks. “Please, Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “help me ignore this remark and be nice to Janet.”
And the answer came. “Don’t worry,” I whispered back, “I’m not contagious anymore.”
She looked surprised, and then she actually smiled at me! I felt triumphant. That was the first friendly response she’d given me since she’d moved here.
As we began our math assignment, I noticed her drawing pictures instead of doing the problems. “Aren’t you going to do your assignment?” I whispered.
“Me? Do an assignment?” she whispered back. “I don’t do math assignments.”
I was going to ask why, but I saw Mrs. Shell looking at us. I went back to working on my own assignment.
The next day, I again noticed that Janet didn’t even make an effort to work on her math assignment. After school, I touched her arm and, speaking softly, said, “Janet, if you don’t start doing your math assignments, Mrs. Shell may not promote you to the sixth grade. She’s a pretty strict teacher.”
“Oh, I’ll take my chances—I’ve always made it before.”
I was really puzzled by her attitude. That evening I told Dad about it. He said, “Maybe she doesn’t know how to do the math. Rather than admit her lack of knowledge, she might be pretending that she doesn’t care.”
That possibility had never crossed my mind. Maybeshe really doesn’t know how, I thought. I wonder if she would let me help her. “There’s only one way to find out,” I mumbled out loud to myself.
The next day I asked Mrs. Shell if Janet and I could work on our math together. Surprised, Mrs. Shell said, “I’ll be glad to let you work with Janet, provided you work. You can use the table in the back of the room so that you don’t disturb the others.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Shell.” I started to walk away.
“Esther, does Janet know about this?”
“Not yet,” I confessed.
“I hope it works,” she said with an encouraging smile.
I wasn’t sure how I was going to get Janet to do math with me, but it was much easier than I expected. When I told her that Mrs. Shell said we could do our math at the table in the back of the room, she just grinned, got up, and went back there.
I soon discovered, however, that she had no intention of doing math. She was drawing a picture of a horse. It was really quite good, but I knew that she was supposed to be doing math, not drawing.
I didn’t know what to do. Then an idea came into my mind. “Janet,” I said, “I’ll help you get your math assignment done if you’ll show me how to draw a horse like that.”
“Do you like it?” she asked shyly.
I was surprised at her sudden change in manner. “Yes,” I answered truthfully. “It’s really good.”
Again came the shy smile. “I’ll show you how to draw a horse,” she said, “but I don’t think you can help me with math.”
“Why not? Anyone who can draw a horse like that can learn to do math.”
“You don’t understand,” Janet said. She looked embarrassed. “I can’t even do simple add-and-subtract. When I was in first grade, we moved three times. When I was in second grade, we moved five times. It was hard enough for me to learn to read. I didn’t get around to learning arithmetic.”
Dad was right, but I didn’t know what to say next. Then almost as if I could hear someone telling it to me out loud, another idea came into my head. “I’ll help you memorize the math facts,” I said. “You’re smart, I can tell, so it won’t take you long. Then you’ll be able to do the assignments.”
Suddenly the old Janet returned. “Why do you want to help me? I can just hear you telling everyone what a dummy I am.”
“Come on, Janet,” I said. “I wouldn’t do that. Besides, I really do want you to teach me how to draw a horse.”
“Well,” she said, struggling not to smile, “I guess we could try it and see how it goes.”
“I think we ought to tell Mrs. Shell, so she can help too.”
Janet’s face fell. “I’d rather have just you help me,” she said. “Teachers make me nervous.”
“OK. I’ll make some flash cards with addition and subtraction facts on them, and you can be memorizing them a few at a time while I do the math assignment. Then I’ll quiz you to see if you know them.”
That was the beginning. Janet was very quick. She learned all the addition and subtraction facts in two weeks. I told Mrs. Shell what I was doing, and she was excited to know that Janet was willing to learn. She gave me lots of help and ideas.
Janet still called me Redhead-Wet-the-Bed when other kids were around, but somehow it didn’t seem so bad anymore. I knew she liked me, because she actually came over to my house after school sometimes to help me learn to draw, or so I could help her with her math.
Mrs. Shell displayed some of Janet’s drawings in the front hall by the principal’s office. Janet looked proud!
One Sunday as I went to my Merrie Miss class, I heard the familiar greeting—but with a slight change: “Hey, Redhead-Stay-in-Bed!” Janet stood there grinning from ear to ear, pointing at the gold heart necklace around her neck.
I laughed as I walked over to her. “Oh, Janet, now our class really is complete!”
Christina and Mandi were right behind me. We all laughed together.

