Gospel Story Finder

The tune begins as gently as a whisper, a melody that fills your soul as quickly as it fills your ears. It becomes even more memorable when the choir begins singing:
If I were there to see this man arrive, this man, a carpenter called Jesus,
When I would see thousands flock to Him, would I not follow them and hear Him?
When I would see Him, with one glance would I know Him instantly?
Would I know that He is the Christ?
Look at the choir, and you can see that all the members are singing from their hearts. Look at the accompanists carefully constructing each chord and the sound technicians balancing the entire performance into well-blended harmony. Look and see the young adults of the Pretoria South Africa Stake, themselves a blend of backgrounds and experiences, joining their voices together in praise of the Lord Jesus Christ.
And at the center of it all is a 20-year-old conductor who penned every word, composed every note, coordinated each rehearsal and performance, and created what ended up as a Christmas present for his friends, for Church members, for the community, and even for his Savior and his Father in Heaven.
Michael McLeod, who will soon be serving a full-time mission, didn’t expect his celebration to grow into such an event—performances at four chapels, each one filled to capacity with hundreds of thrilled audience members. He was simply responding to an assignment given to the young single adults (YSA) of his stake to prepare a cantata, a program of music and words to help people worship the Savior. In fact, the program was originally scheduled for June or July 2009 but after several delays was moved to December.
“When the stake YSA representatives told me what they’d been asked to do, I instantly said, ‘Why don’t we use original music instead of borrowing other people’s music?’” Michael remembers. The YSA representatives agreed. And they also knew just the right person to put it all together—Michael McLeod.
Michael is a University of Pretoria student, majoring in English and mathematics education. “What I really want to be is a teacher,” he says. But Michael has always been interested in music. In fact, he studied it seriously until he was 17.
“Music became my hobby,” he explains, “and I still love it. I love the way music is able to touch people’s hearts. I love to conduct and to feel the energy that comes from a choir, especially when it’s a gospel song. I love to watch the congregation as the music draws them in and to feel the Spirit as they feel the Spirit. I think I’ll be involved with music my whole life because it means so much to me.”
But most of all Michael loves to share his testimony of the Savior, and doing that with music at Christmastime became a perfect opportunity. “The whole point was to share our testimonies of the Savior through the music and the words of the cantata,” he says. “We wanted powerful music and at the same time to have powerful testimonies, so we used the testimonies from the scriptures of people who knew the Savior: Mary, Joseph, Anna, Simeon, Peter, James, John the Beloved, Mary Magdalene, and those Christ healed and taught. We tried to convey what they knew, and it’s powerful. We also used the Savior’s own testimony. It came together wonderfully.”

The light shining in your faces comes from the Lord. This same light led the way for 15-year-old Mary Elizabeth Rollins and her 13-year-old sister, Caroline, on a dark day in Independence, Missouri.
It was 1833, and an angry mob roared through the streets of Independence, wreaking havoc. In their path was the home of Brother William W. Phelps, where the printing press was kept. He had been printing revelations received by the Prophet Joseph Smith. The mob demolished the printing press and threw the wreckage into the street. However, they stacked up the printed pages in the yard so they could burn them later.
Mary Elizabeth and Caroline had been hiding by the fence, frightened spectators to all this destruction. Even though Mary Elizabeth was terrified, her eye was fixed on those precious pages. She and her sister ran out from their hiding place, gathered up the scriptures, and bolted. Some members of the mob saw them and ordered them to stop. But the brave girls ran into a large cornfield, where they dropped breathlessly to the ground. They carefully laid the pages of revelations between the tall rows of corn and then covered the pages by lying on them. The mobsters looked and looked for the girls, coming quite close at times, but never did find them. Eventually they gave up their search.
I believe the light of the Lord directed Mary Elizabeth and Caroline as to what to do and where to go for safety. That light shines for you, and it will guide you as it did the Rollins girls. It will keep you safe even when danger lurks.

The answer to this question from the Roy Utah Central Stake young women is a resounding, “Yes!” With a goal to collect 1,000 pairs of new or gently used shoes from the members of their stake, the young women organized a shoe drive. On the day of the drive, the young women collected, cleaned, polished, tied together, sorted, and boxed up 1,223 pairs of shoes. The week following the activity, shoes continued to trickle in. When the shoes were finally dropped off at the Church’s Humanitarian Center, there were nearly 1,500 pairs of shoes ranging from baby shoes to hiking boots to sneakers.
One person who donated shoes left a note for the young women that read, “Thanks for doing this. It is a super neat thing for you to do. You will bless many lives.”

Sharla’s journal is full of the things that many 17-year-old girls would write about. Things like her thoughts about her first date: I’m so happy and excited. It was a blast! We went to a movie first and then a church dance after. Or how much fun she had at youth conference:
We did a service scavenger hunt for youth conference. It seemed like every person wanted their yard weeded! Still, it was fun. Later we had a testimony meeting. I never got up to bear mine. I was too afraid I’d start to cry and not be able to finish. But I listened to my friends’ testimonies, and it made me feel privileged to know them. This was truly a youth conference to remember.

