Gospel Story Finder

A few years ago, my neighbor’s husband died. She was really sad.
I prayed to know what I could do to help. The thought came into my mind to give her flowers on Valentine’s Day. However, I needed to earn the money to buy the flowers. I made it a goal in my Children’s Guidebook to earn the money.
I earned the money by doing different jobs for others. My grandma paid me to clean up her garden and the leaves in her yard. At home, I earned money by clearing the brush behind our shed. It took months of hard work to earn enough money.
Finally I had enough money to go to a store and buy the flowers. Valentine’s Day came, and I gave my neighbor the flowers with a note. She was really happy. I felt warm and happy too. I thanked Heavenly Father for helping me do what He wanted me to do.

While most of their southern California peers were getting suntans at the beach, the youth of the Glendora California Stake spent their spring break getting rough hands, aching muscles, and sore feet from serving at a center for the homeless in the heart of Los Angeles.
And they wouldn’t trade the experience for any other. “Serving at the center was the greatest thing we could have ever done for a youth conference,” said Heath Hamilton, seventeen.
At first, some of the youth were skeptical. Chris Walker, a priest, said, “Lots of people thought that it couldn’t be a youth conference without going on an outing to the mountains or some place like that. Those who went to the center discovered that this is what the gospel is all about—helping someone else, not yourself. It really impressed upon me the statement in Mosiah 2:17 where it says ‘When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.’”
Jeremy Baird, a teacher, said, “I thought this youth conference wasn’t going to be very good, but it was a great learning experience. At the center for the homeless, I talked to a man who had been successful in business, but now had no home and had lost his family as a result of drugs. It taught me that what I had thought about all the people who are homeless is not true.”
Some people were a little concerned about going to the center, which is located in a less desirable part of the city. Caroline James, a Mia Maid, said, “When we first got to the center, we were scared to get out of the car. After we were there, though, it was a good experience talking to the people about the Church.”
Two three-hour shifts of twelve young people each went to the Los Angeles center for the homeless daily, where they served a noon meal and an evening meal to nearly six hundred homeless people. They also sorted clothes and helped prepare for the Easter meals.
In addition, the youth filled more than 150 Easter baskets with toothbrushes, toothpaste, soap, and other personal hygiene items. Collection boxes had been placed in each ward building and in several community locations to receive the donated items. Some candy and cuddly toy animals were included for the children, and the baskets were distributed Sunday afternoon.
On Sunday, the youth committee and leaders traveled the twenty-five miles from their homes to downtown Los Angeles, in two shifts, so no one would have to miss any Church meetings. Tables were set up next to the center, where breakfast was served in the early morning and a traditional Easter dinner was served in the afternoon. Nearly 2,500 meals were served on each shift.
When most of the serving was complete, the youth were invited to sing. “As I Have Loved You” and “I Am a Child of God” brought tears to everyone involved.
“All the homeless there at the center were reaching out for something in addition to the food we were serving. I know it is the gospel they need,” said Harleigh Williams, seventeen.
After serving the Sunday meal, many of the youth sat around talking to the homeless. Jeff Fuller discussed Bible principles with one man. “This was definitely one of the best experiences of my life,” he said. “They are all children of God. They gave me great advice on staying away from things by telling me how they got there.”
Of course, the youth conference did include the traditional activities like breakfast prepared by the bishops, workshops, games, and a dance. But at the fireside ending the conference, the main topic of the testimonies was the service project and how it had affected the young people’s lives.
“I know that you who had a negative attitude going down there definitely changed your attitude about the needy. It was by far the most rewarding youth conference I have ever participated in,” said Lisa Summerhays, seventeen, youth co-chair of the conference.
Justin Beck, the other youth co-chair said, “I know the people at the center have problems, but we still need to appreciate them because Heavenly Father loves each of them.”
Becky Patterson, seventeen, agreed. “One thing I have learned this week is that everybody is equally important. It doesn’t matter who or where you are; Heavenly Father loves you.”
“The most important thing,” said Sister Arnetus Raymond, second counselor in the stake Young Women presidency, “is that we learned that to develop love and unity, we have to serve. Service is the key. Our youth learned firsthand the meaning of serving ‘one of the least of these.’”

