Gospel Story Finder

Now a caution: Sometimes, we do not understand why the Lord is asking us to do what we are doing. The Lord’s ways are not our ways, so you really need to think, pray, and learn by faith. We need to be on the Lord’s errand and learn along the way. An example: The Lord came to a man and asked him to push against a big rock. Being obedient, he put on his clothes went out and started pushing. He pushed and pushed, but the rock was not moving. After many days, Satan came and suggested he stop. He had been working and sweating long enough, and the rock was not moving. The man agreed and sat down; that rock was simply too big to move. The Lord came by and asked him why he was sitting. The man explained that he tried as hard as he could, but the rock just would not move to which the Lord said, “I did not ask you to move the rock, I asked you to push against the rock. Look, you have lost some of that extra weight, your muscles are getting stronger, and you are out here in the fresh air and are healthier. Push against the rock, and when it is time to move the rock, I will come and help you.” He will help us with our big heavy rocks in His time, but you know what happens once that rock is moved? We have learned, we have progressed, and we get to push against an even bigger rock.

Second, Sidney Rigdon’s son John spoke to his father as he lay on his deathbed: “[Father], you owe it to me and to your family to tell [the truth about the Book of Mormon].”

In other words, this is the day of reckoning; be totally honest before you go to the judgment bar.

The son then recounted his father’s response: “My father looked at me a moment, raised his hand above his head and slowly said, with tears glistening in his eyes: ‘My son, I can swear before high heaven that what I have told you about the origin of that book is true.’”

After this tender moment, the son said, “I believed him.”11

Later, John joined the Church, and thus another argument fell by the wayside.

I met Brent during a blind date while we attended Brigham Young University. From the beginning of our relationship, we talked a lot about our shared patriotism. He enlisted in June 2003, three days after proposing to me.
Three months after we were married on September 18, 2003, Brent left for basic training. Once he returned the following November, we started having children. By the time we were expecting our second baby, he was preparing for his first deployment. He did two consecutive tours from 2007 to 2008 in Iraq.
In 2009, Brent got involved in politics. He ran for the city council in North Ogden, Utah, and won. Halfway through that four-year council seat, he was again deployed to Afghanistan for a year.
After Brent returned, he ran for, and was elected, mayor. As he was running for reelection four years later, we learned that he was being deployed yet again. At the time, I was pregnant with our seventh child. Despite the difficulty of leaving his family and office behind, Brent answered the call. He left in January 2018 for another yearlong deployment.
The day after I learned that Brent had been killed, one of my former bishops gave me a blessing that changed my perspective. In his blessing, he said that my purpose as a wife, mother, and daughter of God had not changed. Then he promised that Brent’s purpose as my husband and our children’s father had not changed either.
After the blessing, I remember chanting in my mind: “My purpose has not changed. My purpose has not changed.”
The next morning, as I repeated those words to myself, a phrase came into my mind: “Only the details have changed.” And as I tried to accept the fact that the details of my life had changed from what I thought they would be, another impression came: “God is in the details.”
The Lord was giving me line-upon-line revelation. When He does this, it’s not because He is keeping secrets from us. It’s because He is going at our pace.
In the months after Brent died, I was anxious about what would come next. But I knew that I could take one step forward at a time and that I could trust that the Lord would give me one line of revelation at a time. It might not be the line I thought He was going to give me, so I had to keep making a conscious choice to trust Him with the details of my life.
While on my mission, I served in a ward that needed a bishop. Stake leaders were looking for someone who held the Melchizedek Priesthood, paid his tithing, and had a supportive wife. Leaders considered one worthy priesthood holder, but his wife did not say yes to the calling.
Because of that experience, I promised the Lord that I would never get in the way of what He needed my future husband to do. I promised to always support him in his calling. I’m grateful I didn’t know the future. I don’t know what I would have done if––when I was making that promise––the Lord had said, “That’s a great promise to make because I need your husband to die for his country.”
I thought I was going to be a bishop’s wife. Instead, I became the wife of a worthy priesthood holder who answered the call to serve and sacrifice in a way I had not imagined.
The Lord has made it clear that the priesthood power of my temple sealing to Brent is still available to me. I have felt the power of our marriage covenant sustain me physically. I miss him so much, but I know that with him on the other side of the veil, I can move forward.
Brent is still supporting me. I feel that I’ve inherited many of his strengths. I’m no longer just me, and I’m certainly not him. Rather, I feel that I am both of us. To me, this is a testament of our marriage covenant.
When the world feels in chaos, we have to remember that our covenants are our constant.
I have learned from this experience that there is a beautiful power in letting people help us. It can be a humbling experience, but it blesses both those serving and those being served. We need to let others help us.
“When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God,” King Benjamin taught (Mosiah 2:17). This scripture is also true in reverse. When you are served by your fellow beings, you are being served by the Lord.
Sometimes we worry too much about what we can do or say to help someone. After Brent died, people who just showed up were the most helpful. They weren’t pushy, they paid attention, and they saw a need.
If you feel prompted to serve, don’t overthink it. Show up. Drop off a quick note. Don’t worry that your efforts aren’t perfect. Help anyway. Even if you say or do the wrong thing, those you serve will know that you meant, “I love you.”
We can all do better at letting people serve us imperfectly.
Photograph by Kaitlin Westbroek
Faith starts as a choice. Sometimes we might not see or feel the Lord in difficult times. In those moments when I don’t feel Him, I make a conscious choice. I choose to trust Him. I choose to be happy. I choose to let people help. I choose to ask for help. I choose to let the peace of the gospel guide me. It’s hard, but we have to make these choices. The Lord encourages us to make them, but He never forces us to.
It’s difficult to say that this tragedy has been a blessing. I hate being blessed by tragedy, but I have been. We might say we want the blessings and no trials, but that’s not how mortality works. “For after much tribulation come the blessings” (Doctrine and Covenants 58:4). For me, the Lord has taken this horrible tragedy and turned it into something beautiful.
I had less time with Brent than I thought I would have, but I know that the Lord is not going to shortchange us eternally in any way. I don’t know how, because I don’t have His knowledge and wisdom, but I know that His promises are sure.
Our Losses Will Be Made Up
“All your losses will be made up to you in the resurrection, provided you continue faithful. By the vision of the Almighty I have seen it.”
Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Joseph Smith (2007), 51.