I was in the midst of a very difficult period of my life. I had left my home in Taiwan to pursue a master’s degree at Utah State University in Logan, Utah. I missed my family terribly. As I struggled with my studies, I often felt entirely alone in a different culture.
I vividly remember walking home one snowy day. I reached the front door, checked the mail box, and found it empty. Despondently, I climbed the stairs to my room and tried to study.
Just at that moment, the telephone rang. The speaker introduced herself as Tamara Beard and said that she was my visiting teacher. She said that she and Greergy, her companion, wanted to visit me. Well, wasn’t that something! They were students, too, and I knew they had to be busy. I had not really expected them to make time for me. But they did, and that was the beginning of my unforgettable friendship with Tamara.
Tamara was not flamboyant. Quiet and gentle, she reminded me of Leah in the Old Testament, who was “tender eyed” (Gen. 29:17). On the first visit, she and Greergy got acquainted with me and delivered a brief message. On other occasions they brought me little gifts, such as a wonderful quotation, a package of candy, or a birthday card. I was amazed that they would go to so much trouble.
After a while I noticed that Tamara’s walk was becoming unsteady. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I got sick,” she replied. “No big deal.” But the Relief Society president told me that Tamara had a neurological disease and that she was suffering. Each month I observed her condition gradually worsen. Still, she never stopped coming.
One day when I answered the phone, I was surprised to hear a strange computerized voice ask, “May I speak to Lin?”
At first I said nothing; I suspected that someone was playing a trick on me. Then I heard, “Hi, Lin. This is Tamara. I’m sorry I frightened you.” Later, Greergy explained to me that Tamara’s disease had affected her voice; she could no longer speak without the aid of a machine.
Eventually, Tamara lost her ability to speak. But this did not stop her from keeping in touch with me. To talk on the phone, she typed a message on a special typewriter that transmitted the message to a telephone operator. When the operator received the message, she called and read it to me.
As time went on, Tamara grew even weaker. Still, she went to the temple once a week, and we often went together. On those occasions we both felt blessed by the peace we experienced there.
It seemed to me that she was in an unbearable situation. I was amazed that she was suffering this trial without complaint. How was she able to be happy?
What amazed me, too, was that she seemed more concerned about me. She knew I was having trials of my own and was always urging me to smile. After a long period of prayer and fasting, I decided to go home to Taiwan. Tamara was sad to say good-bye to me, but she understood that I needed to follow the promptings of the Spirit.
When I think of Tamara, I remember the way people were attracted to her. No one seemed to notice the illness itself, and everyone was happy to do something for her, to take her shopping or to the temple or to stop by and visit. I sometimes ask myself, What made me and everyone else so devoted to her?
The answer is simple: It was charity—the pure love of Christ. She personified charity. She never asked for special consideration or complained about her pain. As a visiting teacher and a friend, she did everything she could to serve others and share their burdens. She taught us that caring for others—loving them—is possible—no matter what circumstances we find ourselves in.
Tamara Beard DuRee is now married and living in Logan, Utah.