My call gives ample evidence to the truthfulness of the Lord’s statement early in this dispensation: “That the fulness of my gospel might be proclaimed by the weak and the simple unto the ends of the world.”1 I am one of those weak and simple. Decades ago, when I was called to be the bishop of a ward in the eastern United States, my brother, slightly older and much wiser than I, called me on the phone. He said, “You need to know that the Lord hasn’t called you because of anything you have done. In your case, it is probably in spite of what you have done. The Lord has called you for what He needs to do through you, and that will happen only if you do it His way.” I recognize that this wisdom from an older brother applies even more today.

Last winter when it was too cold to go out to recess, our class went into the third grade classroom to watch a video. I was excited until I found out that the video was a cartoon that our family doesn’t watch. The characters call each other mean names and use bad language. I went to the teacher and told her that I didn’t want to watch the video. She said I could color quietly at the back of the room, instead. Then I whispered to my best friend, and she agreed to play ticktacktoe with me until recess was over. I felt good that I followed Jesus Christ by not watching that video.

We were as tough as they come. In just a couple of weeks my friends and I would be graduating from eighth grade and be on our way to high school. One day during music time toward the end of that year, the teacher thrilled the boys by announcing that the high school freshman football coach was coming to talk to those interested in trying out for the team in the fall. Gladly, every boy in class joined the mass exodus into the gym.
We sat noisily on the floor, poking and jabbing each other when this mountain of a man walked in. He squared off, faced us, and said, “Men, if you want to play high school football, there are a few things I want you to do.” He outlined some basic conditioning techniques and cautioned us against eating too much candy and drinking too much soda pop. He told us to run every day and ride our bikes as often as possible. He even suggested we lift weights and find jobs that required discipline, strength, and stamina. He talked of the fun and thrill we could get by playing and winning but reminded us that the opponents were out to win as well.
As you might guess, the coach’s counsel went unheeded. We ate candy, goofed off, and took full advantage of a leisurely summer. Before we were ready, the summer was over and a letter came advising us where and when to pick up our football gear. On a hot August afternoon a rough-looking group of kids appeared at the gym door.
When all the equipment was issued, we were ordered onto the field, where the coach had us warm up by knocking shoulder pads with each other. We were then assigned positions according to size and where we happened to be standing. We were taught a few plays, which we practiced for about 30 minutes. By then we were all hot and tired.
The coach then blew his whistle and lined us up on the goal line. We expected a short pep talk before we headed for the welcome cool of the showers. We were mistaken. The coach said, “When I blow the whistle, run full speed to the 20-yard line, and line up there.” I didn’t see much sense in that, but we all obeyed. At the 20, he blew the whistle again and had us run back to the goal line. Now things were beginning to get ridiculous. Why would he want us to just run back and forth?
On the second sprint from the goal line to the 20, several of my friends ran to the sidelines, ripped off their helmets and began throwing up. I guess the combination of heat, physical exertion, and the poor shape we were in had taken its toll. On the way back from the 20 to the goal line, several more dropped out. Back to the 20 we went, only this time I started feeling sick. On my way back downfield to the goal line, I dropped out and joined my friends. The coach finally called us all together and rather sternly chewed us out for not taking seriously his challenge to prepare. He finished his speech by informing us that we would meet at 6:00 a.m. the next morning for a three-hour workout and more wind sprints. Several players assured the coach they wouldn’t be there. They walked to the locker room and turned in their gear.
True to the coach’s word, we started practice at 6:00 a.m. It wasn’t nearly so hot, but the wind sprints made a bunch of us sick all over again. When the coach announced another practice at 4:30 that afternoon, another half dozen guys quit.
The 4:30 practice was terrible. My muscles were sore. I even had soreness where I didn’t know I had muscles. By the next morning almost half the team had dropped out. But after a week the soreness was gone, the practices started to be fun, and the anticipation of the first game increased our excitement. By the end of the season we determined that the coach was right. Football was fun.