My throat felt scratchy, and my stomach was doing cartwheels as Mrs. Allen cleared her throat and prepared to read the last assignments for newspaper staff.
I didn’t know journalism class could be such an emotional experience.
“All right, we have only a couple of assignments left,” Mrs. Allen said cheerfully. “The student government beat is open.”
Student government? I don’t think so. Covering endless and pointless debates about crummy school food, keeping the water fountains free of gum, and ways to get drivers to slow down in the parking lot didn’t exactly bring to mind stories that would land my byline on the front page of the New York Times.
Mrs. Allen looked over her list again. “And we need an advice columnist to take Twila Terwilliger’s place. That was our most popular feature last year.”
Yes, I remember Twila’s column, “Tips from Twila.” No matter what the question, Twila had a spunky answer, which always ran along the theme of “Hang in there!” or “Keep your chin up!” or “Think positive thoughts and everything will be better!” Twila believed that a heavy dose of sugar could cure anything, and she poured it into her columns by the bagful.
Now, if I were the advice columnist, things would be different. Straight answers. No mushy, sensitive stuff. No coddling from Gabe Jeffries. Besides, for my first three years in high school, I hadn’t really found my place. I wasn’t an athlete or much of a scholar, and I never ran for school office. Having my photo in every edition of the paper with a big byline over my column, I had to admit, sounded more than okay.
“Any takers?” Mrs. Allen pleaded.
I raised my hand.
“Gabe? You want to take the column?” Mrs. Allen sounded a little surprised.
“Yeah, Mrs. Allen. I can handle a column.”
She seemed doubtful but said, “Okay, Gabe. Let’s give it a try. Maybe a male perspective would work in an advice column. Stay a few minutes after class. Some letters have already been sent in, and you can get to work on them right away.”
Success! My byline would never appear on a story about crusty spaghetti and runny sauce, or cross-country runners getting sick halfway through their race. My journalism career was looking up.
Later that night, at a desk in the corner of my room, I grabbed the small stack of letters and prepared to take on the problems of the cold, the weary, the downtrodden, the hopeless, the nobodies who inhabited my corner of the world.
To Whomever Is the New Advice Person:
I have a boyfriend, and what we do most of the time for our dates is sit on the couch at his house and watch football or basketball games or action movies. Like, we never do anything fun; we just sort of sit and watch games and eat, although he does most of the eating. If I suggest we go to a movie or on a walk, he just says he’s tired. But I really do love him, and we may get married after we graduate next spring. What do you think? Should I stay with him?
Signed,Wondering
I thoughtfully read the letter and asked myself, What would Twila say? She’d say, “Be perky, smile a lot, and things will get better before you know it.”
Of course, I didn’t want to even faintly sound like Twila. I sat at the keyboard of my computer and began picking at the letters. My answer came quickly.
Dear Wondering,
I have three words for you: Lose the loser. Fast forward a few years and think what life will be like if you hang in with this dude. Imagine, Friday night in the house, you have three noisy kids to deal with, and your husband is passed out in front of the TV. He’s 60 pounds heavier than he is now, hasn’t shaved in three days, and he’s sitting in his undershirt and sweat pants snoring. Is this the life you want? No way. Drop him. The sooner the better. You don’t want to be his girlfriend now and for sure not his wife. Get the picture?
Signed,The Answer Guy
I sat back and re-read my answer. Well, maybe it is a little rough, but someone had to steer this girl away from the wreck that was awaiting her. No one would ever confuse me with Twila, that’s for sure. No one would call me Mr. Nice Guy.
I sorted through the other letters Mrs. Allen had given me and picked out a couple more to answer. One from a guy who wanted to move out of his house (“What? Free room and board, the folks pay the utilities, and you want to leave? Are you nuts?”) and another from a kid who complained it was unfair that the 10th graders were assigned early lunch (“Quit whining. You’ve got to eat sometime, right? Stick with it, and maybe you’ll make it all the way to the senior class and get to eat with the grown-ups”).
Three letters, three answers, in 20 minutes. And I didn’t sprinkle any sugar.
I didn’t think much about my column until the newspaper came out a week later. Just before English class began, Adam Fletcher, who is among the very chosen in our school, a guy who would make anyone’s I-want-him-at-my-next-party list, flopped his hands on my desk, leaned over and said “Man, your column was great. Harsh. I really like it. Sixty pounds in an undershirt. That was money, man.”
“Uh, thanks. Yeah, it was. But I can do harsh. Really.”
Adam, who in the last three years of school had done little more than occasionally grunt at me, was actually paying me a compliment. He wasn’t the only one who noticed the column. A dozen more people said something about “The Answer Guy.” Even Mrs. Allen gave me a thin smile and mumbled, “Well, it looks like you’re not Twila, Gabe.”
Gabe Jeffries, columnist. The Answer Guy, a Someone. Maybe someday I’d have my own radio talk show, coast-to-coast, every weekday night, handing out advice like candy at Halloween. I would be wise, witty, clever, and above all, tell it like it is. My name would be heard in every household.
Two weeks later, I was back home reading a fresh stack of mail. A lot of letters had come in since my first column.
I grabbed a letter out of the middle of the bundle.
To the Answer Guy,
Since you’re a guy, maybe you can help me with this one. I went to homecoming last week, and the guy I was with seemed really annoyed when I ordered a salad for dinner. He got really quiet and seemed like he was upset. We were with a whole group of people at the restaurant, and he hardly spoke to me later on. I just wasn’t hungry and didn’t want to cost him a lot of money, so that’s why I ordered a salad. Did I do something wrong? Let me know.
Signed,Lettuce Woman
This is too easy, I thought.
Dear Lettuce Woman,
Of course the guy you went out with was annoyed. You are a Salad Girl. Guys do not like to take out Salad Girls. He takes you to a nice restaurant, hungry, ready to eat a big meal, and then you order a salad. He’s not impressed when you do that. It makes him feel stupid to order a steak with the trimmings if all you’re eating is a salad. You finish your salad and then all you do is stare at him while he eats, or he decides he’d better just get a salad too, so he doesn’t show you up.
Do everyone a favor: next time when you go out to dinner, order a T-bone, rare, and smack your lips all the way through it. Everyone will relax more. Leave the salads to the weight-challenged who really need to diet!
Not exactly Shakespearian, but I thought Lettuce Woman would get the idea.
The next edition of the newspaper came out, and my transformation to being a Someone rolled along. People who never paid much attention to me were becoming friendly. Sure, I would never be a great athlete, Harvard would never offer me an academic scholarship, and I’d never date a cheerleader, but through my column I was starting to feel accepted by the socials. And I liked it.
