Gospel Story Finder

How about this for a conversion chain? Mark Lybbert invited Sharon Violette and Linda Prothero to the institute in Yakima, Washington. Their baptisms, and that of Linda’s twin, Brenda, resulted. Then Sharon and Brenda brought Tina Manzano into membership. A cousin of the twins was next—Cheryl. They went to a doughnut shop and introduced themselves and the gospel to Dan Kelso, who joined the Church. Marilyn Dailey showed some interest, and the institute crowd went to work. Now Marilyn and seven other family members are in the Church. Cheryl also brought her mom and two sisters to firesides at the institute. Baptisms followed. Wow!

Do you remember President Nelson playing the song “Hope of Israel” on the piano in the worldwide Youth Music Festival on March 17, 2021? Calling us the Lord’s youth battalion, he invited us to let the Spirit guide us as we help to gather Israel in these latter days.
Probably like many of you, I wondered what I as a 15-year-old could do to follow the prophet’s invitation, especially in the middle of a worldwide pandemic.
A year earlier, President Nelson had also invited the world to #HearHim, meaning to listen to the words of the Lord Jesus Christ. I knew the Book of Mormon was another testament of Jesus Christ. The idea came to me to help people hear the Lord’s voice by sharing the Book of Mormon in a new way: as a podcast recorded by teenagers.
“I thought it would be cool to hear the book read by everyday teens like you and me.”
In addition to the professionally produced recordings of the Book of Mormon available from the Church, I thought it would be cool to hear the book read by everyday teens like you and me, the way we experience it. We don’t always read perfectly, and not everyone knows how to pronounce every word correctly. But that’s OK because none of us is perfect anyway. I actually kind of like the imperfections in some of the recordings—it makes me feel like I’m listening to one of my friends reading.
The project took a lot of work. It turns out that requesting, editing, assembling, publishing, and hosting a podcast with recordings from 250 different people is quite a big job. The result is a recording of the entire text of the Book of Mormon featuring readers from 15 U.S. states and 10 countries from around the world. The recordings can be heard on the website www.teensreadthebook.com and on all major podcast listening platforms under Teens Read the Book.
McKay (center in the yellow shirt) gathers with other youth who helped with the podcast. They enjoyed the chance to talk about the podcast and reflect on the blessing it was to work on it.
I love hearing the variety of voices and accents of youth who sent in recordings. Knowing their voices would be heard around the world, many readers worked very hard to get their recordings just right. Some, like Thomas from New Zealand (who read 3 Nephi 20) or José from Peru (who read 3 Nephi 23), practiced for hours or days before recording. A group of 10 youth from South Korea faced the challenge of English not being their first language. Their solution was to work together, each recording a few verses at a time and stitching them together into what became 2 Nephi 28 and 29.
My goal when I started the project was to help people feel the Spirit and come closer to Jesus Christ. Seeing youth, most of whom I don’t know, respond to my invitation showed me how deeply they felt about the Book of Mormon. Their words have now been downloaded and listened to thousands of times. They are helping people feel the Spirit of God.
I am grateful to those who contributed to this project and for the way I felt the Lord’s help doing it. I am honored to be part of the Lord’s youth battalion, standing alongside others who love the Book of Mormon. I have also learned that when we respond to invitations from the Lord’s prophet, the Spirit will guide our efforts.

Eighteen years ago, during my first visit to general conference as a new stake president, I learned a valuable lesson in punctuality. I wanted to visit all the Church departments, which at that time were spread over a wide area of Salt Lake City. Above all I had an earnest desire to meet President David O. McKay. I inquired whether it would be possible to see the prophet for just a few minutes and was delighted when I was told to return at 1:30 P.M. for this great privilege. My heart sang as I made other visits during the morning, and the time passed very quickly.
Suddenly I looked at my watch and was horrified to see that it was almost the appointed time. I literally ran to the Church Administration Building, arriving redfaced and breathless. Imagine my feelings when I was told, “By being one minute late you may have missed a golden opportunity.” Those words still ring in my ears, even though I was subsequently able to meet President McKay.