I recently read the article titled “Last on the List” in the November 1997 issue. I especially love this article because I can relate to it. I have just been chosen to serve as the new Beehive president in our ward, and I faced the same challenges Lisa did in the story. It was a hard choice because everyone was so perfect for the spots. I prayed and asked my Heavenly Father to help me make the right choices. I was given the answer to call as my second counselor a girl who doesn’t have very many friends. Now I know that she is truly right for the position. Thank you once again for that wonderful message.
Name WithheldUtah

I hesitate to mention today that I have had a dream, because doing so implies something about my age. I would rather report to you about a vision. Nevertheless, I had a dream about another talk I had to give a few months ago.

During the preparation for that talk, I awoke one morning from a dream. I had come to the pulpit in my dream to give my address. However, as I stood by the pulpit, vines began to grow all around the pulpit. They covered the pulpit like a large trellis. As I began to talk, the pulpit was faced backward. I was standing with my back to the congregation and was addressing my remarks to those sitting on the stand. As I stood there, facing backward, with vines all around me, the Orem High School marching band came into the chapel, marching up and down the aisles playing “76 Trombones.” Well, I am happy to be here this morning and to see that the pulpit is facing the right way, that the plants on the stand have not grown, and that the marching band has not arrived.

Recently my wife and I attended a sacrament meeting away from our home ward. Just before the meeting started, a young man approached me and asked if I would help pass the sacrament. I said, “I’d be happy to.”
I took my seat with the other deacons and asked one who was sitting next to me, “What is my assignment?” He told me I was to start passing at the back of the chapel in the middle section and that he would be on the other side of the same section, and together we would work our way to the front.
I said, “I haven’t done this for a long time.”
He replied, “That’s OK. You’ll be fine. I felt the same way when I started.”
Later the youngest deacon in the quorum, ordained only weeks earlier, gave a talk in sacrament meeting. After the meeting, the other deacons rallied around him to tell him how proud they were of their fellow quorum member.
As I visited with them that day, I found out that each week, members of all the Aaronic Priesthood quorums in that ward reach out to other young men and invite them to be part of their quorums.
These young men were all great leaders. And they clearly had some wonderful behind-the-scenes Melchizedek Priesthood holders, parents, and others who mentored them in their duties. Caring adults like these see young men not just as they are but as they can become. When they talk to or about the young men, they do not dwell on their shortcomings. Instead, they emphasize the great leadership qualities they are demonstrating.

An acquaintance of mine used to live in a ward with some of the highest statistics in the Church—attendance was high, home teaching numbers were high, Primary children were always well behaved, ward dinners included fantastic food that members rarely spilled on the meetinghouse floor, and I think there were never any arguments at Church ball.

My friend and his wife were subsequently called on a mission. When they returned three years later, this couple was astonished to learn that during the time they were away serving, 11 marriages had ended in divorce.

Although the ward had every outward indication of faithfulness and strength, something unfortunate was happening in the hearts and lives of the members. And the troubling thing is that this situation is not unique. Such terrible and often unnecessary things happen when members of the Church become disengaged from gospel principles. They may appear on the outside to be disciples of Jesus Christ, but on the inside their hearts have separated from their Savior and His teachings. They have gradually turned away from the things of the Spirit and moved toward the things of the world.

At last, the chariots were wheeled into position at the starting line. Two elimination heats of 220 yards apiece narrowed the field of six down to the three fastest teams.
“On your mark, get set, go!” the starter screamed. The speed was as fast as a 50-yard dash. Noise from the audience was so loud that Little League baseball players and their parents rushed from the other side of the school to see what was going on.
About halfway around the track, the all-girl 23rd Ward team fell behind. The other two teams were in a dead heat coming around the final turn.
On both chariots, the sprinters were nearly exhausted. Some, too tired to continue pulling, released the handles and dropped to the side of the track. The 13th Ward had only two men left, plus the rider, as the low-slung chariot pulled ahead of the First Ward’s team by four feet at the finish line.
A large banner with the number 13 on it was thrown into the air. The winners’ friends and families surrounded them, smiling, shaking hands, hugging each other, and saying, “I knew we could do it!”
Then, through the middle of the throng, President “Caesar” Brockbank pressed forward, bearing the trophy with him. He called for Kendall Hansen and Corian Taylor, who had pulled the winning chariot across the finish line. The crowd parted to let them pass, and the trophy was in their hands.