Of course, not everyone was ready to nominate me for a Pulitzer Prize. There was the cafeteria incident.
I was sitting among some of my new friends, at a table where mostly the popular hung out, and Rachel Patton came by with a sweet smile on her face.
“Hello, Gabe. I read your column yesterday,” she cooed. “And I just wanted to give you a little something.” Rachel is smart enough to be a doctor and gorgeous enough to be a model. Maybe she’ll end up being both.
“Uh, great,” I stammered. “Yeah. Thanks.”
She pulled out a salad from behind her back and dumped it on my head. “Just a little token of our affection, Gabe. Call it a little gift from all the Salad Girls. And I thought you were such a nice guy before.”
At least there wasn’t much dressing on it. Some people, I guess, just don’t know how to deal with celebrities.
The third edition of the newspaper was much the same, although I had to work harder at coming up with rude answers. The guys at school loved what I wrote. In the fourth edition, I answered a letter from a guy who thought his girlfriend was going to dump him (“Beat her to it. Dump her. It is much better to be the dumper than the dumpee, and she is not worthy of you anyway”) and another from a girl who worried about having no social life (“Millions of people don’t have enough food to eat, and you’re whining because you haven’t had a date since June?”).
After I finished my last answer, I sat back. Great stuff. How will I ever top it? The answer was easy: Just get a little more rude; find new ways of ripping others. Just keep those put-downs coming.
I picked another letter, handwritten on plain white paper.
Dear Answer Guy,
I’m kind of new to this school, and I am having a hard time fitting in. I feel lonely. Sometimes I wish I had a good friend or two. Sometimes, I just feel like giving up. What can I do?
Signed,No One
It was signed in an unusual style, small letters, backslanted, the way left-handed people often write. It was definitely a male’s handwriting. I waited a second for inspiration, then started my answer.
Dear No One,
You are a loser. That’s why you don’t have any friends. That’s why you sit by yourself at lunch, stay home on weekends, and sit in class too afraid to raise your hand and answer a question. You have no confidence, bud. I know your kind. I know everything about you. I know exactly what you’re like and …
And what? I stopped typing. What if this letter were real? What if someone was really asking me for help? What if I gave him rude advice when he needed a real answer? And why did I write that I knew exactly what he was like? Was it because, not too long ago, I’d sat in a class or the cafeteria and wondered where I fit in?
All of a sudden, I felt like a fraud. For too long, I’d been ignoring the gnawing feeling in me every time I wrote an answer filled with put-downs. Was I taking the chance of hurting someone just to get some attention?
I didn’t sleep well that night. I kept thinking about what I’d written. Every column was becoming more rude, more attacking. It was getting tougher to out-do myself. I could feel the expectations of others. In each answer, they wanted me to cut more deeply. Rachel’s words bothered me: “I thought you were such a nice guy before.”
And about midnight, when my eyes were wide open and my mind racing along, I finally understood that feeling inside. I didn’t like the kind of person I was becoming. Acceptance, at least the kind I was getting, wasn’t worth becoming someone else. Maybe I hadn’t been popular before, but at least I was a nice guy who wouldn’t hurt anyone. It was time for Gabe Jeffries to become Gabe Jeffries again.
I finally had come up with an honest answer.
In the morning, I took the letter to school. In study hall, I started writing another answer to the guy who could only call himself “No One.”
Dear No One,
I liked your letter. It took courage to write it. I can tell some things about you from your letter, and they are good things. But I must disagree about one thing. You’re not a No One. You are Someone—someone who is important, who has talent and ability, even though you might not recognize it. You’re someone I’d like to become friends with. I hope we meet. Until then, try to find some good in your life. I’m sure you have a few friends. I also hope you have a family who cares about you. You deserve that much. Things will get better. I know it.
I read through it again. For the first time since I’d become a columnist, I’d provided someone with a real answer.
Later that afternoon, I wrote a second letter. This one was to Mrs. Allen. I gave it to her at the beginning of class. She placed it on her desk and said softly, “I guess I’m surprised, Gabe. You have potential as a writer, and I’m sorry you’re resigning as the Answer Guy. Maybe we can find another place for you as a different kind of columnist.”
“If you still need someone to write about water polo, I guess I’m the one,” I said.
“We’ll find you something a little more exciting than that, Gabe,” she promised.
The following day in history class, Mr. Haney droned on about Germany’s economic collapse after World War I.
Suddenly, Mr. Haney said, “Okay, everyone, put away your books. It’s quiz time!”
The quiz was only 10 questions. When it was over, Mr. Haney told us to pass our papers to the person two rows to our right for correcting. Someone handed me a paper, and as I looked down at it, I almost fell out of my chair. I’d seen that handwriting before: small letters, backslanted, distinctive. No mistake about it. I was correcting “No One’s” paper. Funny, he’d been in my class three months, and I didn’t even know his name.
He nailed nine out of ten answers on the quiz, so I scribbled “Way to go!” on the top of his paper, then passed it back just as the bell rang.
I wasn’t sure what to do next, but I knew I had to do something. He was already out the door. I called his name.
He turned toward me, a look of surprise on his face.
I thought quickly. “Uh, a bunch of us are going to my church tonight to shoot hoops. Want to come?”
He smiled awkwardly. “You want me to play basketball? I’m not very good.”
“None of us are. That’s why we have so much fun. We don’t even keep score. And we only call fouls if blood is involved. You’ll fit right in.”
And the way he looked back at me, I knew he would. I could sense the changes taking place at that very moment: a “no one” was becoming a “someone.”
Well, the New York Times never called, begging me to work for them. I ended up writing feature stories most of the semester, one of which won a statewide writing prize; I even covered a couple of student council meetings, which were, of course, really boring. The next semester, I became the news editor. Mrs. Allen thinks I have a chance at a journalism scholarship. I asked Rachel Patton out, and she said yes, probably just a charity date, but she kept her salad on her plate and off my head at dinner, which I appreciated. On the doorstep, she told me I was a really nice guy.
I took it as a major compliment.
And the guy in history class, well, we still hang out, and I never have mentioned his letter to him. He seems happier now.
Yep, things are going great for me. It all started, I think, when I decided to not worry about trying to be someone else or pleasing others who didn’t really care for me. Everything I need to deal with any problem is all around me: home, family, church, and friends.
I guess I had the right answers all along.

