Gospel Story Finder

Mary Fielding, who later married Joseph’s brother Hyrum, visited the Prophet after a severe illness in the summer of 1837 had nearly taken his life. At that time antagonism against him had reached almost overwhelming proportions. She records:
“He feels himself to be but a poor creature and can do nothing but what God enables him to do. He seems very happy. He told us something of his feelings during his sickness. He said when he [was] too weak to pray himself the enemy strove against him. The struggle sometimes became so great that he had to call upon his wife or some friend to pray that the good spirit might conquer. He was blessed at times with such glorious visions as made him quite forget that his body was afflicted. On the Sunday night before mentioned when to all appearance he seemed to be so near his end, good Brother Carter … and some others met together in the House of the Lord where they fasted and prayed for him nearly all night. Brother Carter saw in a vision a grave open to receive him [the Prophet] … but saw the earth fall in of its own accord and fill up the grave with no person in. From this [time] he began rapidly to recover and in three or four days after was able to be out in the air. Those who love him of course rejoice abundantly. He says he shall yet stand in his place and accomplish the work God has given him to do however much many seek his removal.”30

“How many more boards do you think we need?” Jordan* asked as he and Derek huffed and puffed up the driveway to Ben’s backyard.
“Oh, maybe one more load,” Derek said. “My dad says we can use all the scrap wood we need from the pile in our backyard.”
The boys were hauling wood in Derek’s wagon for the treehouse they were building in Ben’s oak tree. When it was finished, it would be their clubhouse.
During the summer, the boys had formed a club. The treehouse would make their club extra special.
Jordan and Derek dumped their load on the pile of boards. Jordan called up to the tree, “How’s it coming?”
“Pretty good,” Brandon answered. “The floor is a little crooked, but we’ve nailed it in tight. We’ll start on the walls next. Send up a couple of really straight boards.”
All week long they worked on the treehouse, and even when it got really hot outside, they didn’t mind. Ben’s mom sent out frozen treats, and the four boys sat in the tree, eating the treats and talking about how fun their treehouse would be when it was finished.
Finally the treehouse was ready. It was getting close to dinnertime, so they all climbed on their bikes to go home. Derek yelled over his shoulder, “Remember, Jordan, ten o’clock tomorrow—our first meeting in the treehouse!”
“I’ll be there!” Jordan hollered back.
The next morning, Jordan wolfed down his scrambled eggs and toast, then hurried through his chores. “May I go now, Mom? We’re having our first club meeting in the treehouse.”
“Sure, Jordan. Just be back at noon.”
Jordan hopped on his bike and headed to Ben’s house. He could tell by the bikes in the driveway that his friends were already there. As Jordan climbed the wooden planks nailed to the tree trunk, Derek popped his head out of the treehouse door.
“Stop right there, Jordan,” he said. “You have to give the password first.”
“Huh? We’ve never had a password.”
“Well, we do now. It’s—”
As Derek said the password, Jordan got a sick feeling in his stomach. “But that’s a bad word,” he thought. Aloud, he said, “Derek, what are you talking about? I’m not going to say that.”
“Then you can’t be in our club!”
“Come on, Derek, I don’t feel good about saying that, and I really want to try out the treehouse today.”
Jordan heard laughs and snickers coming from inside. It was Brandon and Ben.
“Jordan’s chicken!”
“Come on, Jordan—we all said it.”
Jordan was quiet for a minute. Then he squared his shoulders and said, “I guess I can’t be in the club, then. I won’t say that.” He climbed down the steps, got on his bike, and slowly rode home.
When he came in the back door, Mom said, “Hi, buddy. You’re home early.”
“I guess I didn’t feel much like playing today.” His lip quivered just a bit.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
Jordan hesitated, then blurted out, “The treehouse is finished, but the others say unless I say the password, I can’t be in the club.”
“Well, what’s the password?” Mom asked.
“I can’t tell you. It’s not a nice word.”
“I see.”
Mom walked over to the refrigerator, poured him a glass of chocolate milk, and sat down at the table. She was quiet for a minute, and then said, “Jordan, do you know the story of Abinadi and King Noah?”
“Yes, Sister Nielsen told us that one in Primary.”
“Well, when Abinadi was brought before King Noah and tried to teach the king and his priests about Jesus Christ, Abinadi told them to repent. Do you remember what King Noah thought about that?”
“Didn’t he tell Abinadi that if he didn’t take it all back and deny Jesus Christ, they would kill him?”
“That’s right. And what did Abinadi do?”
“He wouldn’t say it, because he knew it was wrong.”
“Well, isn’t that like what you did today?”
Jordan was puzzled. “I don’t get it, Mom. What does that have to do with my club?”
“Well, Abinadi wouldn’t say something he knew was wrong. He stood up for what was right, and so did you.”
“I guess you’re right, Mom.” He took another gulp of chocolate milk. “But even though being kicked out of the club isn’t anywhere near as bad as getting burned to death, choosing the right can be hard sometimes.”
Mom smiled. “That’s true. But don’t you feel better for making the right choice?”
“Yes, I do. You’re right, Mom. Thanks.”
Just then the doorbell rang. It was Brandon. “Jordan,” he said, his head down a little, “I’m sorry. We never should have had that crummy password. I wish I could have been brave like you. Can we still be friends?”
“Sure, Brandon! What do you say we go over to the park and shoot some baskets?”
“OK! I’ll go home and grab my ball!”
Jordan smiled as they rode their bikes to the park. “Mom was right,” he thought. “It feels lots better to choose the right!”