As a young man I was offered an appointment to the United States Naval Academy. This was an honor and a real temptation. However, in my early life I had definitely decided that I would like to go on a mission, and I could now see that if I accepted the Naval Academy appointment I probably would not be able to serve as a missionary.
After prayerful consideration I declined the appointment, as I felt it was the will of the Lord that I go on a mission. Soon thereafter I received a call to serve in the Eastern States Mission.
I will be eternally grateful for the call I received, because it was in the mission field that I learned to love the gospel, learned the power of faith, and felt the happiness and peace that come when one is responsive to the whisperings of the Holy Spirit. The pattern I set in the mission field has been a guide to me throughout my life.
My mission president, Brigham H. Roberts, in his letter of release to me, promised me that I would “find new beginnings from time to time … even more missions.” As I left the mission field I prayed fervently and at length that this promise might be fulfilled. Twenty-four years later it was partially fulfilled when I was called to be the stake mission president of the East Mill Creek Stake. At that time Elder Gordon B. Hinckley was president of that stake, and also at that time President Harold B. Lee gave me a beautiful blessing as he set me apart.
Four years later it was further realized when I was called to preside over the Northwestern States Mission. And one of the choicest and most inspiring experiences of our lives was when Sister Richards and I spent approximately ten days with President and Sister Lee in touring our mission.

Sixteen-year-old Dieke Mphuti of Welkom, South Africa, lost her parents years ago, leaving her to care for three younger siblings on her own. It was always daunting for her to find enough food, but COVID supply shortages and quarantines made it almost impossible. They were often hungry, scraping by only with the generosity of neighbors.
On a sunny day in August 2020, Dieke was surprised by a knock at her door. She opened it to find two strangers—one a Church representative from the area office in Johannesburg and the other an official from South Africa’s Department of Social Development.
The two organizations had teamed up to bring food to at-risk households. Relief washed over Dieke as she glimpsed the pile of cornmeal and other food staples, purchased with Church humanitarian funds. These would help her to sustain her family for several weeks until a government aid package could begin to take effect for her.
Dieke’s story is one of thousands of such experiences taking place across the world during the COVID pandemic thanks to your consecrated contributions.

“It’s my life! I’m not hurting anybody else.”
What amazed everyone most was that John* seemed so sincere when he said it. He really didn’t seem to realize he was hurting people all around him.
John obviously loved his family. He was, in fact, remarkably sensitive and thoughtful. He saved his money to buy his mother a figurine she admired. He cleaned the garage for his dad. He was consistently kind to his brothers and sisters, especially his sister Becky, who was two years younger.
John had walked Becky to school when she started kindergarten, let her wear his baseball caps, and listened to her talk about cute boys. The day she registered for junior high school, he showed her how to open her locker.
John’s problems had started in the seventh grade when he tried marijuana. He soon moved on to a variety of drugs. Despite his family’s prayers and counseling from both the bishop and professional therapists, he continued to use drugs. He also began a life of flamboyant immorality. “Hey, I’m not hurting you. And I’m not hurting them. Every one of those girls knows what she’s doing. What we do doesn’t hurt anybody else. Besides, we’re careful.”
John’s whole family continued to love him and to look for ways to help him. Becky especially was close to him, and he was close to her. When Becky married Hal, John immediately put his arm around his new brother-in-law and said he would always be there if they needed help. And he always was. He drove out in the rain to help pull their stalled car off the freeway. He helped clean the house when Becky was pregnant. He brought wonderful little surprises to his nephews as they came along. Sometimes he simply showed up with a bag of groceries and fixed dinner.
Then, suddenly, Becky needed a lot of help. When she became sick one summer, the doctors found that Becky’s constant cough stemmed not from flu or pneumonia, but from cancer. Chemotherapy had little effect.
The cancer was spreading so rapidly the doctors said Becky’s only chance was massive radiation. But radiation strong enough to kill all the malignant cells would also kill the healthy cells in her blood. The healthy cells could be replaced by a bone marrow transplant, but the donor needed to be a person genetically similar to the patient, usually a brother or sister. When Becky explained the situation, each of her brothers and sisters hurried to the hospital to be tested for genetic compatibility.
A few days later, the entire family went to the hospital to learn the results. They sat together in the waiting room, watching anxiously as the doctor came toward them carrying a file folder and one of the blue cards the lab technician had made for each family member.
When Hal asked if there was a match, the doctor said, “Possibly.” Then he asked which one of them was John. John stood, and the doctor asked if he would come with him for a moment. They disappeared into a small office. When they returned, John sat dejectedly at the end of a long couch. The doctor explained that John was the only member of the family whose genetic pattern was a close match to Becky’s. He was, in fact, an excellent match—but he couldn’t be a donor, at least not for six months.
John’s blood test showed no infections, but his history of sexual activity and intravenous drug use put him at high risk for AIDS. If he were infected, he could pass that infection along to his sister. The doctor explained that there is no test for the AIDS virus itself. Only the antibodies produced to fight the disease can be detected, and those take six months to develop. The hospital would continue to look for another good match, the doctor said.
But Becky didn’t have much time, certainly not six months. Within a few weeks the cancer was so widespread even massive radiation couldn’t stop it, and Becky was gasping for every breath. A friend, watching her labor to breathe, expressed his anger with John. Becky simply explained, “I knew when the doctor first told me about the tests that John’s lifestyle would make it impossible for him to help me. I forgave him then.”
Hal made funeral arrangements and tried to explain to their children why Mommy couldn’t play with them anymore. Becky’s parents cared for her grieving family.
And John? In some ways, his life changed. Yet his addictions and behavior patterns are so strong he has been unable to change them completely. But it’s been a long time since anyone has heard him say, “I’m not hurting anybody.”