Mom had had a really busy day, and lots of things had gone wrong for her. We were eating supper when the phone rang. Some neighbors were coming over, and my toys were all over the family room. One of the neighbors used a walker, so she might have tripped on a toy. I hurried and cleaned up really fast so that when they came in, it was looking nice. I felt happy that I had helped, and I help my mom more now.

Two days later, Stephanie and Serena meet at the train station in Amsterdam. Three American sisters, Michelle, Amanda, and Jackie Miller of the Hilversum Branch, are with them. They can’t get together very often, so they’re happy when they get the chance. It’s 6:00 P.M. as they walk out of Central Station. They’re all hungry, they decide on pizza, then they look for a restaurant. As the group walks the streets of Amsterdam with the rain coming down, they’re laughing and telling stories. But nobody is sure where the closest restaurant is. For a moment they stop. Then a voice calls out, “I know where we can go.”

Stephanie then speeds her pace and leads the way.

We have time to develop a variety of talents and interests. During my medical training, I didn’t have a very generous income. One year, I decided to make all of my Christmas presents myself. Searching for ideas, I bought a paperback book on batik (the art of dyeing designs on fabric). To my delight and surprise, I discovered an undeveloped artistic talent. The art gallery owner who framed the batiks I had made for presents liked them so much he invited me to produce a one-man show! With brisk sales from the show and subsequent commissions, I not only supported myself during my residency but saved enough for a partial down payment on a house.

Yet a disquieting feeling persisted. This was a “one-man church,” entirely centered on the leader’s doctrines and directives. I was sent out to start congregations, but something inside me resisted. I could not move forward unless I knew, without doubt, that God Himself was directing me, not just a man. I stayed in my role, waiting for a clarity that never came in that place.
A professional crossroads coincided with this spiritual searching. My security company, impressed with my skills, was placing me at a new contract with Sankofa Spices, with a promise of a permanent, high-paying position as a security coordinator. I was ready to accept. Then, my friend, the operations manager, mentioned a temporary opening at the “Latter-day Saints” mission office. The pay was less than half of what Sankofa offered, so I wasn’t interested. But when the Sankofa start date was delayed, I agreed to fill in for two weeks. It was a decision that would alter the course of my life.

Basketball season for the Academia Juarez varsity girls began just like any other season: a winning season was their goal. The Church-owned school in Colonia Juárez, Chihuahua, Mexico, is unique in that the majority of the sports programs require the players to travel internationally to play their games. Another interesting fact is that the entire 2010–11 varsity girls’ team, the Lobas, are all active Latter-day Saint young women. They stand out because they are just as united off the court as they are on the court.
And they did have a successful season, winning the majority of their games and taking first place in two tournaments. To end their season, they decided to go to the temple together as a team and do baptisms for the dead. Their coach, Bishop Russell Robinson, made the arrangements. He says, “Never have I seen a group of girls who love each other and love the Lord like these girls do.”
As Colonia Juárez Chihuahua Mexico Temple president Robert Whetten met them at the doors of the temple, he said, “I don’t know of anywhere in the world where a competitive sports team makes coming to the temple a priority to cap off their season. This truly is a great group of young women.”

When I was seven years old, my friend and I were playing with our dolls. We decided to take them swimming with us. I didn’t have my doll’s swimsuit with me. My friend thought my doll could just swim in her bikini. I remembered that when my mom and I had bought the doll, we’d agreed that the bikini was only for wearing under her clothes. I decided to go home and get her one-piece swimsuit. When I came back, my friend and I had a great time. I’m glad that I chose the right.

