Gospel Story Finder

Recently in the newspaper I read this account, which shows the grief and anxiety of one mother, who had undoubtedly spent many unhappy hours watching, waiting, and praying for her wandering boy.
“Police said the mother of a 16-year-old youth who was accused of raping a woman thanked officers after a policeman shot and killed her armed son.
“The youth … was killed when he pointed a .38-caliber pistol at the officer’s face Thursday, police said.
“His mother … told officers after the shooting, ‘I’m glad you all got him. I won’t have to worry about him no more.’” (Deseret News, July 26, 1974.)
Yes, there are things worse than death.

At Christmas time Cynthia, Richard, Gerald, Mom, and Dad went to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. The children helped set up the stable like the one where Baby Jesus was born, sang Christmas carols, and opened presents.
A few days after Christmas Dad said, “It’s time to go home.”
Grandpa and Grandma looked sad.
“Mommy,” Cynthia said, “why are Grandma and Grandpa so sad?”
“Because they will miss us when we go home.”
Cynthia went to find Grandma, who was helping Gerald pack his clothes.
“Grandma,” Cynthia said, “will you be happy if I leave some of my toys? You can play with them till we come back.”
“Thank you, honey,” said Grandma, “I will miss you, not your toys.” She gave Cynthia a big hug.
Cynthia wondered how she could help Grandma and Grandpa be happy. Suddenly she remembered how happy Dad was when Mom put notes in his lunch sack. She ran and whispered to Gerald and Richard and gave them each some pieces of paper. Richard sat on the floor and wrote and wrote and wrote. Gerald drew pictures because he was too little to write.
“Mommy,” said Cynthia, “how do you spell love?”
“L-o-v-e,” Mom told her.
When Cynthia finished writing, she tiptoed into the living room. She hid one of her notes on Grandpa’s chair. She put another note in the piano bench. She even put two in Grandma’s slippers under the couch. Then she tiptoed quietly out.
Richard waited in the hall until Grandpa left the kitchen. Then he scurried in and put one note in the cracker box, one on top of the forks, and one in an apron pocket. He also put notes in the refrigerator and the pantry.
Meanwhile, Gerald was in Grandma and Grandpa’s bedroom. He put all his picture-notes under their pillows for them to find when they went to bed.
Soon Dad and Mom were bundling them into their coats. “Kiss Grandma and Grandpa good-bye and get in the car!” said Dad.
Grandpa kept saying, “I’m going to miss all of you. I’m really going to miss you!” He looked like he was already missing them, and they hadn’t even gone yet!
Grandma kissed all the kids and Mom and Dad too. “Remember to write me,” she told them.
Cynthia, Richard, and Gerald started to giggle.
“What’s so funny?” asked Grandma.
“You’ll see,” Cynthia told her, grinning from ear to ear. “We left love notes for you all over the house.”