Eegik Tuchiak felt the chill of the icy Alaskan wind through his parka as the snowmobile sped across the coastal plain. Even scrunching close behind his father in the seat ahead did not cut the cold very much.
Eegik was both happy and worried. This was the first time his father had taken him to count the musk-oxen. Other times he had been too young to be around the skittish animals. Am I old enough now if something happens? he wondered.
“Hold tight!” he heard his father, Ukak, call. “We will near the herd soon.”
The grind of the motor and the whistling wind were the only sounds to be heard along the Nunivak Island snow hills, polished hard by the constant wind. The crusty white surface gave a dusky light to the short winter days.
“There they are!” Father shouted.
Gradually the engine slowed and the snowmobile slid to a stop. “We will keep the motor running, son,” Ukak said, picking up his rifle. “It will freeze if we don’t.”
Eegik hopped off the machine and peered before him. Ahead, a small musk-ox herd was bunched up against a low sea cliff. Already they were forming their defensive line heads out, backsides together in a rough circle. With heads lowered and rows of horns facing the danger, the animals scuffed the ground nervously. Long brown fur swayed in the wind.
“They look like fur rugs,” Eegik remarked.
“Yes,” his father answered, “and the giviut [wool] makes warm sweaters. But,” he added, “they are good fighters, too, when there is no way out. See the horns curling down from the tops of their heads like stiff wigs? We will get closer. The oomingmuk [bearded] ones hide their young behind them.”
Eegik felt a deep pride in his father, who had been schooled by the government. Now he was hired by the Alaska Department of Fish and Game to keep an eye on the growing musk-ox herd, one of the hardiest animals in the world. Today he had to check on the population of the herd and count them.
Slowly and quietly the two left the machine and crawled over the snow, watching the herd skitter at the movement. One bull lowered and shook his head, taking short stamping steps forward and backward. Sensing his restlessness, the other animals jostled together and tightened the ring. Eegik could see one small head push forward, a young one anxious to do battle if necessary.
“They run swiftly,” Ukak whispered. “We must not frighten them.”
The two inched forward, sliding over the ice several yards apart, until they were within city yards of the herd. The lead bull, confused and frightened, danced excitedly in his position.
Suddenly, the bull gave a snort and charged forward with the speed of a much lighter animal. Ukak leaped up his rifle flying and tried to dodge as the animal attacked. But the musk-ox was more sure on his feet and swerved to the side, throwing Eegik’s father to the ice.
Without thinking, Eegik shouted his surprise and fell on his stomach. At the outburst, the frightened musk-oxen broke their ring, skittered excitedly, and clattered off in a wild rush.
His heart pounding, Eegik scrambled to his feet and hurried to his father, who lay sprawled on the ice.
“Father!” he cried, pushing at his parka. “Father, are you all right?”
Ukak opened his eyes and tried to rise. A shudder went through him. “My wrist … ,” he said, painfully. “I think it’s broken. Are the oomingmuk gone?”
Eegik nodded. “Can you walk, Father?” he asked.
“We should make my arm straight,” Ukak said, gritting his teeth against the pain.
“But there are no sticks,” Eegik answered.
His thoughts racing, Eegik looked around, trying to find something straight and hard. But the barren arctic desert covered now by the ice held no useful object.
Then Eegik spotted the gun a few feet away. “The rifle, Father!” he cried. “We can use the rifle.”
“My son,” Ukak said, nodding, “it is a good idea.”
With his mittened hands, Eegik lifted the gun and emptied the chamber of bullets. Gently, he slid the barrel up his father’s sleeve to the elbow and wrapped the injured arm with the leather ties from his parka.
“There!” he finally said, leaning back to look at his handiwork. “That will help until we get home.”
Ukak smiled. “It is feeling better already,” he said.
With Eegik helping, the two made their way to the waiting snowmobile.
“You will have to drive,” Ukak said, holding the rifle butt with his good hand.
“I can,” the boy replied.
Eegik helped his father onto the seat, eased in front, and started off with the machine.
The journey back was slow, Eegik being careful to keep the ride as smooth as possible. Within an hour, they entered Mekoryuk and drove to their home.
At the sound of their approach, Eegik’s mother opened the door. “What’s wrong?” she asked when she saw that Eegik was in the driver’s seat.
“The oomingmuk did not like our visit,” Father answered, cradling his arm as he eased himself from the machine. “I might still be there, but for Eegik. I’m glad I took our son along.”
Eegik lifted his chin. He had wondered if he were old enough to help his father check on the skittish musk-oxen. Now he knew that he was.