When Ezequiel Agustín Frau lost his job in early 2006, he’d been home from his mission to Colombia for nearly two years. He was still single but felt that his future wife was not in Ushuaia. He decided to go to the temple to seek direction.
“I wanted to be more in contact with the Holy Ghost, learn the Lord’s will for me, and seek inspiration,” he says. “The temple helped me find it.”
When he reached Buenos Aires following a three-day, 2,000-mile (3,200 km) bus ride, he stayed with friends and then a relative while frequenting the temple. Several weeks later Ezequiel was running out of money and considering a return to Ushuaia. A local bishop found him a job, however, so he decided to stay.
At a Church activity a short while later, Ezequiel met a young woman named Marina Mas. They found it easy to talk, and he quickly felt comfortable around her. When he saw Marina again at a young single adult gathering, she said something that impressed him.
“We should be living at the level of the kind of person we are looking to marry,” Ezequiel recalls Marina saying during a discussion about goals.
For her part, Marina had been praying to find a worthy companion. She knew a lot of young men but was immediately impressed with Ezequiel’s spirituality.
A mutual friend helped Ezequiel find a place to live that was closer to his work, then three hours by bus from where he was staying. It turned out that his new apartment—in a city of 13 million people—was only two blocks from Marina’s home.
“I didn’t plan to live two blocks from her home,” he recalls. “I didn’t even know where she lived.”
Living in close proximity gave Ezequiel ample opportunity to see Marina, whose family gave him a warm welcome. The confluence of events was an answer to his prayers.
The couple dated and soon began planning their future together. After marrying in the temple in the fall of 2006, they moved to Ushuaia.
“We can’t always understand the vision our Father in Heaven has, and we can’t plan everything,” Ezequiel says in retrospect. “But we can be obedient and give Him a chance to bless us.”

The storehouse, which filled the same function as early tithing offices, operated under the same principles as modern Latter-day Saint storehouses. “Everyone was supposed to work. That was the aim of the Church, to help people help themselves,” Elder Rudd explained.
Elder Rudd said as commodity prices were very low in the 1930s, many farmers were unable to hire any help and most were harvesting what they could and letting the rest spoil. Storehouse officials—including President Lee’s counselor Paul C. Child and storehouse manager, Bishop Jesse M. Drury—assigned Fred J. Heath and other unemployed men to contact the farmers, and many men were sent onto farms along the Wasatch Front and as far away as Idaho to harvest crops that were then shared with the volunteers.
Trucks arrived at the storehouse filled with fruit and other produce. Much of the fruit was canned, Elder Rudd recalled.
He said at one point so many onions (which were donated in abundance) and canned goods were stored in the upper level of the storehouse that the ceiling started to buckle. Props were placed to keep the ceiling from collapsing. Onions were traded for other necessities. The storehouse provided help. No one was ever turned away, he said.

Every day we make choices. Some aren’t a big deal—what color backpack we carry, for example. Other choices are a big deal—for instance, how we treat other people or whether we obey a commandment. Read the story below and pretend that you are the main character. What choices would you make?
Your mom says that you may invite two friends over after school tomorrow. First you call Julie, who lives a few miles away. She is in your Primary class as well as in your class at school. Her parents say yes! She will walk home with you; her parents will pick her up before supper.
Next you call Tasha, a nonmember who lives just a few houses away. She can come too. Before she hangs up the phone, though, she asks if anyone else is coming. When you tell her that Julie is also coming, Tasha says, “Yuk! Then I don’t want to come, after all.”
If you say, “Julie is my friend too. Why don’t you come and get to know her better?” go to A. If you say, “OK, I’ll tell Julie that something came up with my mom and that I can’t have anybody over,” go to F.
A. Tasha says, “Well, I guess I’ll still come, but don’t expect me to make friends with Julie.” After school, Tasha and Julie walk home with you. When Julie stoops to tie her shoelace, Tasha makes an ugly face at her behind her back.
If you say, “Julie, Tasha’s making faces at you. She didn’t want you to come,” go to J. If you say nothing but give Tasha a look of disappointment, go to E.
B. When Tasha is out of earshot, you whisper to Julie that Tasha didn’t want her to come and had made faces at her behind her back. Julie gets very quiet. Your get-together is no fun after that.
Surely you didn’t mean to do that! Won’t you reconsider and choose I?
C. You all three go back to the tire swing and have a lot of fun. After a while, Julie’s mom picks her up and Tasha walks home. You’re glad that she and Julie have become friends too.
This is the end of the story—unless you want to do a little more missionary work. If you do, go to G.
D. Tasha hides the cigarette as her mother drives past, then starts to put it in her mouth. You yell, “Stop! It really is bad for you.” She says, “Once won’t hurt. I want to know what it tastes like.” She takes a puff and starts to cough. When she throws the cigarette down, you stomp on it and say, “I wish you hadn’t done that. Heavenly Father doesn’t want us to hurt our bodies.” Tasha asks, “Is Heavenly Father the same person as God? How do you know that He doesn’t want us to smoke?”
If you say, “I just do, that’s all. Come on—it’s Julie’s turn on the swing,” go to C. If you say, “Because he told us so in a scripture we call the Word of Wisdom,” go to G.
E. When you get to your house, punch and cookies are on the table. They turn out to be the favorite treats of both Tasha and Julie. As the afternoon goes on, you see that Tasha is actually being friendly with Julie. Tasha says, “Hey, Julie, I didn’t know you were such fun! You never say anything in school.”
If you suddenly feel jealous and try to discourage their growing friendship, go to B. If you try to help them become better friends, go to I.
F. Julie doesn’t come, because she thinks that your mom changed her mind about your having friends over. You and Tasha have a good time, except that you feel guilty about lying to Julie. Later, Julie finds out that Tasha was at your house, and her feelings are really hurt. Your friendship is never the same. You are sad that you lost a good friend.
You can’t make such a bad decision so soon—repent and go to A.
G. “What’s the Word of Wisdom?” Tasha asks. “It’s kind of like a health code,” you say. “It teaches us to not smoke, drink coffee, tea, beer, or wine—stuff like that. And to not do drugs.”
Julie pipes up, “It teaches us to eat fruits and vegetables and grains—you know, healthy things.”
“So do you two go to the same church?” Tasha asks. When you both nod, she looks down. “I don’t go to church, except when I visit my grandma. What do you do at your church?”
“Well,” you answer, “we have Primary every Sunday. It’s kind of like Sunday School in other churches. We have a lesson and learn about Jesus Christ. We sing songs, too, and have a lot of fun. Oh, and we have special activity days every so often.”
“Yeah,” Julie chimes in, “it’s all really neat! Would you like to come with us this Sunday?”
“Do I have to wear a dress?”
“We always do,” you tell her. “I’m always glad I do—it just feels right, somehow.”
Tasha shrugs. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt me to dress up. Sure—I’ll ask Mom if I can go.” (The End)
H. You put the cigarette to your mouth. You don’t breathe it in deeply, but even so, it tastes yucky. You are still holding it when Tasha’s mom drives by. She stops the car, hollers at Tasha to get in, and says to you, “Don’t expect Tasha to be coming over anymore.”
You feel awful. When your eyes meet Julie’s, you see that she is very disappointed in you. You promise that you’ll never do anything like that again. Julie gives you a weak smile and says, “I believe you, but I don’t think that Tasha’s mom ever will.”
This is your last chance in this story to get on the “right-choice” track. Hurry to D!
I. You suggest that you all play on the tire swing. Tasha has the first turn swinging. As Julie climbs on the tire for her turn, a car full of teenagers zips by. One of them flips a cigarette on the curb. Tasha runs to pick it up. “It’s still lit!” She turns to you and says, “I dare you to try it!”
If you say, “No, I don’t do that kind of stuff, and I hope you don’t either, ‘cause it’s bad for you,” go to D. If you say, “Well, maybe just one puff—but you’d better not tell anyone!” go to H.
J. Julie gets tears in her eyes and doesn’t say anything. Tasha says, “Thanks a lot, Big Mouth,” and goes home. You and Julie have fun playing, but you get a knot in your stomach when you think about Tasha’s angry eyes. The next day in school, Tasha won’t even speak to you.
Not again! Aren’t you glad that this is just a story? Change your choice to E.