Claire and Sandra Hoey of Craigavon are members of the Portadown Ward. They talk about the walls that missionaries helped tumble for their family.
“The missionaries had been coming to our parents for a long time,” Sandra says. “But I never paid any attention. Then one night I was upstairs and I started listening. I got more interested in what they were saying. I decided it was time to see what it was all about.”
The discussions became more and more serious. The parents were baptized. An older brother was baptized. Then Sandra, then Claire.
After the baptisms, a friend “noticed that since I’ve joined the Church I’ve been happier,” Claire says. “She wanted to find out what it was that was making me happy.” Now the friend is taking the discussions in the Hoeys’ home. “I can remember asking the same questions, praying to resolve the same doubts,” Claire says. “It helps when I can tell her I’ve been through the same thing, and gained my own testimony.”

Age 17. From Saskatchewan, Canada. Loves singing, taekwondo, boxing, and playing the ukulele, guitar, and piano.
My mom has been taking my siblings and me to sing and dance at senior homes since I was six years old. It’s kind of our way to share the gospel. Recently we sang “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” and a lady in the back started crying. That’s one of my favorite songs to sing.
Another time, I got a feeling that we should sing “You Are My Sunshine.” We sang it, and the entire crowd started singing with us. A few of them cried. It was kind of a life-changing experience for me. I was so glad I listened to the prompting to sing that song.
Besides singing at senior homes, I have also done some service projects in my town, such as taking food to the homeless. I also volunteer for two organizations as a mentor for kids who want to plan their own service projects.
I think overall I’ve learned that a lot of people in the world are struggling. We don’t always see that, but simple acts of service, like singing a few songs or doing a few dances, can make people smile.
I think we should all be involved in service—in our community or even our own families. Service brings happiness to the people you’re helping and to you. When you serve others, you’re serving God and you’re helping His children, who He loves very much. (See Mosiah 2:17.)
“Service brings happiness to the people you’re helping and to you.”

We are surrounded by many who have taught us by example the principles of faith, obedience, and sacrifice. In the Lectures on Faith we are taught, “The faith necessary unto the enjoyment of life and salvation never could be obtained without the sacrifice of all earthly things.”12

My grandfather J. Leo Seely received a mission call in 1914 to serve the Lord in Ireland. He left his wife and little children for two years. The depth of his sacrifice has become clear to us as we have read their letters. Upon his return he grabbed my grandmother in an embrace, and his little daughter Ina, who hadn’t seen her father for years, raced out to chastise this unfamiliar man, shouting, “You naughty man, leave my mother alone!”

Because of the power of this man’s example and that of my noble grandmother, my father served a mission, and then over fifty of his grandchildren and now his great-grandchildren have gone forth to serve the Lord in missions that cover the world. Great-Great-Grandfather Bramall crossed the plains seven times and served five missions to England. And Great-Grandmother Sumsion began a great tradition of sister missionary service followed by her daughter, her granddaughters, and now her great-granddaughters. As we watch our children—and as you watch your friends and families—open mission calls, we see the image of God in a person who is willing to follow in the footsteps of the Savior to sacrifice for the salvation of His children. They have the faith and the courage to go wherever the Lord calls them.

I will begin with Ruth May Fox, who was a Young Women general president many years ago. She served in that calling until she was 84 years old. Sister Fox was born in England, and when she was 13, she walked almost every step to the Salt Lake Valley with a group of pioneers. Her mother died when she was a baby, so she spent the first dozen years of her life living with a number of different families. She must have been a difficult child to manage, because her grandmother called her a “bad maid” and refused to take care of her.
Eventually, Ruth married and had 12 children. She shared her firm testimony with her children and taught gospel lessons while she worked beside them, but she admitted that her older children sometimes received harsh discipline because she had a quick temper and she did not always “count [to] ten” when she was provoked. She worked hard to master this weakness and came to be known for her kind heart and service to others.
Sister Fox lived to be 104 years old. In her long life she experienced great joys and difficult trials, and she taught that “life brings some hard lessons. The sturdiest plants are not grown under glass, and strength of character is not derived from the avoidance of problems.”
Last year I climbed Independence Rock in Wyoming to find where Sister Fox had carved her name at age 13 when she was on her journey to the Salt Lake Valley. The weather from the last 140 years has almost erased it, but I was able to just make out “Ruth May 1867.” I wanted to know more about this great leader and disciple of Jesus Christ who worked all her life to improve herself and whose motto was “the Kingdom of God or nothing”!