My first Sunday in church was in early 1995. All my life I had spent weekends in stadiums and gymnasiums. I love sports! I was even studying sports. But in January 1995 I came in contact with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The sister missionaries invited me to attend church, and I went.
It was a fast and testimony meeting. I sat on a massive wooden pew, one sister missionary to my right, the other to my left. But I encountered only unfamiliar faces, unfamiliar music, unfamiliar proceedings, and unfamiliar words. I had never partaken of the sacrament before and was preoccupied with finding out the appropriate conduct. I felt very uncomfortable. I said to myself, “It will be over at some point, and then I will get out of here and never come back.” But the meeting concluded with the announcement that all should remain in the chapel for a lesson by the mission president, President Charles W. Dahlquist II, who now serves as Young Men general president. So most people, including the sister missionaries, remained seated, and I could not simply sneak out inconspicuously, as I had planned. Since I did not have the courage to tell the missionaries how awful I was feeling, I decided to endure.
President Dahlquist stood in front. He began by asking what we would do with a good book we had just read. My answer was, “Read it again, recommend it to others, or give it as a gift.”
He spoke about the Book of Mormon, then about a few other subjects. But something peculiar happened. I suddenly knew that everything he said was true. I knew that he knew more things that were true as well. I knew that I wanted to know what he knew. I knew that I wanted to have in my life what he had as an anchor in his life. It is hard to find words to describe this experience. I simply knew that he knew.
I looked around stealthily to see if anybody had noticed anything unusual, for I had the impression that something wonderful had happened.
Because of his lesson I attended church again—and again. My baptism was on March 2, 1996, approximately one year after this experience. Today I have five wonderful children and a wonderful, eternal husband.
I recall often and with gratitude this lesson.
Barbara Hopf, Stade Branch, Hamburg Germany Stake

Over the years, Sally has served in many callings. She has always had a love for music and one of her favourite memories is singing ‘The Heavens Were Opened’ with her fellow Relief Society sisters—affectionately known as ‘the singing housewives’—in St Andrew’s Hall in Glasgow. President David O. McKay, then president of the Church, was there and enjoyed it so much he asked them to sing the song again. It’s a moment Sally still remembers with joy.

One evening, I was walking to my house. It was only a few blocks away from where I had met up with some friends earlier, but now it was completely dark. I could barely see where I was walking.
I noticed that three young men were following me. I began walking faster to distance myself from them, but they kept following me. I felt a heavy feeling inside me. Then a clear thought came to me: run! I began running up the hill. The hill was really steep, but I felt a strength that wasn’t mine. It was beyond my own.
Now the young men were running too and catching up. I wasn’t sure what to do next. Again, a clear thought came to my mind that told me to go down a narrow passageway. When I did, much to my surprise, I saw a police officer. Exhausted from running all those blocks and almost out of breath, I asked him for help. When the young men saw me talking to the police officer, they stopped chasing me and eventually walked away. To make sure I was safe, the police officer walked me home.
That night I kept thinking about the promptings I had received. I felt at peace knowing that Heavenly Father had helped me. I said a prayer thanking Him for His guidance. I know that if we obey the voice of the Spirit, we will be safe.
Martín S., Puerto Madryn, Argentina

Amy Roberts, 15, of the Warwick Ward, Perth Dianella Stake, is a descendant of the Nyunghas, the original inhabitants of the southwest part of Western Australia. Aboriginals make up less than 2 percent of the Australian population. Amy has received recognition for the play she wrote, entitled The Bird, which is based on themes from aboriginal folklore, combined with gospel teachings.
“By combining the two, I can pass on to other teenagers messages about strengthening family ties, obeying the Word of Wisdom, and maintaining spiritual values to overcome the pressures of living in the world today,” Amy says. The Aboriginal Youth Theater Group of Western Australia is planning on producing Amy’s play sometime this year.
Amy is a Theater Arts student at Girrawheen Senior High, a Perth performing arts school. In addition to her award-winning theatric skills, she gets high marks in English and art, is a basketball referee, and coaches a team of 10–12-year-old boys.
What most people don’t know about Amy is that she was born hearing impaired. This has not kept her from full participation in just about anything she chooses. Amy is currently studying for university entrance exams, and is planning a career as an anthropologist.