Tori fought back tears as she ran into the house and took her book bag to her room.
“Tori, honey, is that you? Hustle out here and help me get these carrots peeled for dinner, please.”
“I’m not very hungry, Mom, and I have lots of homework.”
“Well, the rest of the family will be hungry, and you’ll have plenty of time after we eat.”
Mom knew that something was wrong when Tori kept her back turned as she worked. She was sure that a few tears were dropping into the sink along with the thin strips of carrot peeling. She wanted to hug her daughter and make it better, but she knew by now that even a mother’s hug couldn’t always make a hurt go away. “A tough test today, dear?”
“Kind of. But I was prepared, and I know I did well. That’s not the problem, Mom. It’s just that I’m, well, I’m so tired of being lonely. I don’t have any real friends.”
“Of course, you do! What about Pam? And Ellen? And—”
“Wrong answer, Mom. They’re just Sunday friends. In church they’re OK. Sometimes I think they like me then. But at school it’s different. They call me a goody-goody and ‘Mommy’s little angel.’”
“Maybe it’s a compliment,” Mom said with a smile.
Tori shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She grimaced. “All the girls at school are invited to Malorie’s house Friday night for a pizza party.”
“And you didn’t get invited?”
“Yes, I got invited, but I probably won’t go. They plan to stay up late eating pizza and chips and watching television—all the shows that are off limits at our house. I feel like a dweeb.”
“Do you really want to go, Tori?”
“Yes—and no. I’d like to be with the girls, but I’ve heard them talk about some of the late night shows. I don’t want to watch them—I’d just feel dumb and embarrassed and probably guilty. Why does it have to be like this? Why, when I try so hard to do what I’m supposed to, do I always have to do it alone?”
Mother hugged Tori and said, “Why don’t you pray about this? I’m sure that there’s a solution to your problem.”
That evening Tori prayed, “Heavenly Father, I need Thy help. I need the courage to do what I know is right. I’d like an idea of how to help Pam and Ellen too.”
Before school started the next day, Ellen asked Tori if she was going to the party.
“I’ve decided not to go,” Tori said.
“I’m sorry you’re not coming to the party. I know it’s because your folks won’t let you.”
“It’s true that Dad and Mom don’t want me watching that stuff on TV, Ellen, but it’s more than that. Parties should be fun, and it’s not much fun being embarrassed and feeling ashamed.”
“You know what? I think your folks are trying to brainwash you—you know, trying to make you think what they want you to think.”
“I don’t think so, Ellen. But sometimes I wish they could wash my brain. Do you remember the dirty joke that Malorie told us a few weeks ago? It was disgusting, and I’ve had a hard time getting it out of my mind. I’ve decided that I don’t want to get any more thoughts in my head that shouldn’t be there, because they’re really hard to get out—OK?”
“OK.” Ellen turned away, but she hesitated briefly, then turned back. “Can we still be friends?”
“Yes, of course! I really want your friendship. You can come to my party next month—Dad says I can give one for my birthday. In fact, would you help me plan some fun games for it?”
Ellen thought for a moment. “Do you like to play board games?”
“I sure do!”
“You know, Tori, I bet my mom would let us make cereal treats this Friday and play games at my house. We don’t need to watch TV at Malorie’s house to have fun. I don’t really want any more of that stuff in my brain, either. Shall we ask Pam too? Then we can call Malorie and tell her we aren’t coming.”
“I thank Thee, Heavenly Father,” Tori whispered as she headed for her math class. “I thank Thee, very much.”