Although many of our activities are the same as those of other boys around the world, we get to see and do different things because of the unique land we live in. For example, a few weeks ago the Cub Scouts and the Boy Scouts hiked through Wadi Kelt. A wadi is a riverbed at the bottom of a valley that is usually dry except during the rainy season. This wadi winds through part of the Judean wilderness, and is it hot! All you can see for miles around are bare, rocky hills and clear blue sky.
Many people believe that Wadi Kelt is the place where Elijah, an Old Testament prophet, was fed by ravens when he sealed the heavens so that no rain would fall.
After hiking through this wadi, I can see why Heavenly Father had to provide food for Elijah—there is nothing out there to keep a person alive! So before we started, we made sure that we packed a lunch and filled our canteens full of water. Our Cub Scout leaders kept reminding us to drink lots of water so that we wouldn’t get sick from the heat.
Our hike began fifteen miles away from Jericho and took us about four hours. We had lots of fun as we followed the wadi through the desert. Some of the boys spotted ibex on the steep cliffs. They look like wild goats, with huge horns that they butt with.
My friends and I also saw a bedouin shepherd with a herd of goats. Bedouins are desert people who live in tents and wander from place to place. Many of them still wear long robes and veils to protect them from the scorching sun.
About an hour after we had started, we came to a small waterfall that tumbled into a green pool below. Swimming in it was my favorite part of the hike, because that’s my best sport, besides basketball. The cool water felt good after our climb down the hillside, and before long we were all in the pool, splashing around and sliding down mossy rocks.
Ryan and Shaun Dennett, two friends in my den, found some dead crabs in the water. They scared some of the boys when they threw the crab legs at them. We also found some frogs, only they weren’t dead.
We sat on big rocks in the sun and dried off while we ate our lunches. Boy, did the cheese sandwich my mom packed taste good! I was starving! Just as I finished my last mouthful, Joel Galbraith, one of the older Scouts, called out, “Time to go. We still have a lot of hiking to do.”
As we climbed deeper into the dry valley, Shaun, Aaron, and I pretended that we were in the army. Aaron was a general, Shaun was a sergeant, and I was a colonel. We ran ahead and hid and dropped off cliffs, scaring the others as they came by.
Sometimes we would march along in the wadi, which was full of water from desert springs. The bottom and sides of it were slippery, and we pretended that we were ice-skating. At times the water was flowing so fast that it would push us along. The moss along the bottom was great to throw, and we had the best water and moss fight. We called it slime fighting.
Some parts of the hike were really steep, and a lot of us slipped on the loose rocks on the path. Joshua Rona, another Cub Scout, fell and hurt his foot. But Ian Boyd and Steve Rona, two older Scouts, made a foot brace for him out of a bandanna. It was pretty tricky.
The last part of the hike was the hardest. The sun beat down on us, and my feet hurt. But I continued to run ahead and look for the place that marked the end of our hike—St. George’s Monastery.
On my way I saw a man and two donkeys by the side of the wadi. The wadi is the only place where desert people can obtain water, and donkeys and camels are the only means by which water can be carried from the wadi to their tents.
At last I saw the great monastery, built on the side of the cliff. It sure looked neat, but I was just as interested in getting to the top, where a stand with cold drinks and ice cream was waiting.