Carson could hardly sit still. He was excited to go to Grandma’s house! Every summer Grandma invited all the cousins over to her house for a three-day “Cousin Camp.” Each year the camp had a different theme. Carson couldn’t wait to see what they were going to do. When Carson and his cousins got to Grandma’s house, she met them at the door.
“Welcome to Cousin Camp!” Grandma said. “This year’s theme is service. For our first activity, we’re going to make posters for our local firefighters.”
Everyone split into two groups. Carson joined a group and eyed the candy piled in the center of the table.
“Use this candy to create a kind and fun message for the firefighters,” said Grandma.
Carson and his cousins worked together to make the perfect poster. Carson drew a big red fire truck and taped on his favorite candy.
When they arrived at the fire station, the firefighters were really happy with the posters. They showed Carson and his cousins around the firehouse and even let them sit in the fire truck!
At breakfast the next day, Carson’s cousins tried to guess the next Cousin Camp activity.
“I think we’ll do yard work for Grandma’s neighbors,” Ava said.
“Maybe we’ll make food for people who are hungry,” said Nash.
“Or clean up the park!” said Natalie.
Grandma smiled. “Those are great ideas, but today we’re going to make fleece blankets for children at the hospital. Everyone pick some fabric, and then I’ll show you what to do.”
Carson looked through the stack of fabric and picked one with soccer balls on it. He loved soccer!
“Want to help me with my blanket?” Carson asked Caitlin.
“Sure!” said Caitlin.
“OK. I’ll cut strips along the edges, and you can tie them in a knot.”
Caitlin nodded and concentrated on tying each knot. Soon they were finished, and the blanket looked great! When they got to the hospital, Carson and Caitlin gave their soccer blanket to a girl who was sick. She loved soccer too!
During Cousin Camp, Carson and his cousins also served each other. They helped Grandma make meals. They helped each other make their beds, and they held doors open for each other. Carson never realized there were so many ways to serve! He thought about all the things he could do to keep serving after Cousin Camp was over.
“Today’s the last day of Cousin Camp,” Grandma said during breakfast the next day. Carson was sad it was almost over. He was having a blast!
“You can choose what we do today,” said Grandma.
Hailey and Zoie loved animals, so everyone collected old towels to give to a veterinary clinic. Oliver had the idea to give water bottles to people who were homeless. One man was grateful because it was very hot that day!
Go to “Family Night Fun” for an activity to go with this story!
Grandma said, “You’ve all done an amazing job serving others! I know Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are happy with the way you’ve all served.”
“Grandma,” Carson asked, “can we do the same thing for Cousin Camp next year?”

Ben will never forget the baseball game his girlfriend’s parents came to watch. He hadn’t played at all until the last inning, when the coach put him in as a pinch hitter against a powerful pitcher. The game was at stake, and the pressure was on Ben. He whiffed the first two pitches, then made contact on the third—hard contact that sent the ball rocketing up the right field line for an easy single, a double if he hustled. Ben got so caught up in watching the ball that he tripped and fell on his way to first base. The other team made an easy out—the last one of the game. He was devastated.
“I was glad,” Ben says, “that baseball was not the only thing I had going for me. I had other interests in life, like art. When I didn’t excel in one thing, I would apply myself harder in another. My entire self-image was not based on success in one area.”