Once at a zone missionary conference in Philadelphia, I discussed the importance of expressing love. Later that day a missionary told me, “President, I have never told my father that I love him.”
I said, “Elder, pick up that telephone and call your father and let him know you love him.” Ordinarily we don’t encourage missionaries to call home, but I felt inspired that this young man should.
He said, “I can’t. My father works in a steel mill out on the slag pile, and he can’t be reached during the day. But I will call him tonight, I promise.”
I responded by saying, “Elder, after you call your father, please call me at the mission home. I would like to know what he said.”
Late that night the telephone rang. It was my missionary. He said, “President, I did it.”
I replied, “Tell me about it, elder.”
And this is what he said: “Mother picked up the phone. She was worried that something had happened. I assured her that all was well and that I wanted to speak to Dad. She handed the telephone to my father. He was still groggy because he had been asleep for a while, and he said, ‘What is it, son?’
“I said, ‘Dad, I love you.’ He started to cry and handed the telephone back to mother.
“She said, ‘What did you tell your father?’
“‘Mom, I told dad that I love him, and I want you to know how much I love and appreciate you.’”
Well, that missionary had many good days in the mission field, delightful times, but the greatest day of all, I suspect, was the day that he expressed love to his parents.

Baptized at age 15, Chen Hsin Shun learned early to exercise his faith during economic challenges and to make sacrifices for the Church. While he was preparing to serve a mission, his family’s business failed and his father asked him to help support the family. He told his father, “Trust my God for three months, and see if He doesn’t bless the family while I’m on a mission.” His father agreed to try the experiment, and Elder Chen prayed diligently for blessings. About a month and a half into his mission, he received a letter from his father saying he wouldn’t need to come back early because the family’s business had signed a lucrative 10-year contract. Today Brother Chen serves as a high councilor in the Kaohsiung stake.

In 1951 and 1952, I attended the Frankfurt branch, which was not as big as the one in Zwickau. The Frankfurt meetinghouse was small, and we had classes in the basement. The missionaries taught us important gospel principles. One missionary, Elder Stringham, impressed me very much with his lessons on the Pearl of Great Price, especially where Moses is being taught that he is a Son of God. Elder Stringham also taught me the scripture that says, “If God be for us, who can be against us?” (Rom. 8:31). This gave me comfort and courage, because at that time, the future looked bleak in Germany. The city of Frankfurt was in ruins with bombed-out buildings. That teaching has stayed with me throughout my life. It taught me that I need to be on the Lord’s side. I cannot afford not to be on the Lord’s side.