The bright coloring of the surrounding mountains was inspiring. The yellow, brown, and gray of the stone in the nearby hills and the blue of the distant mountains was a scene that only nature could paint. An artist who tried would be accused of exaggeration.
I stood on the edge of a great precipice. The ground beneath my feet was white sandstone. It was strange how drab the ground at my feet appeared but how beautiful that same stone was when viewed from a distance. “Isn’t that the way life is?” I thought to myself.
I looked down. Far below, the Colorado River, like a puny gray ribbon, wound itself through the deep canyon gorge. It made me dizzy, and I backed off for fear of losing my balance. I looked up and saw the other side of the canyon 600 feet beyond. As I contemplated how remote we were from civilization, fear came into my heart. “What have we gotten ourselves into?” I asked myself.
We had signed a contract to fabricate and erect the steel for a bridge to span the Colorado River gorge. We were relying upon our engineer’s computations and designs to do something we had never done before. The last thing I would ever do under these circumstances would be to express aloud any doubt. I had to be positive. If the leader of the organization lacks courage or judgment when exploring new horizons, the operation will crumble. It was a critical point, a precipice for those of us who had worked so long and hard to build a professional reputation. There was no turning back now. I displaced my fears by thinking, “If men never ventured beyond their experience, the world would make no progress.”
How do you go about bridging such a chasm? First, we spanned the river with a cord. The cord was used to pull a light rope across, then a heavier rope, a light cable, and a heavier cable, until we had a three-inch steel cable spanning the gorge supported by high towers on each side. Together with other essential parts we had a high line system that would carry fabricated steel segments into their respective positions; some pieces weighed as much as 30 tons.
The segments of the arch were supported by backstrap towers and held 600 tons of steel high above the river until the arch could be closed. After the arch was closed, its weight was transferred down to the huge concrete foundations supported by the bedrock of the canyon walls, enabling the backstrap towers to be relieved and dismantled.
Every step taken had to be right. Every piece of steel had to fit with exactness. Every move was carefully planned. A complicated scheduling process was used to coordinate engineering, purchasing, steel preparation, steel fabrication, storing, transporting, unloading, and erecting so that the right piece of steel arrived at the site at the exact time it was needed. It’s that way in life, isn’t it? We must plan things to a standard of excellence if we want to succeed. The greater the challenge, the higher the standard must be, whether we are building bridges or building lives.
Today people never notice the precipice on which I stood on that particular day. As the motorist travels over what before was an impassable route, he now crosses from one side of the canyon to the other in approximately eight seconds. I seldom look back upon that precipice in my business life without realizing that man, with the help of the Lord, can pretty well do whatever he makes up his mind to do. What is a challenge for one might be quite commonplace for another, but what is now commonplace was once a great challenge.

My message centers on the importance in each of our lives of righteous friendships. In my youth, an inspired patriarch laid his hands on my head and by revelation opened to me an understanding of my potential—for who I really am—and gave a direction for my life, just like a patriarch has done for many of you. I was told that I would not lack for friends and associates, that their friendship would be a special blessing to me both temporally as well as spiritually. I was counseled to select for my closest friends those who were righteous and had a desire to keep the commandments of God.

That passage from my patriarchal blessing has been like a comfort blanket to me throughout my life. At times, especially while living away from home, those words have given me a peace and strength—my friends were standing by, although separated by many miles. And at such times I learned one of life’s most important lessons, that no matter how long I was away, no matter how great the distance, whenever my friends and I met again, it was as if nothing had changed. We picked up our lives where we left off, and it was as if time had stood still.

I might mention here an experience of a young couple, graduates of this university. This young lady and her husband (they had two children, a tiny girl and a baby two weeks old) graduated, as many of you will, and he had a business opportunity in Salt Lake City. So they moved to Salt Lake City.

They, of course, were active in the Church, and Bishop Bowles—it was in the Belvedere Ward—called them in the first week they were there. The bishop said, “We’re building a new building and we need all the help we can get. Are you willing to serve?” They both said they would. And he said, “Would you like to suggest where you’d like to serve?”

That’s a little unusual in the Church, but she was happy for that. She was a teacher. In fact, she taught here for a quarter or two. She said she’d like to teach. She’d like to teach in the Sunday School or in the MIA. So the following Sunday she was sustained as a second counselor in the presidency of the Relief Society! Now, she protested and used the word shocked, and this is a quote: “That organization is for my mother, not for me.” She said she had no experience, and I quote again, “And I have no desire to learn.”

Well, the bishop prevailed, as bishops will, and she answered the call. They held Relief Society in a dismal room in the basement of the chapel, because of the remodeling and construction. It was in the furnace room. While the furnace was on it was terrible, and when the furnace was off it was intolerable. Her children caught cold. On at least two occasions she went to the bishop and asked to be released. On both occasions the bishop said he’d think about it.