“Where are we going?” Mark asked flatly, uncomfortably perplexed. Transfers had just occurred that day, bringing the reluctant Elder Macklind to a new area with which he was wholly unfamiliar, and pairing his antiathletic body with jog-happy Elder Hilversum. Mark felt very unsettled, and yet Elder Hilversum didn’t seem to notice. He just serenely breezed through the day as if nothing was new, which Mark found somewhat depressing; it’s tough to be gloomy without company, and this cheerful Hilversum guy just wasn’t cooperating. Mark frowned at the ground. His mind was still in Cedar Court, on the Caufields.
Mr. Caufield had grinned so widely, too, after accepting the baptismal challenge. His wife had cried and hugged Mark tightly as he left; he told her she would look so pretty in white. And she would have, too, if they had only tried harder. Mark winced at the memory. All the plans, filling the font, so much excitement, smiling all day, and then finding their note instead of them: “We just do not want to be baptized after all.” Mark shut his eyes tight.
Sometimes Mark wondered why he had come on a mission at all. Just like this stupid run, it often seemed like a lot of effort for no good purpose. He just got sore legs and an aching heart that beat too hard as if it were going to explode out of his chest. And he went back three times, but he never saw the Caufields again before the transfer. Maybe never again, period. Mark contorted his eyebrows into a knot, and tiny trickles of water fell down his face. He gritted his teeth. Why does he keep running?
The jog had become rudely taxing. Mark began to punctuate each plop of his heels with a gutterul groan, partly out of exhaustion and partly in an effort to complain: “Ugh!”—step—“Ugh!”—step—“Ugh!” His seeping energy was beginning to upset him. He could feel anger well up deep inside and churn up toward his head, as if his feet were pumping it farther with every plod. What’s the point in trying anyway? There was so much to be angry about. Mark wanted to give in to it.
They came to a crosswalk, and Elder Hilversum was jogging in place waiting for the light to change when Mark caught up to him. “Is anyone watching us?” Mark huffed to his companion, the pogo stick.
Elder Hilversum grinned again, glancing from side to side, “Nope.”
“Good!” Mark blurted, and promptly fell to the ground in a lifeless sprawl, moaning, “All over. All over. Any time now.”
Anxiously, Elder Hilversum reached for his land-grabbing companion. “Get up, Elder Macklind, get up! Are you all right?”
“Dying. Dying,” Mark lamented from among the grass blades and dirt.
“No, you’re not dying,” Elder Hilversum retorted impatiently, pulling at Mark’s arm. “But you’ll cramp up if you lie there much longer.”
Mark slowly stood again, leaning on Elder Hilversum with dedicated weariness. “Aren’t we done yet?” he wailed.
“Press forward, Elder Macklind,” Elder Hilversum advised, his patience returning with his place-running. “Have a perfect brightness of hope.”
“I’m beyond hope,” Mark murmured. “I’m well into despair.”
The pair jaunted on, Elder Hilversum slowing his pace to stay beside Elder Macklind. Mark wanted to cry. So hard. Thud, lift, thud, lift, thud.
Elder Hilversum began to gasp out a hymn, managing five words at a breath: “Let us all press on … in the work of the … Lord that when life is … o’er we may gain a …”
Mark couldn’t join in, because he wanted to scream. How could he act happy under these conditions? Another thud, lift, thud, lift, thud, lift … every day like this? And Elder Hilversum plowing ahead in breathy song with his permanent smile, like a marathon minstrel harboring a secret pleasure. Mark stared at him with aching eyes, torn between sincere anguish and raging rebellion.
“Elder Hilversum,” Mark called, turning the warbler’s sweaty head in mid-chorus, seeing the grin melt to concern, “how can you go like this every day, running on?”
Two hard plods. “This is silly,” Mark panted, unfinished. “I’m killing myself on this road; I really am. But you just keep going. Why, elder? Why?” And then, after a thud, “How?”
Elder Hilversum furrowed his wet, hot brow. “I don’t know, Elder Macklind,” he said, still tramping on. “I just keep reminding myself that the feeling of accomplishment will always be worth the temporary pain of effort.”
They stepped up to a curb, in lock-jog.
“You make it sound like spiritual persecution,” Mark muttered.
The senior companion grinned. “Do I?” he asked and laughed. Then he stretched the stride.
That grin was ingratiating. But the memory of the Caufields demanded his depression, and so Mark moaned. “I can’t imagine anything being worth this pain!”
“Don’t dwell on how much it hurts, Elder Macklind.”
“Everything hurts.”
“Just keep moving. Don’t worry about how fast you’re going, just keep going, and give it all you’ve got. I’ll run with you.”
Mark nodded, swallowing. “I know.”
“Elder Macklind, do your best. Push yourself, and don’t stop at less. You’ve been doing your best. Don’t quit now because it’s getting more difficult. Give it all you’ve got, and that’s all you need to give. Elder Macklind, all you can do is all you can do.”
Mark watched the sidewalk disappear under his feet. “Yeah, okay,” he said, but wanted to say something better. Elder Hilversum ran beside him, and so Mark pushed a little harder. Elder Hilversum grinned. He was always doing that. And the house wasn’t too far now, anyway.
Mark wiped his face with his hand and threw the sweat behind him. He was beginning to understand a little better, and the day didn’t look so bad now. Running on, he reflected, “All we can do is all we can do,” and smiled a little. That made sense, he decided, and brought his head up to see the sun, thinking, “Maybe I’ll run again tomorrow.”