At 5:40 in the morning, when most people are still asleep, Jay McKinley and Amy Fuqua of the Monroe Branch of the Mobile Alabama Stake are at church with their scriptures and seminary manuals. President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) said that seminary is one of the most significant experiences that any youth can have, and he encouraged youth to “regularly attend seminary and be a seminary graduate.”1 It is a while until sunrise, but these two students and their teacher know the importance of the blessings they receive from following the prophet’s counsel to become seminary graduates.
“Sometimes it is really hard to get up at 4:45 a.m., but it’s totally worth it,” says Amy. “I love the feeling I get when I have the Spirit with me so early.” All three agree that the early starts are tiring and hard to manage, but all know that the benefits of early morning gospel study far outweigh the challenge of juggling each of their schedules, chores, and lives on top of seminary. Amy says, “When I think about it, having class at 5:40 a.m. isn’t a sacrifice at all.” The opportunity to learn more about the Savior is worth every effort, she says.
Jay and Amy’s seminary teacher, Sister Miranda Smith, agrees, and Jay says, “I have to go to bed earlier than normal in order to get up around 4:30 a.m. Sometimes when I have a lot of homework, my big brother will take over my chores.” In Monroe, seminary really is a group effort, even for those who don’t attend seminary. One of the reasons for the early seminary is that Jay’s school is an hour’s bus drive away and his bus driver picks him up from the chapel immediately after seminary.
One of the benefits gained from the early start is the friendship that comes from spending quality time together. “Sister Smith, Amy, and I have become close. We really didn’t hang out together, even at church, unless we had to,” says Jay. “Now we like being around each other and really are friends.”
Of course friendship is not the only reason for being in seminary; the true goal is the gospel knowledge that comes from studying the scriptures. All three who attend the class can see the benefits. Sister Smith says the best thing about early-morning seminary is “getting to start and end my day with a gospel lesson.” Not only is she the seminary teacher, but she is also a mother of four and a Cub Scout den leader, so she normally waits for her children to go to bed so that she can have some quiet time to study the lessons and prepare for the next day’s class.
Amy agrees that seminary has brought many spiritual benefits into her life. “I have a better understanding of the scriptures,” she says. “Sometimes during the day I find myself thinking about scripture masteries I’ve learned, especially Moses 1:39.”
When asked what their favorite lessons from the past few months have been, both Amy and Jay agree that they enjoyed the lessons about Nephi’s journey to the promised land with his family in 1 Nephi and 2 Nephi. Jay says these chapters have been the most memorable so far.
“Whenever I read those chapters, I think about how I can make it through any trial that is placed in my way. Just like it says in 1 Nephi 3:7, ‘I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.’ He had such great faith and trust in the Lord, and in turn the Lord placed great trust in him. That is something that I want.”
Jay and Amy’s efforts have not been lost on Sister Smith. Not only does she get up to teach them, but she is also inspired by her students. “They are definitely the reason I keep doing this,” Sister Smith says. “I know they expect me to be there just as much as I expect them to be there. I’ve enjoyed seeing Amy and Jay grow in the gospel this year. Amy has been a member only for a few short years. She’s always excited about the gospel and has a beautiful testimony. Jay tends to be a little quieter, but I know he has a strong testimony and knowledge of the gospel as well.”
So what is it like to have early-morning seminary earlier than most schools have their classes? Jay says, “I find that I have more peace and patience as I go through school and other activities. It is such a blessing to have the scriptures in my life.” Jay, Amy, and Sister Smith are forgivably tired at times but cheerful and positive about regularly attending seminary. They find strength and comfort in overcoming obstacles and fulfilling a prophet’s advice to be seminary graduates.

In 1897, David O. McKay was called to serve a mission in Scotland. He was thrilled to return to his “motherland” and had very high expectations of bringing the restored gospel to his kin. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much enthusiasm for a message about God, Jesus Christ, and a restored church brought about by a boy-prophet. Even when he was able to share his message, he was ridiculed for his “American” accent. To make matters worse, there were some asserting that missionaries didn’t come to Scotland to share a message, but to steal their “bonny lasses” away for plural marriage. Some of you returned-missionaries know all too well what I am talking about. Feeling a bit sorry for himself, he and his companion went on a diversion for the day (or what we now call a “P-day”) and they went sight-seeing. Well, it appears that this one “diversion day” turned into several days of diversion and touring. And on one of these diversion days, David O. McKay found himself standing at the wall of Stirling Castle taking in the historic sites before him. They left touring the Castle around five o’clock to return to their newly acquired lodgings. As the two missionaries walked along Back O’ Hill Road, they approached a construction site for new apartments that would be known as the Albany Crescent buildings. From the sidewalk, David O. McKay noticed something unusual about the building. “Over the front door was a stone...something unusual in a residence, and what was still more unusual, I could see from the sidewalk that there was an inscription chiseled in that arch…” McKay recalled: “I was half way up the graveled walk, when there came to my eyesight a striking motto carved in stone-- “What e’er Thou Art, Act Well thy Part...’”

This motto had an immediate and profound impact upon McKay. Of this experience, David Lawrence McKay, David O. McKay’s son, said that “this message struck Father forcefully.” Although McKay only talked about the impact that this phrase had upon him, the lower section of the stone should not be overlooked or dismissed. In fact, it appears that John Allan included the lower portion of the stone to emphasize the meaning and application of the motto in a dramatic and peculiar fashion.

It is possible that this relationship was understood by David O. McKay as is evident from his musings and thoughts after seeing the stone. His experience with the stone’s message seemed to simmer in his mind and in his heart. As McKay and Johnston walked back to their apartment, McKay expressed personal lessons and applications that were forming within him. He thought about his days of playing football at the University of Utah and told his companion of a custodian and how this humble man helped with the football gear and even assisted the players with their homework. “He was unassuming, unostentatious” McKay said of the custodian, “But he did his duty well.” Upon reflection, McKay concluded, “I realized then that I had just as great a respect for that man as I had for any professor in whose class I had sat. He acted well his part.” It is important to point out that McKay was not only seeing the importance of a man who did his duty honorably but that he may well have been seeing the relationship between the custodian’s part, the professor’s part, the football team’s part, and how each was connected one to the other and all were connected with the greater whole—the university. You see, it doesn’t really matter what number you are, it matters how well you act your part.