I always thought that big brothers were supposed to know more than their little sisters. Whenever my sister, Cami, who’s only seven, wanted to know something, she came to me. Why, I taught her almost everything she knows! I showed her how to tie her shoes, how to ride her bike, how to swing a bat and throw a football, how to make a good hook shot, and how to climb the oak tree without falling out.
But there’s one thing that I didn’t teach Cami. I didn’t teach her about apples and things. I learned that from her.
I had always liked Brother Simmons’s apples. He’s our neighbor, and he has a fruit orchard behind our yard. He grows the biggest, best apples in the whole world. It doesn’t matter if they are green, just turning pink, or a deep-shining red—no one grows apples that taste as good as Brother Simmons’s.
All through the spring and summer I peeked through the knotholes in his high board fence to see how the apples were coming along. After the fluffy pink blossoms had fallen, I began to notice tiny green knobs scattered among the leaves. Soon the little knobs became hard green apples that seemed to grow bigger and bigger right while I watched them through the knotholes.
By the time August came, I was so hungry for apples that I could hardly stand it. Brother Simmons’s were bigger than my fist and blushing pink in spots, and I knew that I couldn’t peek through the knotholes with my mouth watering much longer.
I thought about climbing the fence, but I was afraid that Mom or Brother Simmons would see me. Then one afternoon I was exploring and found a loose board. I pushed on it and twisted until I could squeeze through the fence. Before I knew it, I was standing under one of Brother Simmons’s apple trees and looking into the branches at those crunchy, juicy apples.
Before I thought much about what I was doing, I began picking apples and stuffing them inside my shirt. After I had picked seven of the biggest apples I could find, I sneaked back to the loose board and squeezed through the fence. I had just bitten into an apple, when I heard a voice call, “Hey, Joe, where’d you get the apple?”
I was so startled that I jumped back and crashed into the fence, and all the apples dribbled out of my shirt onto the ground by my feet. I stood there with my heart drumming in my throat, my eyes wide, and my mouth open.
“I didn’t mean to scare you, Joe,” Cami whispered, pushing out of a little hideout that she had in the bushes.
I glared at her, looked around to see if we were alone, then growled, “You didn’t scare me.” I bent over and started snatching up the fallen apples.
“Where’d you get the apples, Joe?” Cami asked again, making it plural this time. “Can I have one?”
I eyed Cami carefully and said, “Well, maybe one.” I held the biggest one out to her.
She grabbed it and took a huge bite, closed her eyes ecstatically, and smiled while the apple juice dribbled out the corners of her mouth and trickled down her chin. “Did Brother Simmons give them to you?” she asked, taking another bite.
I glanced over my shoulder toward the house to see if Mom was watching. “Promise not to tell?” I asked.
“Promise not to tell what?” she asked.
“Promise not to tell a secret about the apples? If you promise not to tell, I’ll give you as many apples as you want.”
Cami nodded. “I promise.”
I licked my lips, knowing that I was tricking Cami. “I picked them from Brother Simmons’s tree,” I admitted, sitting down and biting into the apple I had already started eating. I tried not to look over at her.
“Did he just give them to you?” she asked, crunching into her apple again.
I shook my head and concentrated on my own apple.
Cami stopped chewing, swallowed, and stared at me. “Well, how’d you get them, Joe?”
“There’s a loose board in the fence. I just squeezed through and got some.”
Cami was quiet for a long time. “Isn’t that stealing?” she whispered after a while.
I finished eating the last few bites around the core and threw it into the bushes where no one would find it. “Oh, Brother Simmons has lots of apples. He won’t miss these. I only took seven. He has thousands.”
“But, Joe, those thousands of apples are all his.”
“They probably would have just fallen on the ground and rotted.”
“But they were still his,” she insisted, “good or rotten.”
“Oh, he won’t care,” I argued. “He’ll probably give us some pretty soon like he always does. We just won’t take as many then, and that will make up for taking some now.”
When Cami didn’t argue, I began polishing another apple on my pants. Finally, I looked over at her. She was just holding her half-eaten apple in her lap and staring at it as it began to turn brown.
“Isn’t it any good?” I asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. “It was,” she mumbled, “until I found out how you got it. Then it kind of went sour.”
“Well, you can’t waste it,” I told her. But I knew how she felt, because my apple had been pretty sour too. It was the first apple that I’d eaten from Brother Simmons’s orchard that hadn’t been the best in the whole world.
Cami looked over at me. “Are you going to eat all of them?” she asked, pointing at the other five apples.
I gulped. “Well, I’m not very hungry now,” I mumbled.
“Then what do we do? If we don’t eat them, they’ll just turn rotten.”
I chewed on my tongue for a while, waiting for an idea. “I know,” I finally said. “We’ll throw them back over the fence. Brother Simmons will never know. He’ll just think that they fell off his tree.”