Years ago a friend of mine went to a large university to study under the ranking authority in the field of counseling and guidance. This professor quickly took an interest in this personable, intelligent young Latter-day Saint. He attracted attention as he moved through the course work required for a doctor’s degree.
He chose the Latter-day Saint bishop as the subject for his dissertation. All went well until he described the ordination of a bishop, the power of discernment, and the right of a bishop to spiritual guidance.
His doctoral committee felt that such references had no place in a scholarly paper, and they insisted that he take them out. He thought he might at least say that Latter-day Saints believe the bishop has spiritual insight. But the committee denied him even this, for they would be quite embarrassed to have this spiritual ingredient included in a scholarly dissertation.
He was told that with some little accommodation—specifically, leaving out all the references to revelation—his dissertation would be published and his reputation established.
He did the best he could. His dissertation did not contain enough about the Spirit to satisfy him and too much to be fully accepted by his worldly professors. But he received his degree.
I asked this friend what was the most important thing he had learned in his study of bishops. He answered, “I learned that the mantle is far, far greater than the intellect, that the priesthood is the guiding power.”

An active youth committee in Cache Valley made it their project to take care of the aged and shut-ins. Each week the girls would prepare suppers and the boys would prepare lessons or activities to take to the homes of the unfortunate, giving them plenty of tender loving care in a family home evening situation. What do you think it did for those young people to be involved in such a worthy, compassionate service?
Deep desire to be of service and to demonstrate love can even benefit the bishop. In Sacramento, California, while the bishop was away on vacation with his family, the youth committee determined to paint his house. These young people had the time of their lives working together and anticipating the pleasant surprise of the bishop when he returned. A real bond of love was established between the youth and their bishop with such meaningful service.

Another friend, a girl in his ward, stopped by after school to read to him. Although they had not been particularly close before his accident, now she was willing to give her time to help him. He often felt ashamed because he knew that if their roles had been reversed, he would not have been there reading to her.
What if she had been burned and was in thehospital? This horrible thought kept rushing through my mind. Would I be found at her bedside? I don’t think I was a bad young man. I had a job to earn money for my car and my clothes. What made me cry inside was that I knew I wouldn’t have been there with her. And yet such a great personal service she was giving to me! I could never tell her what I felt inside, so to pay her back I made this one great commitment: when I got out of the hospital, when I could walk, when I could see, when I could do things, I would try to give of myself through service to other people as she had done to me.
When I got out of the hospital and tried to find people who had problems and tried to help them, I got away from my own problems and stopped dwelling on myself and wallowing in self-pity. I started learning that great lesson—what is on the inside really is most important. Beauty comes from within, not from without.

I was recently told of a woman in Idaho Falls, a widow. Over a period of 15 years she acted as proxy in giving the temple endowment to 20,000 individuals in the Idaho Falls Idaho Temple. She completed her 20,000th endowment on a Friday and returned on Saturday to do five more. She passed away the following week.

Just think of what this one little woman did. She performed these vicarious endowments for as many people as are assembled in this Conference Center this morning. Think of the reception she must have received on the other side.

If you are fortunate enough to have grandparents who are still living, you can ask them these sorts of questions. And if your grandparents haven’t written their personal history, you can help them write it. It’s a big job, but if you ask January Winterton, 18, of St. George, Utah, she will tell you it’s worth the work.
January’s grandma, Karen Vlam, is a woman of great faith and courage. Confined to a wheelchair now, she has battled multiple sclerosis for more than 30 years. Despite her daily challenges, she is still smiling. Her dedication to the gospel and to her large family is a wonderful example to January.
“I want her to be more than just my kids’ great-grandma that they see in an old picture,” says January. “I want her to be a person that they know a lot about.”
That’s why January spent two-and-a-half weeks last summer living with her grandparents. Each day January asked her grandma questions about her life and typed the answers on a laptop computer. Once her notes are edited and compiled, January expects to have more than 50 pages of facts, stories, and pictures about her grandma’s life.
Along with funny stories, January’s grandma also shared her testimony and expressed her love for the Savior. January says, “I was impressed how throughout her life she turned to the Lord in her trials. She isn’t resentful about her disease, but instead she has learned to have a good attitude and move forward.
“Talking to my grandma made me realize that my trials are so small,” continues January. “If she can stay strong with all that she has been through, I can too. It may take a little faith on my part, but I just have to follow her example, her example of faith.”
After writing her grandma’s personal history, January feels she knows her grandma a lot better than before. “I know where she is coming from. I know her life experiences,” she says. January also knows that writing a personal history is hard work. It isn’t easy to summarize a life on paper. Because of this January suggests you help your grandparents or older relatives write their personal history, especially if they have health challenges that may prevent them from doing it themselves. She says the best thing to do is to get them thinking about their life by asking questions and just talking with them. Before you start, however, make sure you are ready to record their answers on tape, on video, on a laptop computer, or on paper.