Finally, she was in a very serious automobile accident. After some period of treatment, she was recovering at home. Part of the injury was a terrible laceration of her face. This became infected and they called a doctor one Sunday night. He made some preparation for some further attention, but he said, “I think we can’t touch this surgically; it’s too close to the nerve in your face.” He gave her what attention he could and explained how grave the situation was.

It was as the doctor was leaving that late Sunday night when the bishop appeared at the door, after a long busy day, as Sundays will be for a bishop. He said, “I was just on my way home from some interviews and saw the light on and wondered if there was trouble here.” This woman, in her agony, when the bishop said, “Is there anything we can do for you?” answered from her pain and with tears, “Yes, Bishop. Now, will you release me from the Relief Society?” He said he would pray about it. And the answer came back: “Sister Spafford, I still don’t get the feeling that you should be released from the Relief Society.”

This great and lovely woman, who for many years has presided over our Relief Society in the Church, was tested in those early days of her life. I think that something like that can come to many of us, most of us, when we’re being tested, as it were.

Province of Quebec—
You’ll see it on every license plate in the province. You’ll see it on coats of arms “Je me souviens.” It means “I remember.”
And this is a place where there is much to remember. The Province of Quebec is where France and Britain once battled for control of North America. It is the home of vast wildernesses and nomadic Native American tribes, where wise use of plentiful resources is still a challenge. It is the home of some of the oldest settlements on the continent, of walled fortresses and cobblestone streets now surrounded by business districts and skyscrapers.
And it is a place where young Latter-day Saints are acutely aware of many things they must remember, not just to maintain their sense of history or identity, but to live more fully the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Léa Dussault, for example, has a checklist she follows. “I work on it every day,” says the 15-year-old from St. Polycarpe, a tiny town on the Quebec-Ontario border near Hawkesbury. “I read the scriptures for 30 minutes, do at least half an hour of seminary, work with Personal Progress, and read my patriarchal blessing. I pray a lot, too. It gives me more confidence. At bedtime, I make sure all my spiritual goals for the day have been met. Otherwise, I won’t feel good when I go to sleep.”
Léa has a personal motto: “I choose to be one with Christ today.” She’s doing her best to live up to that statement.
“You must remember the blessings you can have by being faithful,” says Marc-André Côté, 15, of Chicoutimi. “You should always keep that goal in mind. When Joseph Smith was discouraged once, the Lord reminded him to remember what he had been promised if he would remain faithful. [See D&C 6:13.] By thinking of the celestial kingdom and exaltation, you can find strength to overcome the struggles in your life.”
Marc should know. For four years he was away from the Church, but about two years ago he kept “asking myself what I was doing with my life. I was searching for something, and I remembered what I had felt in the Church. I felt the Spirit saying to me, ‘Go!’ and so I decided to try it just one time. I had imagined it would be difficult to come back, but it was easy. It was even better than I remembered. I read a lot and studied a lot and really gained a testimony that this is the true church, organized the way the Savior wants it to be.”
Julia Awashish, a 17-year-old Native American from Quebec City, agrees with Marc. “We need to always remember the covenants we made at baptism,” she says. “The promises we have made to our Heavenly Father are the things that make us strong as members of the Church. It’s been six years since I joined the Church. I’m glad my mother and I joined, because it helps me so much when I have a problem to deal with, and it helps me to remember to be happy, because the gospel is a message of joy.”
Julia says that when she and her mother returned to visit relatives in their village of Obedjiwan, which is far to the north of Quebec, at first “there was a lot of gossip about us being Latter-day Saints. But now everyone has seen by our example that we are friendly, normal people, so they accept us just fine.”
Vetséra Lapierre, 14, also from Quebec City, says she will always remember her first trip to the Toronto Temple to do baptisms for the dead. “I was so happy just to be with so many young members of the Church, the joy of it filled my eyes with tears of gratitude,” she explains. “It was something I had dreamed of for years, and now my dream was coming true. When we walked in the doors of the house of the Lord, I immediately felt a perfect peace, a spiritual strength that grew and grew as we did the baptisms. That feeling has stayed with me ever since. Now when I face a temptation, I remember how I felt in the temple. I always want to feel that peace, and I want to return to the temple again and again.”