I’m glad this question was directed to me, because it’s a problem I have struggled with several times in years past. I thought for years that being called as president of the Relief Society was the greatest achievement for an LDS woman. If that did not happen then being called as president of the Primary or of the Young Women would be almost as satisfying.

Instead, I found myself serving as everything else. Several times I was a counselor in Relief Society, but never president.

I found reasons: “I wasn’t called because I have too many young children.” Then the next president would have four children not yet old enough to go to school. “I wasn’t called because I’m too young.” The next president would be younger. “I wasn’t called because I’ve only been in the ward five years.” The next president would be someone who had just moved into the ward.

Finally, there was to be another change, and everything seemed to indicate that I would be released as Junior Sunday School coordinator and called to lead Relief Society. I was sure my time had come. The bishop made an appointment with me “to talk about how things are going in Junior Sunday School,” but I knew he just wanted me to be surprised when he called me to a Relief Society position. I was ready with a list of things I thought would be new ideas; I had even decided who I would request for counselors.

Then came the meeting with the bishop. And do you know what we talked about? The Junior Sunday School!

I was really disappointed. I complained to my husband that the bishop must not think I was capable. When he gently replied that callings are from the Lord, I started to cry: “It doesn’t make me feel any better that the Lord doesn’t think I’m capable, either.”

Yes I really suffered at the time, but something happened to me, and I have never felt those feelings again. Like you, I was shocked and ashamed of my negative feelings; I really desired to change my attitude. And I finally did what I should have done before: instead of finding “reasons” for why someone else was chosen, or suppressing my disappointment, I went before the Lord, confessed my feelings—all of my feelings—and searched more deeply than before for the Lord’s reasons. When I was ready to learn, he was ready to teach me. Over the next few weeks, a process began that is still continuing. Gradually my understanding was opened, and the true nature of callings in the Lord’s kingdom was impressed on my heart. I’ve come to know the following things:
A calling is an opportunity to serve, not a reward. We sometimes carry over from the business world the idea that unless we are able to “work our way up” and become president of an organization our abilities have not been properly recognized. We have to be aware that the Lord is not giving us rewards by calling us, but is asking for wholehearted service. A calling may prove to be a blessing to us, it is true, but that depends upon our efforts after the call.
The true hierarchy of the Church is a hierarchy of righteousness. The Lord judges our hearts and actions, not the “level” of our callings. We have celestial visiting teachers in many wards, and celestial choristers and teachers. It’s character that pleases the Lord, not calling.
We cannot anticipate (or predict) the actions of our Heavenly Father. “My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith Lord.” (Isa. 55:8.) Sometimes when we look back after a few years we can see the purposes of the Lord unfolding in our lives. It may be as hard for us to see this as it sometimes is for our own children to understand the direction we give to their lives. We marvel that the Creator has worked things out with such delicate balance in nature. Why not trust him, then, and strive for understanding? Why not truly say with Mary, “Be it unto me according to thy word.” (Luke 1:38.)
We can fulfill our own callings better. President Duane Lloyd, a counselor in the Philadelphia Pennsylvania Stake Presidency, comments, “No one is doing his own calling as well as he could be doing.” He recommends redoubling our efforts in our present callings as an antidote to desiring the callings of others. It means to change your attitude so that you feel your calling is the best one in the Church. It is really effective.
We need to be humble. Jesus told several parables and gave much counsel on the importance of being humble. He knew that we (and those around us) will be happier when we are not lifted up in our pride, happier when we are not coveting another’s opportunities. One of Lehi’s sons, Jacob, appropriately summarized all these thoughts when he said, “Wherefore, brethren, seek not to counsel the Lord, but to take counsel from his hand. For behold, ye yourselves know that he counseleth in wisdom, and in justice, and in great mercy, over all his works.” (Jacob 4:10.)
My earnest hope in sharing these experiences and thoughts with you is that your heart may be softened to the ways of the Lord, and that you can come to know that your Father loves you and cares for you. Who knows but that your service, wherever it may be, might be an example to someone who, unknown to you, models his attitudes on yours.