I am fortunate to have had good women in my life: a nurturing and courageous mother, wise and faithful sisters, and a loving and supportive wife. I wish to honor one of these influential women, my older sister, Thelma, for her impact in my life through her continuous good example.
When I was young, my father taught me to follow Thelma’s lead when he and my mom were not around, and I am eternally grateful for this counsel.
Three of my eight siblings joined the Church in El Salvador the same time I did. Thelma was 14 years old and my oldest sibling when we got baptized. I was 8 years old at the time and the youngest of the family, so she was our leader.
We were introduced to the Church by our neighbor who sang songs that we later learned were hymns. Our neighbor told us about a wonderful place called Primary, where children learned to sing. The missionaries were contacted, and they started visiting our home to teach us.
However, my dad had strong feelings against the Church and about his children being taught by the missionaries. Being a small boy, I never understood what those two elders went through to bring the gospel into our lives. Dad would kick them out if he found them at our home, and he would deliberately turn off the lights if the elders stopped by in the evening. Just as my dad was relentless in trying to stop the missionaries from teaching, Thelma was twice as determined to learn about the gospel and read the Book of Mormon. Thelma and the elders never gave up, and for this I am thankful.
Going to church was a struggle because Dad tried to stop us by using a variety of tactics, such as requiring that we do chores before we could leave for church.
One Sunday morning was particularly hard. He did not want to let us go, but we refused to be stopped. He kicked a garbage can and spilled its contents all over the floor we had just cleaned. Thelma quietly began picking up the garbage without complaining. After she had cleaned the floor again, she asked if we could go to church. We had finished all the chores and more, but he still did not want to give his permission. Finally he asked pointedly, “Why do you insist on going to this church anyway?” Thelma then bore a powerful testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel and of the message of the Restoration of the gospel. As she concluded, my dad waved his hand and gave his permission.
Dad never tried to stop us again after this incident and eventually, even though he did not like it, gave his consent for us to join the Church.
I had no problem attending church on Sunday, but I was not as enthusiastic about attending Primary because it was on Saturday morning at that time. When I was 10, Thelma came home one Saturday and told my other siblings about a great soccer game between the deacons and the Blazers (11-year-old Scouts). She pointed out how unfortunate it was that I had missed the game because I had not attended Primary. Needless to say, I went the following Saturday (with my soccer cleats on) and never missed it again.
When Thelma was 16, she was called to be the Primary president. Our bishop had been trying to find someone to handle the many challenges the Primary organization was facing. The ward covered a large area, and it was difficult and expensive for many families with small children to travel by bus to the church both on Saturdays for Primary and on Sundays. Many of those children were not attending Primary, and no solution had been found. The bishop had been prompted to call Thelma but could not bring himself to do it because she was so young. The prompting continued, and after receiving approval from the stake president, the bishop extended the call to my sister.
This proved to be an inspired decision, and it blessed many children—including me. Thelma magnified her calling by following inspiration, using common sense, and implementing innovative ideas to develop training programs to bring the gospel to the children. She asked her counselors and teachers to hold Primary meetings at several places closer to their homes, and she provided ongoing training for those teachers. This solution allowed members to save time and money and enabled children who were previously not attending Primary to receive the blessings of this wonderful organization.
My siblings and I continued to follow Thelma’s lead as time progressed. We held family home evenings and attended all of our Church meetings. Shortly after I was ordained a deacon, Thelma turned to me during one family home evening and recognized me as the priesthood holder in the family. This event taught me a valuable lesson about respect for the priesthood.
She also made sure I never lacked the proper encouragement and extra incentive to attend my priesthood meetings or to fulfill my responsibilities. For instance, Thelma used every noisy and energetic way to get me out of bed on Sunday mornings so I could attend priesthood meeting. She also taught me to look forward to my advancements in the Aaronic Priesthood.
At Mutual and seminary I didn’t mind that I was always known as “Thelma’s brother.” Some of my friends had the support of their parents in the Church, but I had my bishop, Young Men leaders, and Thelma.
Thelma continued to be an example to me as she held a variety of callings until she left for her mission. She served honorably in the Guatemala Quetzaltenango Mission, and the fruits of her labors included the baptism of our mother two days after Thelma returned home. Our joy was full as I, then a priest, performed this sacred ordinance. Following Thelma’s example, I began to earnestly prepare to serve a mission.

Elder Darwin B. Christenson, a new member of the Second Quorum of the Seventy, says that experiences with his children have strengthened his testimony of the gospel, the eternal family, and the power of the priesthood. Not long after he and his wife went through the heartbreak of losing a baby shortly after birth, their next child, Stephen, was born prematurely. Because the baby’s lungs were underdeveloped, doctors gave him a 50 percent chance of surviving.
Elder Christenson and the family’s home teacher gave the tiny infant a blessing as he lay in a hospital incubator, surrounded by tubes and medical equipment. Afterward, says Elder Christenson, “I told my wife not to worry; he was going to be OK.” The next morning, true to the impression Elder Christenson had received, Stephen showed marked improvement. Today, Stephen is the father of three boys.