Alexandra Gilbert felt a similar reassurance when she met President Gordon B. Hinckley at the dedication of the temple. The 14-year-old from the city of Alma says, “He wasn’t the President of the Church at the time, but now he is. He was going up the steps to go into the temple, and he paused and shook my hand and we chatted for just a moment. He’s very likable. I didn’t understand a lot, because he only spoke English to me. But I had a wonderful feeling about him. I’ll always remember meeting him, and I’ll remember that we have a living prophet.”
Robert-Emmanuel Duchesne, 13, lives in the little town of St. Monique, about 45 minutes from Alma on Lac St.-Jean. “Even though we go to a small branch, we do the same things others do in the Church. We have youth activities. We go to our meetings every Sunday. Sometimes when there’s something they want to do together, my friends will say something, but they know my Sundays are taken for church.” He made a promise to keep the Sabbath holy, and he remembers the promise.
He also remembers a commitment that he would magnify his calling. “There are only two Aaronic Priesthood holders in the branch of Alma, and that’s not a lot. But we do our best to serve, and I remind myself all the time that there are many young children in our branch, who will grow up in the Church and who will make the branch grow. The younger kids need us to prepare the way, to work hard and be good examples.”
There’s a similar commitment to the Aaronic Priesthood in Rimouski, a town in the eastern part of the province nearing the mouth of the St. Lawrence.
“We’ve started gathering fast offerings from door to door at all the members’ homes,” explains Hugo Lêvesque, 16. “We have to do some of them by car, because about 50 per cent of the branch members live in other small towns in the area. But our branch president said that during the time of Joseph Smith the Aaronic Priesthood went door-to-door gathering fast offerings, so why shouldn’t we? It helps us to remember our responsibilities.”
“I read scriptures with my family every morning,” says Olivia Montminy, 17, who lives in Scott and attends church in Lévis. “Then during the day I’ll think of things I read in the scriptures, or of the hymns we sing as a family, and have them in my mind all day.”
She’s not alone. The youth of Montreal’s Lemoyne Ward study scriptures regularly, and each of them has a favorite passage. For Ariane Caron, 15, it’s where Nephi talks about writing what is pleasing to God, not to the world (see 1 Ne. 6:5). “I read that with my mother when I was young, and I felt such a great spirit that I had to stop and read it again. That really showed me that the scriptures are something that comes from God. That was the beginning of my personal testimony.”
For Olivier Carter, 15, it’s the story of the stripling warriors in Alma 53. “They remembered what their mothers taught them,” he says, “and they were totally loyal in keeping the commandments.”
And for Esther Caron, 17, it’s Philippians 4:13 [Philip. 4:13], “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.” It’s a scripture she recalls frequently, repeating it over and over when she needs a reminder to have faith.
The LDS youth of Quebec know there are many things they should remember each day. Keep talking, and you’ll hear about the need to set a good example, to live the Word of Wisdom, to stay morally clean, to be kind to family members, and to share the gospel. But in all they say and in all they do, they strive to keep a covenant they renew through the sacrament each week—to always remember Him.
One of the best ways to make friends is to invite them over, right? That’s what the Montreal Ward of the Montreal Mount Royal Quebec Stake did. Their new chapel created so much interest in the surrounding neighborhood of La Salle that ward leaders decided to open it up for tours.
And when they did, the youth of this English-speaking ward played a major role. The Latter-day Saint teens were ushers, served refreshments, directed parking, and greeted guests at the door.
“It was a good experience because it gave other people in the community an opportunity to know more about us, what we believe, and what we do,” explains Melissa Poirier, 15. More than 300 non–Latter-day Saints toured the building.
When asked why his family had come to see the building, one man responded, “We watched you last year having a beautiful groundbreaking service. We saw the beautiful building going up. And now we want to see it from the inside. We are so excited!”
A woman who said “I have my own religion, but I was just interested in the building,” spent hours asking questions, and when she finally left she said, “I didn’t know you believed in Christ. I am so impressed.”
The new building did bring a minor protest. “There were two men standing outside in the rain for six hours, handing out anti-LDS literature,” Melissa’s twin brother Shawn says. “We felt sorry for them, so we fixed two plates of cookies and took them out. They seemed grateful for the food.”
In addition to the open house, the ward also sponsored a dinner for the mayor of La Salle, for the mayor’s council, the contractor, the designers, architects, and other people involved in the construction.
“The dinner was quite fast paced, so we were on our toes most of the time,” Shawn says. “But we received many compliments. I think that was a good sign of community interest and acceptance.”