A similar feeling to the one I experienced is described by Elfriede Pawlowski in the book Behind the Iron Curtain. She had been struggling with “an evil power” that seemed to try to prevent her from accepting the gospel. Then one day in branch meeting, this dark power tried to overcome her again. She later wrote:
I prayed fervently that the Lord would free me from this power so I could understand the gospel. . . . Then something happened that I will never forget. A new skin almost seemed to be drawn over me. It began with the top of my head and went down over my shoulders and over my entire body right down to the tips of my toes. At first, I was somewhat frightened, but a feeling of freedom came over me, a lightness, and a deep feeling of gratitude. [Elfriede Pawlowski, “If God Is for Us, Who Can Be Against Us?” in Behind the Iron Curtain, 72]

My mom was my seminary teacher throughout high school, so I didn’t have much of a choice about going. Every morning for four years I hauled myself out of bed and into a cold car and zipped off to seminary.

Years later, while in the MTC, I was amazed at how much seminary was still helping me. One day while teaching a lesson, my companion turned to me and asked, “How do you know the scriptures so well?” I was taken aback—I didn’t feel like I was a scriptorian at all. “Seminary, I guess?” I stammered.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that attending seminary and memorizing the scripture mastery verses was the reason I felt comfortable in the scriptures (see the scripture mastery verses at sm.lds.org). It was the best preparation I had for serving a mission! Even though I was still an awkward new missionary and I didn’t know how to teach, I did know 100 scriptures that I could turn to when I didn’t know what else to say. So many times, a scripture mastery verse came into my mind through the Spirit when I was teaching investigators.

If I’d read my scriptures just on my own, I wouldn’t have had the same experience without going to seminary and learning the scriptures there too. My advice to my teenage self is to go to seminary—no matter what—and fully participate! The Lord will use the knowledge you gain for years to come.

The second story unfolded this summer and centers on the service rendered a foreign government officer by two BYU students from the same country. The official had been assigned by her government to do a special report on the LDS Church. Until the assignment she had been responsible for minority religions in her country. She had completed sometime earlier a PhD thesis on Protestantism in America. In order to complete her study of the LDS Church, she was invited by Church officials to spend three weeks in Salt Lake City and Provo visiting with Church leaders and a small team of BYU faculty.

Three individuals were assigned to host the visitor. One was a professor at BYU who was a returned mission president from the visitor’s country. Two were BYU women students native to the country in question. Between the three of them, they arranged housing, meals, appointments, translation, and visits to Temple Square, Welfare Square, and other off-campus sites. They helped her gather information and learn firsthand about the Church.

During the second week the visitor became ill. Having some knowledge of the Church, she asked one of her student hosts if it would be possible to receive a health blessing. The young student, a recent convert, responded favorably but was not sure who might give the blessing. She asked for a little time. Suddenly she felt a prompting and hurried to the temple. There she met two returned missionaries who had served in her homeland. They accepted the invitation and administered to the visitor. Three days later the government visitor said to her student friend, “Your Church is true!”

The student responded, “Why do you say that?”

The woman then said, “Because of the feeling that was present during the blessing given by the two young men.”

One does not know what the government official will do in her personal life with respect to the Church. One does know, however, that a strong friendship exists between the woman and her hosts. The students and the professor who served her during the three-week period have become the woman’s close friends. The professor has been invited to attend the meeting at which she will present her report to top government leaders.