Dressed in old clothes—pants and shirt that bright yellow paint can’t ruin—James Bridges is sitting with nine of his closest friends saying the following sentence: “Service is fun.”
He says it with absolute sincerity, and the other nine nod in agreement. They are gathered at their church in Anchorage, Alaska, getting ready to restripe the parking lot. Perhaps very few will actually notice their work, but, still, it’s a job that needs to be done. And they were happy to volunteer.
Looking from one to another, waiting for someone to break ranks about what James just said, is useless. No one is going to suddenly say, “Just kidding.” They mean what they say. For the priests quorum of the Anchorage Sixth Ward, service is right up there with playing rugby in the snow and going fishing on Ship Creek. It’s fun.
How can it be? Why would these 10 young men be willing to give up time on their computers or playing their music or practicing for basketball season to do things for people just because they need to be done? And then how can they actually call it fun, no matter how dirty or hard the work?
“Even the most mundane service projects can be fun,” says Nick Anderson, “if you have enough people.”
One service that needs to be performed repeatedly in Alaska is snow shoveling. “We do drive-by shoveling,” says Mike Killary. “We each grab a shovel and pile into a van.” Then they pick someone in the ward or neighborhood who hasn’t been shoveled out from the latest storm. They quietly sneak out of the van, shovel like crazy, and try to make their getaway before they are discovered. In the meantime, if they throw a little snow at each other, all the better.
They also remember with great enjoyment the day they had to dig an old car out of the ice to get it ready to be donated to a family in the ward. They had to literally chip it out of a winter’s worth of snow that had hardened to ice. Even though the temperature was below zero, they remember being warm—warm from hard work and the satisfaction of doing something good.
How did the members of this quorum get to this point where they feel a sense of unity, where they are spending time together doing good things?
When someone moves into the ward, or young men are advanced, they automatically have friends. “Friendship is built in,” says Mike. “You move in and you become our friend, and eventually you’re friends with everybody.”
No one is left out. Jacob Christensen explains how it happens on the first Sunday someone new comes to church. “Brother Derrell Smith, our Young Men president, lets us know if someone is coming into the ward. He clues us in.”
Then Aaron Ekstrom adds, “We go from there.”
Jacob continues, “We make them feel welcome. We make them feel like we want them to be there. We do want them there.”
“Brother Smith told us to invite them to other activities besides church,” says Aaron, “like to football games or going to play basketball. We work our way from there to church.”
And they call before every activity to let everyone know what’s happening and when. “It’s pretty irresistible when you keep getting called every week,” says Nick.
“We’re just all friends,” says Zach Milliman. “We have a leader who keeps us in line. He doesn’t let people make fun of other people. We get to know each other without any animosity getting in the way.”
“I came here about four years ago,” says Neal Lefler. “It’s become like our family. This place is small compared to a lot of places, but we’re just like brothers. We keep track of each other.”
Indeed, that is true. James remembers his first Sunday. “I shook everybody’s hands. They wanted to know who I was. It made me feel better because I’d moved from a place I had lived for 16 years. They were trying to get me to go out and do things with them. I was kind of shy at first.”
Neal recalls an event when James wasn’t with them. “I remember one time we were playing basketball. The only person who wasn’t there was James. We called him up and dragged him out of bed. We took him to play basketball. It was fun.”
“When a bunch of guys call, it makes you feel good. Since then, I’ve become friends with all of them. It has helped me grow a lot spiritually.”
“It helps when you have a support group of LDS friends you can go hang out with,” says Mike.
“We’re all just friends,” says David Sullivan, “It’s pretty natural for us to be one big group of friends.”
Aaron and Jacob were recently released from the leadership of the priests quorum. They learned one big lesson about how to make a quorum work effectively. “It’s a big commitment,” says Aaron. “You have to show up and be there to everything.”
“Even stuff you don’t want to go do,” adds Jacob. “If it doesn’t sound like fun, you go and make it fun. You show the others it can be fun. You mess around a little, but you get the job done. Make it fun for everyone.”
Mike is now the new first assistant. He’s just learning about his assignment. “I call people, get a count of who is coming, and help plan activities. Actually we all sit in and plan activities.”
But more than that, this priests quorum leadership knows what’s going on in each other’s lives. On the night of the parking lot painting project, they know that one of the priests is out of town to attend his grandfather’s funeral. They know that two new priests are attending one last activity night with the teachers quorum. They know who’s sick or injured. They know who has a concert or game or match going on. And sometimes they will choose to attend to show their support. “Anything is fun to go to,” says Zach, “if you go together to support someone.”
Their hand of fellowship and brotherhood is extended to a special member of their quorum. Nick Schwan was recently baptized. He is mentally challenged and attends the special education classes at their high school. Both at school and at church, he’s one of them. They treat him with kindness and listen to what he has to say. “At first,” says Joe Carson, “we didn’t think Nick really knew what was going on around him, but after a while we realized that he picked up on things and he doesn’t really forget anything. He’s just a normal guy. He’s just a little …” Joe is at a loss for words. He knows how the quorum feels about Nick, and the feeling is good and supportive.
Right now there are 20 full-time missionaries serving from the Anchorage Sixth Ward.
Okay, just 19 of the them are elders, but the Young Men claim the young lady serving from their ward because they suspect that their good example helped encourage her to consider a mission.
And there are 10 to 12 priests getting ready to follow in their footsteps in the next couple of years. They readily admit there are other wards in the Church with as many or more full-time missionaries serving, but for a relatively small ward away from a large LDS population, they feel pleased with the tradition of service they are setting. They know just as they progress from deacon to teacher to priest, the next step is a mission.
Bishop Wesley E. Carson says, “We’ve put a positive spin on peer pressure. Serving a mission has become a family tradition; it’s become a ward tradition; and it’s become a quorum tradition.”
Back to the parking lot. “It’s a serious activity,” says Brother Smith. “I don’t want to see anyone’s initials out there. I want you to be proud that when you drive in on Sunday, the stripes are straight.”
The yellow stripes will be straight. Members of this priests quorum know all about following guidelines and doing a good job. They know where service leads—to feelings of worth. And they know the ones that have set the example for them are now in the mission field. The lines are straight, and they’ll follow.