I tossed the apples over the fence and said, “Let’s go ride our bikes, Cami. I’ll take you down to the park and push you in the swing.”
She shook her head. “I don’t feel like riding bikes or swinging. I feel a little sick.”
“It’s probably the green apple,” I explained, picking it up from her lap and tossing it into the bushes with my apple core. “Green apples can do that to you.”
Cami nodded her head but didn’t say anything.
That night as I went to turn the light off and climb into bed, my bedroom door opened, and Cami tiptoed in. I could tell that she had been crying a little.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I want to say my prayers,” she mumbled. “I keep thinking about the apples, and I can’t pray.”
For a long time I just sat on my bed, staring at Cami. “Are you going to tell on me?” I finally asked.
“I promised,” she cried. “But we did wrong, Joe, and I don’t think I can pray again until we do the right thing.”
“Well,” I growled, “you don’t have anything to worry about. I’m the one who stole the apples.”
“But I ate one. How can I ask Heavenly Father to help me do the right thing when I’ve already done the wrong thing without fixing things up?”
Well, that was about the hardest question that anybody had ever asked me. Being the big brother and all, I knew the answers to a lot of questions, but I sure didn’t have a good answer for Cami that night.
“I’ll think of something,” I said.
“We have to tell Brother Simmons what we did,” Cami declared, “and pay him back from our allowances.”
I could give up some of my allowance, but I just couldn’t tell Brother Simmons that I’d stolen his apples. I would do anything but that. I pointed a finger at Cami and warned, “Cami, you promised not to tell. You promised!”
Cami just stood there. Then two big tears sprouted in the corners of her eyes. She blinked, and they tumbled down her cheeks onto her nightgown. “I promised that I wouldn’t tell, Joe, but you have to help me.”
I bit down on my lip and clenched my fists. “I know,” I said finally. “Tomorrow I’ll go offer to pull all the weeds along Brother Simmons’s ditch bank. That will more than pay for those apples.”
Cami grinned. “That’s a good idea, Joe, and I can help too. We’ll tell Brother Simmons that we’re working to pay for the apples we stole.”
“Cami,” I said sternly, “we don’t have to tell him anything. We’ll just work for him. That will pay for everything. He doesn’t have to know that we stole the apples and that we’re working to pay for them.”
The grin on Cami’s face melted into a sad frown. “But I don’t think that’s honest, at least not all-the-way honest. My Primary teacher told us that if we’re going to be honest, we have to be honest all the way.”
I knew that Cami was right, but I was afraid to tell Brother Simmons what I’d done. “I’ll figure something out,” I mumbled. “You go back to bed. We can’t do anything tonight, but I’ll work something out.” I licked my lips. “I promise.”
Cami nodded her head and asked if she could say her prayers by my bed that night. When I said that she could, she dropped to her knees and prayed that she was sorry for stealing but that she’d fix everything up the next day, because her big brother had promised to help her, and he knew everything.
Well, I didn’t get much sleep that night. I kept tossing and turning and kicking my covers off and punching my pillow and thinking of green apples, Brother Simmons, and Cami.
After breakfast the next morning I took a deep breath and told Cami, “I’m going over to Brother Simmons’s. I’m going to tell him what I did, and I’m going to work for him to pay for the apples.”
“I’ll come with you.”
I shook my head. “I stole the apples, so I’m the one who has to pay for them.”
I started around the block to Brother Simmons’s place. My mouth was dry, my heart was thumping in my chest, my hands were sticky with sweat, and my breath came in short, fast bursts. The closer I got to Brother Simmons’s place, the heavier my feet became.
Just as I was about to stop, turn around, and forget the whole thing, Cami slipped her hand into mine and squeezed. “I’m coming with you, Joe,” she insisted. “I helped eat the apples, so I have to work for Brother Simmons too.”
I never knew that a little sister could give a big brother so much courage, but with Cami marching bravely beside me, I knew that I could do about anything.
I don’t even remember talking much to Brother Simmons. He was out trimming his hedge, and we just went up to him, told him what we had done, and promised to pull the weeds along the ditch bank to pay for the stolen apples. He said that we didn’t have to and that he was proud of us for being honest. But Cami said that the only way she could feel good enough to say her prayers that night was to pull the weeds and pay for the apples.
Cami and I pulled weeds all morning. It was hard work. Flies buzzed around our heads, the hot sun made the sweat drip off our noses, and by the time we were finished, we had dirt in our shoes, stickers in our socks, burrs in our jeans, and little blisters on our hands. But we sure felt good inside!
As I walked home holding Cami’s hand, I thought about Brother Simmons’s apples. I used to think that they were the best-tasting things in the whole world. But they didn’t taste nearly as good as I felt that day, knowing that I had been all-the-way honest. I smiled and squeezed Cami’s hand because that was the best lesson that I had ever learned. And I’d learned it from my little sister!