In the small town in Idaho where I grew up, there was a movie theater that featured an afternoon matinee every Saturday. I would always go with two or three of my friends. The theater would show a short movie about sports and another about current events. The main feature was usually a cowboy movie with lots of action.
One Saturday during intermission, the staff wheeled out a 10-speed bicycle. It was red, it was beautiful, and they were going to give it away to the person in the audience who had the winning ticket stub! Oh, how I wanted that bicycle!
The announcer reached into the container and pulled out a ticket. As he read the number on the ticket, I discovered that I had the winning ticket. Yet I didn’t move or say anything. I was too shy and embarrassed. I did not have enough confidence in myself to stand and let everyone know that I had the winning ticket. He announced the winning number two more times, and each time I held the ticket down so that no one could see it. Finally, the announcer read another number. One of the friends I came to the movie with happened to have the new number. He jumped up, screamed, and ran to the stage to claim his bicycle. That bicycle could have been mine!
As I walked home alone from the movies that Saturday, I thought of the story of the ugly duckling. I was feeling a lot like that little swan. I felt like I was wandering around in the woods trying to hide and that no one liked me. I didn’t realize who I was or what I could become. By the time I arrived home, I knew something had to change. I remember thinking, “It’s time to grow up. That will never happen to me again.”

One morning when I was 11 years old, I woke up and heard voices in the living room. No one had come to wake me up for school like they usually did. When I went out to see what was going on, I found out that my dad had died.
While my family talked in the living room, I went to our garden. Our garden was big, and I had worked with my dad to help take care of it. I sat down on the bench under the trees and cried. I was feeling really sad and confused.
After a few minutes, I saw my Primary teacher opening the gate. He came and sat on the bench next to me and said, “Joni, do you remember the lesson we had last Sunday about the plan of salvation?” My teacher explained to me again that our souls are made up of a spirit and a body. He said that my dad’s spirit was in a good place, and someday he would be resurrected. Someday I would see him again.
Even though I was still sad, I felt peace. I remember that peace every time I think about that experience. My Primary teacher ministered to me, and the Holy Ghost comforted me. It helped to build my testimony of Heavenly Father’s love and the plan of salvation.

Many years ago my husband became very ill with a rare disease. As the weeks went by and the sicker he became, the more I became convinced that he was dying. I told no one of my fears. We had a large, young family and a loving, eternal marriage, and the thought of losing my husband and raising my children by myself filled me with loneliness, despair, and even anger. I am ashamed to say that I pulled away from my Heavenly Father. For days I quit praying; I quit planning; I cried. I finally came to the realization that I could not do this alone.

For the first time in many days, I knelt down and poured out my heart to my Father in Heaven, pleading for forgiveness for turning away from Him, telling Him all of my deepest feelings, and finally crying out that if this was what He really wanted me to do, I would do it. I knew He must have a plan for our lives.

As I continued on my knees to pour out my heart, the sweetest, most peaceful, loving feeling came over me. It was as if a blanket of love was flowing over me. It was as if I could feel Heavenly Father saying, “That was all I needed to know.” I determined never to turn away from Him again. Gradually and amazingly, my husband began to get better until he made a full recovery.

Years later my husband and I knelt by the side of our 17-year-old daughter and pleaded for her life. This time the answer was no, but that same feeling of love and peace that our Savior has promised was just as powerful, and we knew that even though Heavenly Father was calling her back home, everything would be all right. We have come to know what it means to cast our burdens upon the Lord, to know that He loves us and feels compassion for us in our sorrows and pain.

Then I recall the picture of Rex Lee presiding recently at his last BYU commencement. He doesn’t want any of us to start a good-bye party now that lasts four months, but I won’t have a better opportunity than today to thank him and Janet for teaching me by the power of their example how to deal gracefully with adversity. Their lives these past few years capture what I would call “grace under pressure.”

In the sport of diving, a diver is judged not only by his or her overall execution, but by the difficulty of the particular dive. The responsibilities Rex has carried these past six years would never be easy, but under the physical constraints he has faced, the difficulty quotient kept ratcheting upward until his was one really tough dive. Yet he has done it with exquisite grace. I have known Rex Lee at close range for a long time, and I’ve never known anyone who was more cheerful and more patient in the midst of aggravating and sometimes agonizing afflictions. And what I have learned in watching him is that his patience and cheerfulness have invited the Lord’s strength into his life.