Years ago as a stake presidency, we felt impressed to call a good man as stake clerk. At the time he was temporarily struggling with regular Church attendance. We knew, however, that if he accepted the calling, he would do a marvelous job.

We extended the call, but he replied, “No, I don’t think I can do it.”

Then an impression came. I said, “Well, I guess the Glendale stake won’t have a stake clerk then.”

Shocked, he responded, “What are you talking about? You have to have a stake clerk.”

I replied, “Do you want us now to call someone else to serve as stake clerk when the Lord impressed us to call you?”

“OK,” he said, “I’ll do it.”

And do it he did. There are not only many men but also many boys who will respond to a call when they know the Lord is calling them and that the Lord needs them.

Hearing Elder David A. Bednar’s talk on the Spirit of Elijah and how we youth know how to use technology got me all excited about family history work. I already had an LDS Account set up from a Young Women activity. After conference my mother and I sat down together at new.familysearch.org and looked to see what information I already had. I found out that someone had sent in a lot of information about my grandmother’s line, and I was able to link them together. I am so excited to start working on my family history, and I hope to find names that I can do baptisms for in the temple.
Ashley F., Washington, USA

After my husband died, the missionaries came into my life. I resisted the gospel message at first. I had become very independent. But one day they said to me, “Sister Ncube, you know, we are not looking for members. What we are after is your soul. We are pursuing you for your soul.” That went deep in my heart. I sat down and said, “I agree. I will be baptized.” For the first time in my life, I learned what true freedom was. When I was baptized my soul was set free.
I was baptized on Liberia’s Independence Day, but for me it was the day I would declare, “Now, I know the truth. I know I am free. I am free indeed.”

Perhaps a personal experience will help to illustrate this loving, watchful care that we are to extend to one another.

My husband and I have been blessed with ten wonderful children. Seven of them are living, which means, of course, that three of them are not. During the times that I was pregnant I had to stay in bed much of the time, and it was always a great worry that I carry those precious babies until they were big enough to survive. During many weeks, my visiting teachers came with lunch for me or dinner for my family. They tended our toddlers and sent library books for me to read.

When our twins were born, we were totally surprised by having two babies! How wonderful to have two little people with only one pregnancy! It was not to be for long, however—at least in this life. Our baby boy lived two days; our baby girl lived three. The sisters were there again, not only with food, but with a beautiful rose bush called “Duet” which flourished and grew. It was a sweet reminder of a tender time. The lovely blossoms helped us to remember our little ones, our friends, our gratitude for the gospel and for the Church.

My father never did join the Church, but he was a fervent supporter of it because he could see its blessings in the lives of his wife and four children. (My sister and two brothers were also baptized.) Prior to his death, he asked me to give him a priesthood blessing, and I did. We had a very special conversation, and he confided in me for the first time that he had faith. Coming from him, this was a major step.