One of my favorite stories was the cadet who did not want to admit that he had done anything wrong, in spite of wiping out his own and three other aircraft. His accident report stated: “The aircraft’s speed was too high on final approach. … The aircraft hit the runway first with one wheel and then with the other wheel. … It did a few kangaroos down the runway. … The aircraft swerved off the runway and across the grass. … It crossed the taxiway. … across more grass. … The right wing hit a truck parked in the wrong place, … and then I lost control and we cartwheeled into the three parked planes!”

Obviously the aircraft was out of control from the beginning. The cadet must have had his head “down and locked” hiding inside the cockpit while all sorts of things were going wrong. He had long since lost control of such essentials as airspeed, direction, and perception. He could have shut down the engine, used the brakes, or collapsed his own gear instead of running into things with the engine still pulling the aircraft along at 1,500 RPM. No one was in control at all!

I was born in Rigby, Idaho, a farming community of about 2,000 people. About four miles outside of town was a small junkyard. Rigby had a junkyard man, a little old Danish immigrant who couldn’t speak English. He didn’t have a name that I can remember; we just called him the “junkyard man.”
He not only ran the junkyard; he lived there. His home was made of plywood scraps and other junk he had gathered from the yard. He didn’t have any electricity and he lived all alone, except for some dogs to keep him company.
A few times each year he walked four miles into town for groceries. Most people respected him because he worked hard and did a good job. My dad’s mother was a Danish immigrant, so Dad always had a soft spot in his heart for the old man. Whenever we went to the dump, Dad would take him groceries, cookies, or other goodies.
Well, I remember one day when I acted like a real chicken toward the junkyard man; it was a Sunday in 1965. Somehow Dad, who was the bishop, got the junkyard man to come to church that day. I was about 13 years old. I felt real cool sitting there in church in my turtleneck shirt and 100 percent polyester suit, but then it happened. Dad brought the junkyard man to the bench where my family was and sat him down right next to me! I could hear my friends laughing. I was so embarrassed I didn’t even look at the man during sacrament meeting.
After the meeting, I left as fast as I could. Outside, my friends and I really started pecking at the junkyard man, and I was the worst. I told the boys that as the old man sat there I saw “cooties” crawling out of his clothes. I told them he smelled like trash, that his weird wool pants had moth holes in them, and all sorts of other insulting things. The more my friends laughed, the bigger I felt, and the more I “pecked” at him in our conversation.
Of course, he didn’t hear any of this. But about three weeks later, on a particularly cold Idaho night, the pipe of the old man’s coal-burning stove in his house broke. The house filled with thick, sooty smoke and he died in his sleep.
I don’t tell you this story to make you feel sorry for the old man, because his life was not really sad. He was a good man who contributed something to his community and made his own way. The sad part is that I remembered the mean things I said, and it was too late to apologize. I had picked on the old man only because he was different.