A wonderful example of a physical building anchored to a firm foundation is that of the Salt Lake Temple. The groundbreaking for that temple took place in 1853. Using blocks of granite stone cut and hauled from a nearby canyon, work proceeded slowing but steadily on the 32-foot deep foundation until the approach of Johnston's Army in 1857. At that point the Saints buried the foundation of the temple to make the area look like a plowed field.

After peace was restored and work resumed, the dirt was removed. But at that point, cracks were discovered in a few of the foundation stones. The prophet Brigham Young had the entire foundation removed. After much discussion and with the guidance of the Lord as to how the foundation should be designed and built, it was redone based on that new design. When asked about all the additional work required, President Young replied, "When the Temple is built I want it to stand through the millennium [along with] many other temples that will yet be built." What a wonderful example of building on a firm foundation.

Often I have felt the priesthood power, power outside myself, moving through me to the person being blessed. I remember blessing a young mother who came seeking renewed strength to endure a difficult pregnancy with her third or fourth child. She had great faith, and as I blessed her as her bishop, I felt power streaming down my arms and through my fingers into the crown of her head. I felt it course through her body, even to the tips of her toes. It was a powerful, cleansing, rejuvenating force, almost electric in its energy, yet calm and soft and assuring. After the blessing, she arose, and with tears in her eyes said, “I felt that all the way to the tips of my toes.”

Trying the Prophet’s Teachings
I was touched by President Nelson’s message in conference that God wants to speak with me and tell me what He wants me to do. Today I thought I would try that out. I prayed that I could be of help to someone today. After lunch I needed to fill my car up with gas. I had the thought that I needed to buy someone gas. Somewhat skeptically, I thought, “We’ll see.” I began pumping my gas. A minivan pulled up next to me, and a lady got out with her son. She got her purse out and fumbled through it.
I was finishing pumping when I heard her say somewhat timidly, “Excuse me.” I turned to see a worried look on her face.
I told her I was supposed to buy someone gas today. “Is that someone you?” Surprised, she began to tear up. “Someone’s watching out for you today,” I said. I walked around the pump and inserted my credit card. Then I got in my car and drove away with the absolute assurance that someone is up there watching out for me too. Thank God for a prophet!”
—Jonathan Benson, story shared on the Liahona Facebook page