As a young boy in El Paso, Texas, Elder Mask was affected by the service of his father, Clate Wheeler Mask Sr., in World War II. It was a trying time.
That’s when his mother, Marva Gonzalez Mask, taught him to really pray. His father was not a member of the Church. “Our family prayed my dad would join the Church and come home safely,” he says. “As a little boy praying at my mother’s side, I just knew God was there.”
With his father away, Elder Mask spent many hours with his maternal grandparents. “I would sit at my grandmother’s knee as she told Book of Mormon stories. My grandfather would tell about his mission to Mexico,” Elder Mask recalls. “That set the course of my life.”
His father did join the Church and return safely. From that time, Elder Mask’s testimony was firm.

Let me share with you, brethren, a touching experience that illustrates this assurance.

Brother Edwin Q. Cannon, Jr., was a missionary to Germany in 1938, where he loved the people and served faithfully. At the conclusion of his mission, he returned home to Salt Lake City. He married and commenced his own business.

Forty years passed by. One day Brother Cannon came to my office and said he had been pruning his missionary slides. Among those slides he had kept since his mission were several which he could not specifically identify. Every time he had planned to discard those few slides, he had been impressed to keep them, although he was at a loss as to why. They were photographs taken by Brother Cannon during his mission when he served in Stettin, Germany, and were of a family—a mother, a father, a small girl, a small boy. Brother Cannon knew their surname was Berndt but could remember nothing more about them. He indicated that he understood there was a Berndt who was a Regional Representative in Germany, and he thought, although the possibility was remote, that this Berndt might have some connection with the Berndts who had lived in Stettin and who were depicted in the photographs. Before disposing of the slides, he thought he would check with me.

I told Brother Cannon I was leaving shortly for Berlin, where I anticipated that I would see Dieter Berndt, the Regional Representative, and that I would show the slides to him to see if there were any relationship and if he wanted them. There was a possibility I would also see Brother Berndt’s sister, who was married to Dietmar Matern, a stake president in Hamburg.

The Lord didn’t even let me get to Berlin before His purposes were accomplished. I was in Zurich, Switzerland, boarding the flight to Berlin, when who should also board the plane but Dieter Berndt. He sat next to me, and I told him I had some old slides of people named Berndt from Stettin. I handed them to him and asked if he could identify those shown in the photographs. As he looked at them carefully he began to weep. He said, “Our family lived in Stettin during the war. My father was killed when an Allied bomb struck the plant where he worked. Not long afterward, the Russians invaded Poland and the area of Stettin. My mother took my sister and me and fled from the advancing enemy. Everything had to be left behind, including any photographs we had. Brother Monson, I am the little boy pictured in these slides, and my sister is the little girl. The man and the woman are our dear parents. Until today, I have had no photographs of our childhood in Stettin or of my father.”

Wiping away my own tears, I told Brother Berndt the slides were his. He placed them carefully and lovingly in his briefcase.

At the next general conference, when Dieter Berndt, Regional Representative, visited Salt Lake City, he paid a visit to Brother and Sister Edwin Cannon, Jr., that he might express in person his own gratitude for the inspiration that came to Brother Cannon to retain these precious slides and that he followed that inspiration in keeping them for forty years.