McKay then reflected upon his “own part.” He thought of his activities prior to seeing the stone. He and his companion were sightseeing and even though he was impressed with the landscape, history and the courage of his Scottish heritage, he decided that his activity “was not missionary work.” He concluded: “Well, I am here as a missionary so I will act the part and be a good missionary!” Once again, however, it appears that McKay may have understood the greater context of the message. He said that as he was walking with Johnston he silently thought, “I thought about this motto, ‘What e’er Thou Art, Act Well thy Part,’ and took it as a direct message to me, and I said to myself, or the Spirit said to me, ‘You are a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; more than that—you are here in the Mission Field as a representative of the Church, and you are to act well your part as a missionary, and you get into the work with all your heart.” Obviously McKay could see the importance of being a good missionary, but he was also seeing how that related with a greater context—being a member of the Church. “I accepted the message given to me on that stone,” McKay reported, “and from that moment we tried to do our part as missionaries in Scotland.” Of this pledge, McKay’s son, David Lawrence McKay, said that his father’s rededication was done “completely and wholeheartedly.”

Nearly a year after this experience, McKay received a letter of encouragement from his sweetheart, Emma Ray Riggs, who counseled him to do his work well. Emma Ray’s phraseology apparently triggered a memory. In McKay’s response dated April 25, 1899, he reminisced on the experience he had in Stirling with the Allan stone. “As I again read your letter now before me, a warm feeling of appreciation of your encouraging words come over me; and your advice— ‘Do your work well’—will ever be remembered…It reminds me of a beautiful inscription carved over the door of one of the cottages in the east part of Stirling: ‘What e’er thou art, act well thy part.’ If one only chooses the good part and does his work well, success and happiness will certainly be his.”

The impact of the stone for McKay extended beyond his missionary service in Scotland. In later sermons, McKay spoke of the connection between the “parts” of our lives whether missionary, friend, family, neighbor, country, human race, and every creature. He often attributed his experience with the John Allan Albany Crescent stone, as the genesis—of sorts—to this understanding. “Remember this as a guideline in whatever position you are called to serve,” President McKay once taught in General Conference, ‘What e’er thou art, act well thy part.”

To illustrate this point, I would like to relate one such experience that occurred in my ward when I was a bishop. I do this with permission.

Recently an elder had his missionary farewell. It was very nice but did not really reflect the emotional and spiritual energy exerted to get him to that glorious point in his life. The elder was like many young men who really do not catch the vision of the place the Church should hold in life during the teenage years. Much to the dismay of his parents, he spent many more Sundays away from meetings than in them. But his parents and friends never gave up and prayed for him and loved him in spite of his seeming lack of spiritual discipline. But, like many who struggle, he one day decided for himself that he wanted to go on his mission. And, based solely on his faith that he was supposed to go, he went. Up to the day he left, his mother still wondered about the reality of it. She had endured literally years of seeing little or no interest, and with cautious optimism she said good-bye to him as he entered the MTC. I wish now to read a letter the parents received from their son while he was in the MTC:

Mom and Dad,
Well, I got my hair cut today. Thanks for the money. Dad, I think you should get the GTI aligned first and get tires and get them balanced. Then, if it doesn’t drive right, get a set of used aftermeshed rims. I really want to thank you, Dad, for taking all of my problems so that I can go on this mission. I really feel bad to just dump all of this on you. But I want you to know that I’m doing the right thing. Terrence and I went to the temple today, and when we went to the celestial room, we stood in a corner and Terrence prayed and then I did. We just stood there for awhile and cried and just looked at each other. I felt the spirit and happiness that I have never before felt. It’s true, this church is true. I know that now.
I really want to thank you for all you are doing to give me the opportunity. I just hope that one day I will be able to repay you somewhat. I love you.
Dave

This simple testimony from a son is the joyous blessing that came as a result of faithful endurance. The thing is, we never know what blessings await us when we are asked to endure or when they will come, only that they will assuredly come.

Inspiring is the missionary service rendered by Walter Krause, who lives in Prenzlau, Germany. Brother Krause, whose dedication to the Lord is legendary, is now 92 years of age. As a patriarch, he has given more than a thousand patriarchal blessings to members living throughout many parts of Europe.
Homeless following World War II, like so many others at that time, Brother Krause and his family lived in a refugee camp in Cottbus and began to attend church there. He was immediately called to lead the Cottbus branch. Four months later, in November of 1945, the country still in ruins, district president Richard Ranglack came to Brother Krause and asked him what he would think about going on a mission. Brother Krause’s answer reflects his commitment to the Church. Said he: “I don’t have to think about it at all. If the Lord needs me, I’ll go.”
He set out on December 1, 1945, with 20 German marks in his pocket and a piece of dry bread. One of the branch members had given him a winter coat left over from a son who had fallen in the war. Another member, who was a shoemaker, gave him a pair of shoes. With these and with two shirts, two handkerchiefs, and two pairs of stockings, he left on his mission.
Once, in the middle of winter, he walked from Prenzlau to Kammin, a little village in Mecklenburg, where 46 attended the meetings which were held. He arrived long after dark that night after a six-hour march over roads, paths, and finally across plowed fields. Just before he reached the village, he came to a large, white, flat area which made for easy walking, and he soon arrived at a member’s home to stay the night.
The next morning the game warden knocked on the door of the member’s house, asking, “Do you have a guest?”
“Yes,” came the reply.
The game warden continued, “Then come and take a look at his tracks.” The large, flat area on which Brother Krause had walked was actually a frozen lake, and some time earlier the warden had chopped a large hole in the middle of the lake for fishing. The wind had driven snow over the hole and covered it so that Brother Krause could not have seen his danger. His tracks went right next to the edge of the hole and straight to the house of the member, without his knowing anything about it. Weighed down by his backpack and his rubber boots, he would certainly have drowned had he gone one step further toward the hole he couldn’t see. He commented later that this event caused quite a stir in the village at the time.
Brother Krause’s entire life has been to pray and then to go.