A big forward with biceps the size of pot roasts skates over the blue line and fades away from us. Without slowing he lets rip a 20-foot wrist shot at the goal, or more precisely at Scott Tollestrup, the poor guy in net.
The puck meets Scott’s face mask with a slap, and he sits down hard on the ice, shaking his head.
“That happens when you play goal,” says Scott’s dad, Barry.
Scott takes a break from practice and skates over. He pushes up his helmet. Behind him the rink resounds with the heavy echo of voices. All around figures are moving, sticks and skates zigzagging on the ice. “You get hit; you shake it off,” Scott says, and grins.
His mother folds her arms and rolls her eyes. “People say hockey goalies have rocks in their heads,” she says. I like this family already. They are real people.
The fact that Scott, 14, would allow burly hockey players to fire 90-mile-an-hour pucks at him may be beyond comprehension for most of us. But to Scott, hockey is part of him. The shots he faces in a game are like the challenges of life. He realizes he can’t be perfect, get a handle on everything, but he’s getting better all the time.
Almost every boy in Canada has batted around a hockey puck at least once, and most have dreamed of playing professional hockey. Scott is no exception. Growing up in this hockey-crazed town of Lethbridge, Alberta, Scott longed to be the last defense on the ice, 15,000 fans watching as he shut out the Edmonton Oilers, taking MVP honors in the Stanley Cup finals.
Still, the odds are against him ever making it to the pros, so he’s enjoying the experiences along the way. He’s especially proud of representing Southern Alberta at a tournament in Vancouver last year. He played well enough to be selected a Canadian All-Star.
But being an all-star can go to your head. Every now and then Scott has to remind himself what’s really important.
“Once you put the hockey jacket on it’s instant popularity,” he says after practice. Scott’s with his older brother, Troy. They sit cross-legged in their basement, trading hockey cards and playing video hockey. “Some of the guys think they’re pretty hot. Once in a while I might join them and put somebody down—let it go to my head. When I put somebody down I always end up thinking about my brother, Troy.”
Troy, 17, has had a slight motor-skills problem and learning disorder since birth. It’s not serious enough to affect his life much, but it does make him a little different from the other kids. “When he was in elementary school he got picked on a lot,” adds Scott. “I think about that and stop. I try to get the others to stop, too.”
Not to be outdone, Troy starts talking about something he intends to do for Scott. He’s planning on a mission. One of the main reasons is to be an example to his younger brother.
“It’s very important I go on a mission,” says Troy. “Scott probably feels if I don’t go, he won’t have to.” I notice a sideways glance he gives his brother. It’s obvious they’ve had this conversation before.
“I see a mission,” Scott counters. “I hope to go. I want to keep the Holy Ghost with me and that’s a good way. If you’re fooling around with your friends you lose the Spirit, but if you pray and think about it hard, it’ll come back.”
Barry and Mary wander down to join their boys in the basement. Dad picks a black Pittsburgh Pirates cap off the floor.
“We have to pry this hat off Scott’s head,” Barry tells me. Scott grabs the hat and pulls it on. His blond hair disappears and his ears look bigger—I decide not to mention that. “He’s listed as 163 pounds on the team roster, but he’s really only 162. The hat.” Barry points to his head. Scott ignores him.
A son in the National Hockey League—that’s a dream a dad can get excited about. Barry goes to all of Scott’s practices, every game. He admits he had to control his enthusiasm.
“The first few years I pushed him,” Barry says, “but I’ve learned you can’t be too critical or push too hard.”
It took some time for Scott and his dad to find a good mix, but the relationship they have now seems to help them both. For Barry, the payoff is in the time with his son. While Scott, Troy, and their mom are very active in the Church, Barry is not. So he counts on the hockey tie to bring them close.
According to Mary, the boys’ mom, “When Scott’s in a game, he’ll look up into the stands at his dad. They have a silent message system. When Scott makes a good play he’ll look up and know his dad’s happy, and not too happy if he makes a mistake.”
And Dad has good things to say about Scott. He tells about the time Scott tried out for Bantam hockey. One of the other goalies was cut. “Some of the kids started giving him a hard time,” adds Barry. The coach was moments away from having a bad situation on his hands when Scott stood up for the goalie and got the players to settle down. “Scott knows what it’s like to be cut. But I think it’s more than that, something you can’t teach. He tries to care about other people’s feelings.”
Perhaps Scott has learned there is always somebody watching. On the rink it may be a scout or a future coach. In life it could be anybody.
“When Scott played on the Southern Alberta Select Team,” says Mary, “the coach told the team they needed to drink coffee to get going for the games. Scott and another LDS player wouldn’t.”
Scott smiles. “The funny thing was all the other kids ordered coffee, but they ordered caffeine free.”
Scott starts pulling out the odd collection of pads and equipment he needs for an afternoon game in Red Bluff. It’s a typical Saturday with typical commitments to hockey. But while the game does take up a good part of Scott’s life, he wants to be a balanced person.
He stops organizing his hockey gear to show me the saxophone and guitar he likes to play. He says he’d take me for a ride on his motorbike but it’s seized up. And he talks about seminary as if it’s the greatest invention since face masks for goalies. The gospel, he’s discovered, is important in being a well-rounded young man.
“Seminary has opened a lot of doors for me. There’s so much to know,” says Scott. “My seminary teacher is really good. With him it’s easy to understand the scriptures. The Millennium and the Second Coming are really interesting. Reading the scriptures is like reading a story—not a fairy tale, but about a different time. It could be a perfect movie, if you shorten it up a bit.”
But in trying for balance, Scott has discovered he needs to set priorities. A year or so ago, he was playing several sports, going to school and seminary, taking music lessons, spending time with friends. “I was thinking of quitting hockey,” he says. “I wasn’t happy, and it took up so much of my time. I realized if I wanted to play hockey I had to give up some of the other stuff.” He decided to put aside other sports and his guitar for a while. The NHL, the crowds, the excitement—it’s a hard dream to let die.
But other goals are approaching fast. A mission, marriage, and all the decisions in living the gospel are almost here. Just talking to Scott you get the feeling he’ll make the right choices when he needs to. You hope hockey will help him get where he wants to go, but that it will be a part and not the whole.
The last word on Scott is saved for his coach, Kirby Nishikawa. Something Kirby said at practice—something you may have already guessed about Scott. “He’s an all-around great guy to work with. He has a great work ethic and is a good example to the other players. What he does with his talent is all up to him.”
But before I can start wondering where they will put the statue of “Scott Tollestrup—The Perfect Young Man,” Coach Nishikawa sees our hero goofing off at the other end of the ice and bellows, “Tollestrup! Get over here!”
It’s a command that has echoed through this arena more than once, Scott’s mom admits.
Scott takes his place in goal. In front of him a line of players stands waiting to challenge. By now Scott knows he can’t be perfect or get a handle on everything. But remember, this is one goalie who is getting better all the time.