One day in Italy I met a wonderful priesthood leader and his wife. In him I saw a man with great potential. But my language was foreign to them. Through an interpreter, I challenged them to study the English language. They listened obediently and studied diligently. Now six years later, ably sustained by his wife, Carolina, Vincenzo Conforte is faithfully serving his second assignment as a mission president, interviewing missionaries well in Italian or in English.

Julie’s father once told her that wolves love each other, and if you learn to speak to them, they will love you too. When Julie is alone and lost on the north slope of the Alaska tundra, her only hope of survival is to receive help from the wolf pack near the shelter built by the thirteen-year-old Eskimo girl to protect her against the bitter cold. She knows she must gain the friendship of Amaroq, the leader of the wolf pack.
How Julie manages to survive and reach civilization is so beautifully told that this exciting story received the 1973 Newbery Medal for children’s literature.

When I was a young boy, my parents received a gift that became fascinating to my younger brother David and me. The gift was a miniature model of the golden plates the Prophet Joseph Smith received from the angel Moroni. As I recall, the model plates had 10 or so metal pages with words written on them. However, those pages weren’t what caught our attention.
We had been raised hearing the stories of the Restoration. We knew of and had sung in Primary about golden plates hidden deep in a mountainside and delivered by the angel Moroni to Joseph Smith. As the curiosity of our young minds stirred, there was one thing we really wanted to see: what was written on the small section of the model plates securely sealed with two small metal bands?
The plates sat on an end table for several days before our curiosity got the best of us. Although we clearly understood that these were not the actual plates Moroni had delivered, we wanted to view the sealed portion. So on several occasions, my brother and I tried using butter knives, old spoons, and anything else we could imagine to pry apart the sealed portion of the plates just enough to see what they contained—but not enough to break the small bands. We were at least smart enough not to leave a trace of our mischievous boyhood curiosity. To our disappointment and frustration, these attempts to “pry at the plates” were always unsuccessful.
I still don’t know what—if anything—was hidden under that sealed portion. But the embarrassing part of our story is that to this day, I have no idea what was written on the portion of the metal pages that was meant to be read. I can only imagine that these pages contained stories of the Restoration and testimonies of Joseph Smith and the Three and Eight Witnesses, who saw the actual plates Moroni delivered.
Knowing the diligent nature of my younger brother, I imagine it very likely that he read all the words written on the model plates in our parents’ home. I, however, ignored those plain and precious truths and instead exerted my effort searching for those things that were not meant to be revealed.

A patriarch received a call one afternoon from a concerned mother of a young daughter who was physically challenged from birth. This dear mother asked if her daughter could possibly receive a patriarchal blessing. The patriarch informed her that if her daughter could obtain a recommend from the bishop, he was sure that the Lord had a blessing for her. A short time later the patriarch was informed that the bishop had given this sweet young girl a recommend to receive a patriarchal blessing.
An appointment was made. The blessing was given and gratefully received. Her lineage was given. She received a blessing suited to her needs and unique situation. Lives, focus, and attitudes were changed. She was told that through her cheerful acceptance of the efforts and sacrifices of those who loved and cared for her, she would be blessing their lives, and to accept their offerings graciously and willingly.