In 2012 I had completed seminary and high school, and a new world was opening in my life. The beginning of the year was great, especially the multistake youth camp. I felt blessed and protected by my Heavenly Father.
Years before, I had decided I would serve a full-time mission, so in 2012 I planned to dedicate myself to saving all the money I could. Thanks to my older sister, Sofía, I was able to quickly find a job at the company where she worked. On February 22, Sofía and I took the train to work. It was a beautiful day, but when we arrived at the destination, I heard a loud noise, and then everything went dark.
When I awoke, I was hurting and confused. Was my journey on earth coming to an end? I really wanted to be around to experience certain things, like going on a mission and having a family. So I prayed, asking Heavenly Father to give me the opportunity to live and serve a mission.
Lying in the tangled wreckage of the train, I looked around for my sister, but I couldn’t see her. Finally I heard firefighters asking everyone to stay calm, and I could feel hope in my heart. I prayed for my sister’s well-being because I didn’t know where she was. As I prayed, I felt great peace. I had to fight to endure the pain I felt, but Heavenly Father gave me the necessary strength.
After an hour I was rescued. I felt the Lord with me during that time. As I was taken to the hospital to have an operation on my leg, I couldn’t stop thinking about my sister and wondering how she was. But every time I thought about her, I felt peace.
The next day my parents informed me that Sofía had not survived the accident. That news brought the greatest pain I have ever felt. But at the same time, I felt comfort and gratitude for the sacred covenants made by my parents in the temple in sealing our family together for eternity.
When I returned home from the hospital, the Lord blessed my family through our friends and relatives, who were our angels, giving us comfort. We will always be grateful for that. Thanks to the power of the priesthood, I learned how to walk again much quicker than expected. I was able to walk normally after just a few months.
The gospel is beautiful every way you look at it. I am so grateful for temples and temple ordinances. I know that the Lord has something sacred prepared for my sister. Life without her is not easy, and it never will be, but the assurance and the peace we have is stronger than the pain we feel at her absence. We miss Sofía with all our hearts and remember her every day. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said that heaven without your family just wouldn’t be heaven (see Between Heaven and Earth [DVD, 2005]), and I testify that is true.
God loves us, and He never leaves us alone. Isaiah 54:10 says, “My kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee.”

Ever wonder how we come up with the Mormonads? The Mormonad on page 13 started when we were trying to think of something that represented just how dangerous pornography is. We remembered seeing photos of crocodiles with just their eyes showing above water. The words Just Looking? seemed to fit exactly.
What was underneath? Of course, it was a big set of scary teeth that can clamp onto to you and not let go—a good illustration for what pornography can do.
We gave the idea to our designer, who sent a photographer to the zoo to take a photo of ominous crocodile eyes. Then he used his computer skills to make the teeth visible underwater and to make them bigger and more vicious than reality. We thought it made a great Mormonad that gives you something to think about.