Photograph by Christina Smith
My friend had depression and anxiety and felt really bad. She would often get excluded from my friend group and sit by herself. I didn’t know whether to go along with what my friends were doing or to be with this friend who wasn’t feeling well and who had sat by herself.
That’s when I decided that I had to sit with her. My other friends were giving me weird looks because they were mad at her, but I went and sat with her, and we cried together as she told me about her problems. After that, she started feeling much better, and I was able to show her both the love that I had for her and the love that God has for her.
Being a disciple of Jesus Christ is about sharing the love that He has for us with others. It’s about love, service, and developing the same qualities that He had when He was here on the earth. That day, when I felt compassion for my classmate, I felt like a true disciple of Jesus Christ.

Ever since Carlos could remember, he had wished that he could fly in an airplane. And ever since he could remember, everyone had laughed that he, a barefoot boy of the Colombian campo (countryside), would even have such a wish.
He knew it was impossible. His family didn’t have money for shoes, let alone airplane rides. But he still liked to dream. And every day he ran home from the little schoolhouse, hurried through his chores, then ran to the sugarcane mill to watch the afternoon plane fly overhead.
Carlos’s brothers always teased him:
“Mira (look)! Carlitos (little Carlos) is flying again.”
“Look at him zoom to the woodpile. Careful you don’t crash, Alitas (Little Wings). Now swoop down to the stream for a pail of water.”
Mother seemed to understand, though. She just smiled at her young son as she shaped the arepas (round white corn cakes) for their supper. “You can go now, Carlitos, as long as you feed the cow and the mule when you get back.” She swung her long black braid over her shoulder and went on shaping the arepas.
Carlos scampered up the hill. The well-worn path felt smooth under his bare feet, and a warm, moist breeze ruffled his hair. Soon he came to the sugarcane mill. During the harvest season he and his brothers and father ground up the cane there to make hard brown sugar cakes called panelas. Now, though, the old round millstones looked lonely nestled among the cane.
Carlos sat down on the hilltop and listened for the sound of the plane. He felt the warmth of the sun on his skin. Looking below him, he saw the rows of sugarcane, the banana plants waving gently beside his little house, the stretch of thick jungle underbrush, and the meandering river far below. I am truly lucky to live in such a beautiful place, he thought. But it would be wonderful to see it from the sky!
Carlos’s teacher, Señor Vargas, had explained that the small airplane came from the seacoast town of Turbo. It delivered mail to the small towns and plantations along the flat, hot coast before flying over the mountains to Medellín. There it refueled, picked up mail, and flew back.
“But, Carlos,” his teacher had tried to point out kindly, “in this village we are all poor, and poor people don’t ride in planes.”
Carlos had nodded solemnly, but he never stopped wishing that he would someday fly in a plane.
Now, as he sat on the hilltop near the mill, he heard the familiar thrumming of the mail plane, and soon it appeared overhead. Sometimes when it flew close enough to the ground, Carlos waved and the pilot waved back.
Suddenly Carlos realized that the familiar sound of the airplane engine had been replaced by a putt-putt-putt sound. Something was wrong! He watched with horror as the plane plummeted toward the ground and disappeared behind the hill.
Carlos scrambled toward the stricken airplane. It was rough going through the cane, but the soles of his feet were as tough as leather. When at last he saw the plane on the ground, one wheel strut was crumpled and the left wing looked like an accordion. He could see the pilot’s helmeted head resting against the side window. Is he alive? Carlos wondered. Carlos was scared and curious and anxious to help, all at the same time.
He called out to the pilot. His voice sounded lonely in the stillness. No answer. The helmet didn’t move. Then he saw that the engine had caught fire!
Carlos sprinted to the airplane, grasped the door handle with both hands, and pulled as hard as he could. Nothing happened.
Glancing at the underside of the plane, Carlos saw that the flames were licking toward the cockpit. Desperate, he pounded on the door. Suddenly the door opened, and the pilot toppled out—right on top of Carlos!
The boy staggered to his feet and tried to drag the man away from the plane. Although he was small, Carlos’s fear gave him enough strength to drag the man some distance from the plane. When the boy stopped at last to catch his breath, the pilot groaned, and Carlos noticed a nasty cut on the man’s head. Also, his leg appeared to be broken. The man opened his eyes just as flames completely engulfed the plane.
“Oh!” they both gasped. Carlos felt sick. The beautiful plane that he loved so much was burning up right in front of him. Tears filled his eyes.
The man gripped Carlos’s hand. “Don’t cry, boy. You saved my life!”
But Carlos saw that tears were streaming down the pilot’s face too. They hugged each other and tried to smile to cheer each other up. Soon Carlos was scrambling down the mountain again to bring help to his new friend, José.
Carlos’s father brought a neighbor who had had some medical training to set José’s broken leg and bandage his head. Since their valley could only be reached by horseback, José could not leave until his leg was healed.
Carlos was a hero! No one remembered that they had teased him about always running up to the mill to see the airplane. “How lucky that Carlos was in the cane field!” they said, and “How good that Carlos loves airplanes.”
Carlos just smiled.
José shook his head. “It was God’s will, Carlos. He knew I would need you to be there. You were there, and you saved my life. When I get better, I am going to take you for an airplane ride, if your father says it’s all right.”
Carlos couldn’t believe his ears! He turned to his father, who smiled and said, “OK, Alitas.”
Some weeks later José and Carlos set off for MedellÍn. And the next day Carlos was in the cockpit of a small mail plane, flying over his beautiful valley!
As José dipped the airplane’s wings, Carlos’s family and friends and Señor Vargas were all waving from the hilltop. And as Carlos waved, he was sure he was the happiest boy in the world.