On my first visit to the fabled village of Sauniatu in Samoa, so loved by President McKay, my wife and I met with a large gathering of small children. At the end of our messages to these shy, beautiful youngsters, I suggested to the native Samoan teacher that we go ahead with the closing exercises. As he announced the final hymn, I suddenly felt compelled to greet personally each of the 247 children. But the time was too short for such a privilege, so I ignored the impression. Before the benediction, however, I again felt this strong impression to shake the hand of each child. I told the teacher that I wanted to shake the hand of each child. He displayed a broad Samoan smile before relaying my intentions in Samoan to the children. They all beamed when they heard his translation.
The teacher then told me the special reason for their joy. He said, “When we learned that President McKay had assigned a member of the Quorum of the Twelve to visit us in faraway Samoa, I told the children that if each one would earnestly and sincerely pray and exert faith like in the Bible accounts of old, the Apostle would visit our tiny village at Sauniatu, and through their faith, he would be impressed to greet each child with a personal handclasp.” Tears flowed as each of those precious boys and girls walked by and whispered softly to us a sweet talofa lava (hello). The gift of faith had been evidenced.

In the October general conference of 1969, President Kimball related the following:
“When I was a youngster, a stirring challenge came to me that moved me not a little. I cannot remember who issued the challenge nor under what circumstances it came. I remember only that it struck me like a ‘bolt out of the blue heavens.’ The unknown voice postulated:
“‘The “Mormon Church” has stood its ground for the first two generations—but wait till the third and fourth and succeeding generations come along! The first generation fired with a new religion developed a great enthusiasm for it. Surrounded with bitterness, calumny of a hostile world, persecuted “from pillar to post,” they were forced to huddle together for survival. There was good reason to expect they would live and die faithful to their espoused cause.
“‘The second generation came along born to enthusiasts, zealots, devotees. They were born to men and women who had developed great faith, were inured to hardships and sacrifices for their faith. They inherited from their parents and soaked up from religious homes the stuff of which the faithful are made. They had full reservoirs of strength and faith upon which to draw.
“‘But wait till the third and fourth generations come along,’ said the cynical voice. ‘The fire will have gone out—the devotion will have been diluted—the sacrifice will have been nullified—the world will have hovered over them and surrounded them and eroded them—the faith will have been expended and the religious fervor leaked out.’
“That day I realized that I was a member of the third generation. That day I clenched my growing fists. I gritted my teeth and made a firm commitment to myself that here was one ‘third generation’ who would not fulfill that dire prediction.” (Improvement Era, November 1943, p. 678.)
The records show that President Kimball did clench his growing fists and dig in to become a faithful Church member whose destiny and divine purpose may well have been greater than he could have known.

About a month ago Janet and I visited in Santa Monica, California, with one of the most remarkable people we have ever met. Bill Hobson is not a member of the LDS Church but is very impressed by the Church and also by our university. He is in his eighties, and some time ago suffered a stroke that affected his speech so severely that his doctors said he would never be able to speak again. In fact, he can speak, and after visiting with him I think I know why. At one point he told us how highly he thought of our “college.” He then added that he knew there was another word, more correct than college as applied to our school, but the other word was one he could not say.
When Janet responded, “Is the word university?” his entire countenance became radiant.
“Yes, that’s it. I can’t say the word, but that’s it.” Our newly found friend, Bill Hobson, is the perfect example of this first corollary to Janet’s general principle about learning from our mistakes. He is able to communicate so effectively now in spite of his stroke because he has a willingness and desire to do so.

During the administration of President George Albert Smith, there lived in our ward an impoverished widow who cared for her three daughters, each of whom was an invalid. They were large in size and almost totally helpless. To this dear woman fell the task of bathing, feeding, dressing, and caring for her girls. Means were limited. Outside help was nonexistent. Then came the blow that the house she rented was to be sold. What was she to do? Where would she go? The bishop went to the Church Office Building to inquire if there were some way the house could be purchased. It was so small, the price so reasonable. The request was considered, then denied. A heartsick bishop was leaving the front door of the building when he met President George Albert Smith. After the exchange of greetings, President Smith inquired, “What brings you to the headquarters building?” He listened carefully as the bishop explained, but said nothing. He then excused himself for a few minutes. He returned wearing a smile and directed, “Go upstairs to the fourth floor. A check is waiting there for you. Buy the house.”

“But the request was denied.”

Again President Smith smiled and said, “It has just been reconsidered and approved.” The home was purchased. That dear widow lived there and cared for her daughters until each of them had passed away. Then she, too, went home to God and to her heavenly reward.