When Spencer was about 14 years old, he went to stake conference. Brigham Young’s daughter Susa Gates spoke.
Sister Gates: How many of you have read the Bible through?
Spencer looked around. There were about 1,000 people in the hall, but only five or six hands went up.
Spencer: I read the funny papers all the time. I’ve read so many books, yet I’ve never read the Holy Bible. Why?
Spencer: I’m going to read the Bible from cover to cover, like Sister Gates said. I will, I will, I will.
When he got home, he found the family Bible, went up to the unfinished attic where he slept, lit a lamp, and opened to the first chapter of Genesis.
“In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth …”
He read every night, even when he was confused by what he read.
Spencer: I don’t really understand this part, but I’m sure it will be worth it to keep reading. At least I’ll have some idea of what’s in the Bible when I’m finished.
A year later he closed the book, having read the whole thing. He had learned not only more about the Bible but also that he could set a goal and achieve it.

Some of you may be familiar with Sister Sherri Dew. She’s the executive vice president of Deseret Management Corporation and the CEO of Deseret Book Company. She’s a former member of the general Relief Society presidency, a best-selling author, and public speaker. In an interview, once she mentioned that not making the BYU women’s basketball team in Provo was one of her biggest regrets.

But it’s not for the reason you might expect.

Growing up, she was a star player on her high school basketball team in the small Midwest town of Ulysses, Kansas. It says she averaged 23 points and 17 rebounds a game. (Since I’m not a basketball player, I’m just going to assume that means she was good.) Well, when it was time for her to go away to college, she chose to attend Brigham Young University and try out for the school’s basketball team. In addition to preparing herself physically, she also did her homework and learned all she could about the team—when the tryouts would be, who the players were including who was leaving the team, who was returning, and who the coach was.

When the day for tryouts arrived, she showed up at the Richards Building gym. She even arrived a little early. As she peeked in at the players warming up inside, Sister Dew said that she lost all of her confidence and just couldn’t bring herself to walk through those gym doors.

But she thought maybe she could work up her courage if she paced the hallway outside of the gym. So she walked back and forth and back and forth and eventually…walked back to her dorm room three hours later without trying out. She never even entered the gym.

You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.

Years later, Sister Dew would share this story for the first time when she was invited to speak to the BYU Women’s basketball team. It’s a story she had never even shared with her family.

She wanted the athletes to know that they were doing something that she had wanted to do but had been too afraid to try. Elaine Michaelis, the coach from when Sister Dew was a student, said that she remembers that specific year because it’s the only time she’s had a team play one player short for the entire season. The coach said she tried to fill her roster but just couldn’t.

On hearing that news Sister Dew said “I felt as I had been kicked in the stomach when she told me that. That was supposed to be my spot on the team. You mean out of 25,000 students they couldn’t find one girl to fill that spot? The truth is, nobody can take your place.” [iv]

As a boy in Japan, I wanted to learn English. But English lessons were expensive, and I did not have enough money to pay for them.
One day I saw two young men handing out flyers for free English lessons. They were missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I immediately signed up for their English class.
I sensed something special about the missionaries. They were cheerful and positive. I asked them about their church, and my heart was touched. I did not understand it at the time, but I was feeling the Spirit. Soon I wanted to be baptized.
My parents did not want me to be baptized into a church that was different from theirs. But the missionaries came to my home and lovingly talked with my parents. The Spirit touched my parents’ hearts, and they gave me permission to be baptized.
One Sunday in October, I was assigned to give an important part in a program at church. But in October everyone in my family had to work hard to harvest the rice in my father’s rice fields. That included working on the Sabbath day.
I prayed to Heavenly Father, and the Spirit planted a thought in my mind. I could try to finish the harvest before Sunday. I would get up early and work every morning before school. Then every afternoon I would work after school until dark.
But by Saturday night only half of the harvest was done. I went to bed discouraged that I had not accomplished my goal. Sunday morning I awoke early to go to the fields. My father came to my room and, with a gentle smile, asked why I wasn’t going to church. My heart was full of joy. I could go to church and keep the Sabbath day holy!
I am grateful to know that as we listen to the Lord’s voice and follow Him, He will always bless and guide us.