At first, the LDS Hour seemed to be a service just for Church members. But Brother Noble and the boys found out that the show was being watched by an audience they hadn’t quite expected. They found that members who have not been attending church for years are tuning in.
“They don’t want to commit themselves to attend church meetings, but they want some connection. One lady who watches our show was baptized 33 years ago,” said Brother Noble. “Her home teachers and visiting teachers have never been successful in encouraging her to attend the ward. But she watches the program and calls her friends to watch it.”

Anne had lived in Japan only about a year. Today she was excited about going to her first Tanabata (Star Festival) party at the home of Masanari.
It was a rainy afternoon and Anne held up her umbrella as she splashed along through the puddles on the narrow lane.
The tiny trinket shop was selling gilt paper comets and streamers for Tanabata. Down the passageways between houses were trailing bamboo branches decorated for the Star Festival.
Masanari’s mother slid open the door of their house when Anne arrived.
“Irasshaimase, Anne-chan (Welcome, little Anne),” she said.
Anne sat down on a stone step in the entryway and tugged off her boots and shoes before entering the house.
Then she put on some tiny, pink slippers and flip-flopped down the hall. Her friends from school were all there. Keiko, Jiro, and Masanari sat on the woven tatami (straw) mat floor in the middle of a rainbow of colored papers making origami (paper folding) decorations for Tanabata. Some of the other mothers who had been invited, were busy making decorations too.
“Come, we’ll show you how, Anne-chan,” said Jiro’s mother as she finished folding a tiny red crab. First, she showed them how to make two familiar animals. (See page 31.)
1. Take a square of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold one corner down.
3. Fold the other corner down.
4. Fold the bottom and the top back.
5. Draw a few pencil lines for the face.
1. Take a square piece of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold tips down.
3. Fold one corner up.
4. Fold the other corner up.
5. Turn the paper over and draw a face.
The children folded red dogs and purple cats and blue dogs and orange cats. They drew happy faces on some and fierce faces on others.
“Have you sometimes heard insects screeching in the trees?” asked Jiro’s mother. “Those are cicadas. We can make origami cicadas too.”
1. Take a square piece of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold up the top flap first.
3. Then fold up the bottom flap.
4. Now it looks like this.
5. Turn it over and fold back the two sides.
6. Your completed cicada should look like this.
“Watch me fold an elephant,” said Jiro.
1. Fold two corners of a square of paper so that they meet in the center to form a kite shape.
2. Fold the kite shape in half down the center.
3. Fold the longest tip forward.
4. Then fold it back to the left.
5. Open out the inside corner of the top flap and spread it back.
6. Fold the top half down behind the figure.
7. Open out the tip of the elephant’s trunk and tuck it down inside itself.
8. Cut out the legs and tail and draw on tusks and eyes.
“Look at my lantern,” said Keiko.
1. Fold two sides of an oblong piece of paper in until they meet at the center.
2. Fold each corner forward to the center.
3. Fold the tips back.
4. Fold each corner forward again and then turn the paper over.
5. Gently push the top tip up and the bottom tip down and open them out.
6. This is what the lantern should look like.
“The most famous of all is the sacred crane,” said Jiro’s mother as she took a square of metallic gold paper. “The crane is a beautiful white bird with red-tipped head and black-edged wings. It comes every summer to our islands. To the Japanese it means long life and happiness.”
Her deft fingers worked faster than Anne could follow, making tiny, complicated folds. A delicate creature with graceful spreading wings was soon completed.
She set the lovely bird on the palm of her hand and held it out to Anne. “This is the orizuru or folded crane,” she said.
Keiko, too, worked very fast and knew many folds. Soon she had a great pile of origami figures spilling over her lap.
“Here, Anne-chan, take some of mine,” she said.
Origami cranes and turtles and canoes and frogs and lanterns covered the floor. Masanari’s mother entered with bamboo branches and helped the children tie their bright origami creations to the boughs.
“They are truly beautiful!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t it fun to have Tanabata to celebrate every year?” Then, Masanari’s mother told them a legend of the stars.
“Up in the sky there are two sad stars who love each other very much, but they are separated by the heavenly river, the Milky Way. Only on this one night of all the year can they cross the Milky Way and meet.
“However, if it rains, then the Milky Way will be flooded, and the poor, lonely stars will not be able to meet after all,” she said as she cocked her head sadly.
Anne listened quietly to the story. She remembered the puddles in the lane and her wet umbrella drying in the entryway.
“I think it’s raining, Tanakasan, “she said somberly.
“But we can hope it will stop, can’t we?” said Jiro’s mother as she ushered everyone in to dinner.
They sat on cushions on the tatami-covered floor around a low-legged lacquer table. For the mothers there were hashi (chopsticks) to eat with. For the children there were hashi and big tablespoons.
They were served bowls filled with haddock and rice, fish soup, tofu (soy bean curd), sashimi (raw tuna), and little pickled salads. Gelatin from the sea and crushed pineapple and handsful of rice candy were served for dessert.
It was dark now, and as the children poured out of the house, Masanari shouted, “It’s stopped raining! It’s stopped raining!”
“Now the stars can meet after all!” cried Keiko.
There were green and blue and white sparklers for everyone. With the mothers’ help, the children lit the sparklers and swung them in the darkness, making circles, figure eights, spirals, and zigzags while they laughed and chattered.
When the sparklers were gone they took up their Tanabata branches. Holding them aloft, they waved them slowly against the night sky as they sang a farewell song.
“The party is over. Our Star Festival is ended,” said Tanakasan.
Masanari could not let the evening end just yet. “Let’s walk everyone home, Mama-san,” he begged.
When they reached Anne’s apartment, everyone bowed and said, “O yasumi nasai (Good night. Please rest).”