Many years ago when I was practicing law, I organized a company for one of the new car dealers in my area. I served as his legal counsel and a corporate officer for many years; then one of my sons took over my responsibilities as legal counsel. Later we were both at the dealer’s place of business. I noticed the rows of beautiful, shiny, gleaming, expensive new cars. Out of concern I mentioned to the proprietor that if he didn’t get the cars sold, financing charges would be exorbitant and eat up the profits. My son said, “Dad, don’t look at it that way. Look at all the profit the cars will bring.”

While I think he was more accurate than I, it suddenly came to my mind that my son had never been through a depression. We looked at the rows of cars through different eyes because I am a child of the Great Depression. I cannot forget what a merciless taskmaster debt is.

While working on my Personal Progress, I came across a goal that required me to read the Book of Mormon (Virtue value project) and invited me to pray afterward to know if it’s true.
Over several months I read the Book of Mormon. When I finished, I eagerly went to my room, kneeled at my bed, and asked God to let me know if it’s true.
Nothing happened.
I rephrased the question several times and still felt nothing.
The next Sunday during fast and testimony meeting, a sister told a story about when she’d followed Moroni’s invitation to pray to know if the Book of Mormon is true. She didn’t receive an answer, so she prayed again and again. As the days passed, she worried about whether the Church was really true. Finally, she felt the Spirit speak to her mind: “You already know it is true.”
As I listened, I realized that God was answering my prayer through this woman’s testimony.
I learned that day that He does care. I have a testimony now that God answers our prayers, if we pray sincerely, because He answered mine.

When I was about 10, I made my first attempt to read the Book of Mormon. The first part was easy-flowing New Testament language. Then I came to the writings of the Old Testament prophet Isaiah. I could not understand them; I found them difficult to read. I laid the book aside.
I made other attempts to read the Book of Mormon. I did not read it all until I was on a troop ship with other bomber crew members, headed for the war in the Pacific. I determined that I would read the Book of Mormon and find out for myself whether it is true or not. Carefully I read and reread the book. I tested the promise that it contained. That was a life-changing event. After that, I never set the book aside.

Let me share with you two stories that illustrate how decisions concerning money can affect us not only in this life, but also in the life to come. Several years ago, I was serving as the Young Men's president in my home ward in Idaho Falls. I worked with several brethren in those years as priest quorum advisors, and one particularly memorable brother appeared to be incredibly wealthy. He and his family lived a very extravagant lifestyle, but sadly, it eventually became known that his wealth was gained dishonestly. He subsequently lost his family, his membership in the Church, and his freedom--being sentenced to serve many years in federal prison. His decisions about money have placed his eternal happiness in grave peril.