Snowflakes fell as Sofia stepped outside. Snow usually made her happy. But this year, things were different. She bent down and scooped up some snow in a bowl, then went back inside.
The kitchen was warm, and Mama was at the stove cooking breakfast. Sofia dumped the snow into a pot so it could melt. They would use the melted snow for washing their hands and faces.
“Merry Christmas, Sofia,” Mama said.
Sofia wanted to say Merry Christmas back, but the words stuck in her throat as she walked toward the barn to help feed the animals. The barn was attached to the house by a long hallway, and Sofia was grateful she didn’t have to go outside again.
Papa and her older brother Isak were already in the barn when she got there. A knot formed in Sofia’s stomach as she looked around. Cows, goats, and sheep were chewing their breakfast. Chickens pecked around her feet. But the barn was a lot emptier these days.
A month ago, some of their animals got sick and died. People in the community were afraid the disease would spread to other farms, so Sofia’s family’s farm had been quarantined. That meant no one was allowed to visit or leave their farm until they could be sure the sickness was gone.
Sofia had not seen any of her friends. She could not go to school or church. Her family could not sell their milk or go to the store. They were like prisoners on their own farm.
“Merry Christmas, Sofia!” voices squealed when Sofia returned to the kitchen. Her little brother and sister, Frej and Kaia, were sitting at the table eating bits of bread soaked in milk.
“You won’t have any room in your tummies for dinner!” Sofia said, smiling.
“Not that it matters,” she thought. Christmas dinner was going to be the same food they’d been eating for a month. Bread. Potatoes. Dried vegetables. All things they had stored from summer. They couldn’t even afford to eat one of their chickens. Who knew how long the quarantine would last?
“Hey, everyone,” Isak said, coming in from the barn. “Get your coats on. I want to show you something.”
Isak led them through the pine forest near the farm.
“Are we going to cut down a Christmas tree?” Kaia asked.
“I don’t think so,” Sofia said. “We can’t go to the store to buy decorations. We don’t even have any presents to put under it.”
Kaia and Frej looked disappointed, but soon they were running through the snow, trying to see who was fastest.
“Wait!” Isak called after a few moments.
Sofia peered into the forest. “What’s that?” she whispered.
There was a little click, and suddenly a light flared in the darkness.
“Oh!” they all gasped.
In front of them was a table built from fallen branches. A small stable made from moss sat on top, and inside was their family’s Nativity set. Angels, shepherds, and Wise Men gathered around Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus. A small lightbulb in the roof of the stable lit the scene.
Kaia and Frej stared, fascinated. Sofia stared too. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
“Merry Christmas,” Isak said.
And suddenly Sofia knew that it was. There would be no presents, no tree, and no special dinner. But there would always be the precious gift of the Savior. And that was enough.

Some years ago, President Gordon B. Hinckley told “something of a parable” about “a one-room schoolhouse in the mountains of Virginia where the boys were so rough no teacher had been able to handle them.
“Then one day an inexperienced young teacher applied. He was told that every teacher had received an awful beating, but the teacher accepted the risk. The first day of school, the teacher asked the boys to establish their own rules and the penalty for breaking the rules. The class came up with ten rules, which were written on the blackboard. Then the teacher asked, ‘What shall we do with one who breaks the rules?’
“‘Beat him across the back ten times without his coat on,’ came the response.
“A day or so later, the lunch of a big student, named Tom, was stolen. The thief was located—a little hungry fellow, about ten years old.
“As little Jim came up to take his licking, he pleaded to keep his coat on. ‘Take your coat off,’ the teacher said. ‘You helped make the rules!’
“The boy took off the coat. He had no shirt and revealed a bony little crippled body. As the teacher hesitated with the rod, big Tom jumped to his feet and volunteered to take the boy’s licking.
“‘Very well, there is a certain law that one can become a substitute for another. Are you all agreed?’ the teacher asked.
“After five strokes across Tom’s back, the rod broke. The class was sobbing. Little Jim had reached up and caught Tom with both arms around his neck. ‘Tom, I’m sorry that I stole your lunch, but I was awful hungry. Tom, I will love you till I die for taking my licking for me! Yes, I will love you forever!’”
President Hinckley then quoted Isaiah:
“‘Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows. …
“‘He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our [sins].’” (Isa. 53:4–5.)