Let me share with you the experience of Barry Bonnell and Dale Murphy, well-known professional baseball players formerly with the Atlanta Braves baseball club. Each is a convert to the Church, Dale Murphy having been baptized by Barry Bonnell.
“An experience occurred during the 1978 season that Barry described as ‘life-changing.’ He was struggling terribly, batting about .200. Because of his poor performance, he was down on himself and felt miserable. He really didn’t want to go when Dale Murphy asked him to come along to the hospital, but he went anyway. There he met Ricky Little, a stalwart [Atlanta] Braves’ supporter, but a youngster afflicted with leukemia. It was readily apparent that Ricky was near death. Barry felt a deep desire to think of something comforting to say but nothing seemed adequate. Finally, he asked if there was anything they could do. The youngster hesitated, and then asked if they would each hit a home run for him during the next game. Barry said [later], ‘That request wasn’t such a hard thing for Dale, who in fact hit two homers that night, but I was struggling at the plate and hadn’t hit a homer all year. Then I felt a warm feeling come over me and I told Ricky to count on it.’” That night, Barry hit his only home run of the season.10 A child’s prayer had been answered, a child’s wish had been fulfilled.

“When I was only 15 years old,” said Colleen Webb Asay, “I committed myself to living the gospel.”
At the time, having proven herself capable and dependable, she was called to serve as the stake organist. In those days stake officers were set apart by visiting General Authorities. Elder John A. Widtsoe, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, laid his hands on this young girl’s head and, with the authority that he held, pronounced a blessing.
“I’ll never forget that,” she said. “It’s hard to explain it, but it was like an electrical feeling that went clear through me, and after it was over, I didn’t want anyone to talk to me or shatter that feeling. I remember thinking how great the gospel is. I guess the Holy Ghost witnessed to me that day how important it is. I remember the feeling I had. I wanted to serve the Lord however or whenever I could. That was a great day. I made a commitment.” And that early commitment has made a difference in all the rest of her life.

SUSAN: I had friends whose parents drank. I was 12 years old. I didn’t really want to get into it. I was just curious. We’d go downstairs to their bar and we’d smell the different kinds of liquor, and we’d do a little bit of tasting.

SUSAN: After that I started drinking occasionally. I didn’t feel guilty. (Actually, I did deep down, but I blocked it out.) I don’t ever remember right after doing it saying, Oh no, what did I do? I was surrounded by friends and was not thinking about religion right then. I felt some guilt when I was sitting in church the next Sunday, but Sunday only came once a week. Sunday was for religion, and the rest of the week was for “real” life.

SUSAN: Sometime after ninth grade I started smoking marijuana, just every now and then, and into my sophomore year it was the same. This summer there were more parties, so I was doing it a lot more often, and drinking the whole time too. You get to the point where your values are totally shot. You’ll lie to anybody; you’ll say anything. I would get into arguments with my family and just pack up and move out. My grades started to go down, and I would sluff a lot.

SUSAN: I would say to myself, “I’ll just party through high school because it’s the thing to do, but when I get into college I’ll straighten up. I’m going to start working, I’ll get back into the Church and be married in the temple, and everything’s going to be hunky dory. But that simply does not happen when you’re an addict. You don’t understand that you need help and that it’s going to be a problem for the rest of your life.

SUSAN: Even when I was using, I always believed there was a god, but I’d try to push the thought out of my mind. When I wanted to pray and ask for something I’d think, I can’t ask. I don’t deserve any help.

Now I talk to God all the time. I know that he is my friend. I don’t even open it up with “Our dear Heavenly Father.” I just talk as if I were talking to someone in the room. And I get answers. Some times they come through somebody else, and sometimes they just come into my own mind. It’s I because I’m being open to it. I’m listening.

When I was young, my friends and I often played ball in an alley behind our home. A woman named Mrs. Shinas rented a tiny house nearby, and she used to watch us play from her window. She rarely came out of her house, and when she did, she never smiled. We all thought that she was mean. She had a big dog, an English setter, and whenever one of our baseballs rolled in its direction—which happened often—Mrs. Shinas would send the dog to fetch it. We wouldn’t see the ball again. Soon we ran out of baseballs.

In those days, we didn’t have lawn sprinklers, and so each day I watered our lawn by hand with a hose. One day as I stood watering our little stretch of grass, I noticed that Mrs. Shinas’s lawn looked a little shabby. It took only a few more minutes to water it, too, and soon I was watering her lawn each day.

When autumn came that year, one of my tasks was to clear our yard of leaves. I sprayed the ground with a hose, pushing the leaves into a pile with the force of the water. I decided to gather up the leaves on Mrs. Shinas’s yard as well, and as I was doing this one day, she came to her door and beckoned for me to come inside. I turned off the hose and went into her house.

She invited me to sit in her living room, and she gave me a cookie and a glass of milk. As I sat there eating my cookie, she showed me her collection of little china dogs. I could tell that they were her most prized possession. Then she thanked me for taking care of her lawn. It was the first conversation I had ever had with her.

Mrs. Shinas then went into her kitchen and returned with a box. In it were all the baseballs that her dog had taken. She handed me the box, said thank you—and smiled! It was the first time I’d ever seen her smile.

When President Washington arrived at Gilbert’s home studio, the six-foot-two Washington set his face in the stony, lifeless expression typically seen in portraits of that period. Stuart wondered how he could get Washington to appear more natural. The artist usually got his subjects to pose with lively expressions on their faces by talking to them about their interests. Stuart tried to talk to the president about the American Revolution. When Washington didn’t respond, Stuart tried discussing great political figures of ancient Rome. Washington seemed bored, so Stuart had to do his best without the president’s help. The same was true when he painted a second portrait of Washington, this time a full-length picture.

When Washington sat for his third portrait—the last one by Stuart—the artist was still puzzling over how to capture a more lively expression of Washington. Finally Stuart gripped his paintbrush and began to sketch the outline of the president’s head. When Stuart happened to glance up from his canvas, he saw a sudden, bright expression cross Washington’s face. The president had just seen a beautiful horse gallop by the window. Stuart searched his brain for all that he knew about horses and started talking, and Washington’s face soon glowed with interest in their conversation.

From horses, the conversation turned to farming. George Washington had been a planter in Virginia before he became president of the United States. Unfortunately, before the sitting that day was finished, the president’s face had assumed its stiff expression again.

In subsequent sittings, some of Washington’s friends came with him, and their conversation helped keep the president’s face more animated. However, now Stuart wanted Washington’s expression to better show his powerful leadership qualities. By making the president wait when he arrived for the sitting, Stuart irritated Washington just enough so that his face reflected the expression he wore when he was a general commanding his troops.

In our infantry battalion of some 500 men, there were three of us who were Latter-day Saints. Sundays in Vietnam usually found us somewhere in the jungle. But we would find a few moments to get together. We would take some canned bread from our C-rations and a cup of warm water from a canteen, one of us would bless these humble emblems and pass them to the rest of us. We would share our testimonies and have a prayer. Then, we would pick up our rifles and return to our duties. My dear brothers and sisters, I testify to you that never in any of our beautiful chapels have I felt the Spirit of the Lord more profoundly than I did in those simple jungle sacrament services. Those words: “that they may always have his Spirit to be with them” took on a literal meaning that they have never lost.

Perhaps the most cherished Christmas of my youth was the year our family joined with aunts, uncles, and cousins to donate clothing, food, toys, eyeglasses, and appliances to a local family in need. I’ll never forget being part of the large caravan that brought Christmas to their home. That feeling continued long after Christmas passed and the grateful expressions of the mother and her four children remain in my memory. Serving that family allowed God’s love to “[shed] itself abroad” (1 Nephi 11:22) in my heart.

“I was telling a friend of mine that I come from a big family,” Cay said. “I told her about standing in line at the airport when my dad came back from a business trip, how people’s chins dropped when they saw five kids waiting for the same dad. My friend laughed and said, ‘They must have thought y’all were Mormons.’
“I turned to my other friend and said, ‘Should I tell her? Should I tell her?’
“And the first friend said, ‘Tell me what?’
“Then I said, ‘I am Mormon.’ I think she was bright red with embarrassment for the rest of the day.”