Illustration by iStock/Thinkstock
I had just returned from school. I’d gotten into an argument with one of my best friends from church, and it had really got me down.
As usual, I sat down to read my email. I saw one from her and opened it. I scanned the text carefully. The hurtful words covered me like a wave. The tears streamed down my face as I read to the end. My heart felt like it had been blown apart.
I quickly created a new email to her and started to type, but then something told me to stop. I knew it was the Holy Ghost. I backed away from the computer. In my head I asked, “Why do I need to stop? I need to tell her how I feel.” Then came the words, “All right. Tell her how you really feel.” I quickly moved toward the computer again.
I paused to analyze the Spirit’s words. Though they had been almost exactly my own words, they made me ponder. I wondered, “How do I really feel?” Immediately the words betrayed, broken, and hurt came to mind. Again a voice said, “Tell her how you really feel.” True, I felt those things, but I wouldn’t want to hurt her like she hurt me. We were friends, weren’t we? I realized that what I really felt was love.
My anger and sadness still surrounded me, but I decided to trust the Lord. I deleted the words I had written and started listing things I loved about her. As I did, my negative emotions completely left me. I found myself making a list so long that it took multiple scrolls to get through it. When I finally hit Send, I let out a sigh. I felt like my heart had been cleansed of pain and grief. I knew that my Savior had taken away my pain and filled my soul with Christlike love.
A couple of days later I received a response from my friend. She explained that at first she had been too shocked to respond. As soon as she had seen the list, she started reading it, expecting it to be a list of insults. When she found that they were compliments, she was blown away with disbelief.
I learned that when you make someone else feel better, it makes you feel better. Never underestimate the power of God. It deeply affected my life at that moment. I’ll never forget my pause to question and listen and how it has benefited my life.

Up north, just over the state line in Tullahoma, Tennessee, Branden Bates looks at his neighbor’s house across the street. It brings a smile to his face. And whenever he walks across the street to say hello to his neighbors, he brings a smile to theirs. Not long ago, their house and garage were badly in need of painting and repairs, but they are elderly and have health and sight problems. They couldn’t do the work themselves and couldn’t afford to hire it out. As part of a community beautification activity, Branden and other young men helping him with his Eagle Scout project came to their rescue.
Which ties in with what Branden says, summing up the experience of all three young men. “You learn to love those you serve with,” he says, “as well as those you serve.”

When I was 17, my oldest brother, John, passed away. He was only 27 and left behind a wife and young son. I could not have endured through this tragedy without the scriptures to lead and guide my life.
If you have ever had anyone close to you pass away, then you know the pain that strikes in every part of your being. It hurts for a long time. Even though we learn to be happy again and move on, no matter how much time passes, there’s still a pain.
When my brother passed away, I learned that it was OK to let myself hurt. It was OK to be sad. I didn’t need to be so strong all of the time. Sometimes there are challenges where we have to rely on others. And I learned I had to rely on the Lord.
About nine months before my brother passed away, I had prayed to my Heavenly Father to find a scripture I could use as a theme in my life that year. I was reading my scriptures and came across Proverbs 3:5: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.”
This scripture struck me with such force that I knew this was supposed to be my theme scripture for that year. For the next nine months, I tried to “trust in the Lord.” In every experience I went through, those words would echo in my mind.
About a week after John’s death, the words in Proverbs echoed in my mind again, and I realized why the Lord wanted me to practice trusting in Him. When my brother passed away, I could have asked my Heavenly Father, “Why? Why did this have to happen to us?” But that question never crossed my mind, because for nine months the Lord had been preparing me to trust in Him. Instead, I was ready to bring comfort to other family members around me who needed it. I felt the peace that comes from the knowledge that family is eternal, and I knew that I hadn’t seen John for the last time. Although at times I feel that pain that comes from losing someone you love, I know that my family can be together again after this life. This scripture in Proverbs brought me hope, peace, and guidance in a time of great need.