—Abe was born in St. Louis, Missouri. His parents joined the Church when he was eight. “When I was 15, my dad got transferred to Massachusetts. I went from a seminary class of 18 and a lot of Mormons in my high school to a town where the only Mormons in our high school were me and my brother. In seminary there were only four people.”
Abe came to BYU as a walk-on football player, then went on a mission to Houston, Texas. He returned to play defensive back for a couple more years, but eventually gave it up to pursue an acting career.
—Ivey was born in Nashville, Tennessee. Her family moved back to Salt Lake City, Utah, when she was eight, to be near her grandparents. A student at East High School, she is the youngest of six children.
“My main talents are actually dance and violin,” Ivey explains. “Those are the things I’ve studied all my life.” But through hours and hours of lessons and rehearsing, Ivey has learned to sing and act.
All that variety comes into play each week as the four hosts present different segments of the show.
“We ad-lib (speak without a script) a lot, and we have to draw from our own experiences. That’s why it helps to have different viewpoints,” Tracey says. “We introduce a certain story or come back after we have watched it and talk about it. We just did a piece on a girl moving from Utah to South Carolina and the struggles that leaving a comfortable home and family can cause. We talked about, ‘Have you ever moved?’ and we shared experiences. It would be really fake if we didn’t share how we feel.”
“Just one experience can be enough for an idea to come to life. But when you have three other people who all have different experiences, it’s a lot easier to look at things in new ways,” Mike explains.
“You just know when something kind of clicks,” Tracey says. “You know when there is inspiration, when you have been blessed with more gifts and power than you would usually have on your own.”
The Center Street hosts offer these tips about finding your talents:
“My parents gave me this attitude to try everything,” Abe explains. “I tried out for basketball and didn’t make it. So I said, okay, I’ll wrestle. It was an attitude; if you can’t do this, go for this. There’s something you’re good at; you just have to find it.”
“A lot of times you don’t want to try something because you’re not very good,” Tracey says. “I was the last person picked on my eighth grade basketball team. But eventually I got the ‘most improved’ award. I learned that the most important competition is with yourself.”
One of the things Center Street does well is to show young people improving themselves and the world by doing good things.
“When you see somebody that’s 15 or 16 who is just like you, and they’re helping people in a community center, you see that you can do that too,” Abe says.
“We have a responsibility to share the gospel that Jesus Christ taught to the world,” Tracey explains. “One way we can do that is by allowing individuals to let their light shine. There are incredible people in the Church and in the world who are great examples of living what the Savior taught. We want people to have inspiring examples to lift their spirits.”
“God gave us all talents,” Mike says. “On Center Street, we show people that they can do good things with their talents instead of wasting them. We can help them make a choice for good, because they’ve seen other people who are doing good.”
“The first time we were in a shoot,” Abe says, “it was like, ‘You guys ready to start? Okay, let’s pray. All the cameramen, the sound guys, us, the directors, and the producers all came in and we prayed. We know what we’re there for, and we ask the Lord to help us.”
Ivey tells about going to St. George, Utah, and Valley of Fire, Nevada, to film on location. “We shot real film rather than video, so we could get the beautiful scenery. But real film is more expensive. The cameramen bought special equipment so they could film in the sun. There was a huge storm. But it had to be sunny. That day was the last time we could film.
“We prayed and the weather cleared up in time for us to do our shots. We finished our last take and then the clouds came in and it was totally cloudy and snowing. Our director said to remember to thank Heavenly Father for the break in the weather, because it had cleared just long enough for us to do what we had to do.”
In searching for talents and developing creativity, the Center Street hosts come back over and over again, just as Ivey has in her life, to the idea of work, work, and work.
“Persistence is the key,” Abe says. “Look at Nephi in the Book of Mormon. So many times he would try something and then go back and try again. Obtaining the brass plates. Solving the problem of his broken bow. That’s what everybody should do—‘I didn’t do well this time because I was so nervous, so I’ll go and do it again and see what happens next time.’”
“When you’re praying, you have to have faith that Heavenly Father will bless you,” Mike says.
“And give the Lord credit,” Tracey adds. “The scripture about letting your light shine (Matt. 5:16) ends with, ‘that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.’ It doesn’t say, ‘Do your good works so others will think you are really cool.’”
Of course, the greatest creative challenge for the hosts of Center Street is how to include gospel principles in everything they broadcast. They show people living Christlike lives. They listen to suggestions from viewers, and they listen to each other. They use slogans, like “Remember, when you’re faced with choices, choose the right.” They make Mormonad posters available to non-Church members. They teach the gospel through the examples of service they present. And they remember that the Lord Jesus Christ should be at the center of everything they do. It’s a combination of talent and creativity that keeps them—and can keep anyone—right on center.
Another part of creativity is recognizing what abilities you truly do have. Not all talents involve being able to perform in front of others. For example, remember how Ivey talked about having a tough time fitting in at a new school?
“There was a girl in one of my classes that I didn’t know at all,” Ivey explains. “One day she said hi to me. I found out her name. We would see each other in the halls. She would ask me how I was doing or help me understand my homework. She was really nice and genuinely interested. She tried to learn a little about me. She invited me to a basketball game. I started going with her friends and integrated into that group. Because of what she did for me, I developed confidence. She had a talent for reaching out.”
You can also be creative in assessing your own abilities. “Everybody has talents,” Ivey says. “You may not think they are there, but you can find them. It may be you have the skill of being able to get along with people or to serve people. I know some people who work well with children. They have patience, love, and the desire to help. That is such a talent!”
And there are more talents, many more. Why not take a minute to make a list of abilities that may be hidden within you? Then go to work. Bring them out and use them to bless other people. (See Matt. 25:14–30.)