Brad Sorensen of the Rose Park Seventh Ward in the Salt Lake Rose Park North Stake learned important lessons about service when he was growing up. His elderly neighbor, Sister Sparks, had some health problems, and whenever she worked in her yard, his mother noticed and persuaded him to go over and help. At first he didn’t understand why he had to stop what he was doing to go help his neighbor.
“During those years I spent helping Sister Sparks, I learned that there are two different ways to serve others. The first way was when I felt forced, or compelled, to serve. I learned that this is not a good way to serve. Maybe you say, ‘I’ll do it as fast as I can so I can come back and watch TV.’ But the love for the person you are serving is not present. There is no joy in this kind of service. This is how I was at first.”
But then Brad learned about serving with love. “It came to the point that I would go to her house every week and mow her lawn without being asked. I know this was a big help to her, but it was a big help to me, also.
“I found this to be a much more satisfying way to serve. Serving with love is pure, whole-hearted, and full of unselfish concern for the person you are helping. The feeling of accomplishment and love for the person you served cannot be found in any other way. It is an all-around good feeling.
“My acts of service were nothing big, but they were done with love. If you do an act of service with love for the person you are doing it for, you will be much more satisfied with the results. I learned that it doesn’t matter how big or small a service project is; it is still important.”

In Liverpool, New York, USA, as Primary president Melissa Fisk attended ward council meeting, she gained insight into its power. When she reached inside her bag for a notebook, she came across a picture of 28 Primary children on the steps of the Palmyra New York Temple. All were covered with wasp stings. For a moment, the picture pulled her attention away from the meeting, and she focused briefly on the day the ward Primary had gone to Palmyra to enjoy the sacred feeling of the temple grounds. Unfortunately, when the children spread out their blankets, they had accidentally upset a wasps’ nest.
After everyone had been cared for, the leaders invited the children to touch the temple. The children refused because they were afraid that there might be more wasps. So parents and leaders stood in a line and created a path to the temple. This gave the children courage to move forward.
As Melissa turned her attention back to the ward council meeting, she thought, “If only everyone could be surrounded by such loving friends and leaders as they progress toward the temple.”
Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard the Relief Society president comment on a sister in need: “She wasn’t at church last Sunday. I’ll make sure her visiting teachers let her know about the upcoming temple trip.”
“They’ve got some hard things going on right now,” added the elders quorum president. “I’ll follow up with their home teachers and see if there’s anything we can do.”
“The young women could help with babysitting,” said the Young Women president.
As Melissa looked at the faces of the members of the ward council, she saw genuine affection and concern. A smile spread across her face. “The Lord has prepared ways for His children to be protected and loved,” she thought. “The ward council!”
Just as in Joplin, Puerto Francisco de Orellana, and Liverpool, Church leaders worldwide continue to discover the blessings of ward and branch councils. As they do, they will harness the extraordinary power of these councils to help the Lord bless His children and accomplish His work.

During the summer of 2015, three of us Young Men leaders, including our bishop, took six young men from the deserts of southern New Mexico to the Rocky Mountains of central Colorado for a high-adventure backpacking trip. At the time, I was serving as ward Young Men president. For four days, we hiked, fished, explored, and gathered in the evenings for spiritual fireside chats. We made lasting memories—including one we will always remember.
Before making our way off the mountain at the end of our trip, the only thing that had marred our adventure was a cut foot and a little rain and hail. After we broke camp the morning of our return hike, none of us worried about the slippery, muddy trail until we leaders approached the bottom of the first steep descent.
That’s where I slipped, fell, and hit the ground. I felt a sudden, sharp pain in my right leg. I had no idea what I had done to my leg, but I couldn’t move it.
As I sat on the ground, dazed and in pain, our bishop, Bryce Heiner, rushed to my side. A surgeon, Bishop Heiner examined my leg but couldn’t tell how badly I was hurt. What we didn’t know is that when I fell, I hit a rock so hard that it severed my right quadriceps tendon, the large tendon just above the kneecap. I could neither stand nor walk.
One of our young men, Nathan Donaldson, said later, “There was a lot of panic on the mountain. Everyone was praying for guidance.” Another young man, Brighton Heiner, said, “We didn’t know if Brother Ewing’s leg was going to be all right or if he was going to die!”
I knew I couldn’t get off the mountain without a lot of help, including heavenly help. So I asked for a priesthood blessing. Bishop Heiner anointed and Mark Handly, a counselor in the bishopric, sealed the anointing. As Brother Handly spoke, a stillness settled over our group.
Nathan still remembers what he and the other young men felt as he listened to the powerful words of the blessing: “I was at peace, my heart slowed down, my mind became calm. I was in awe of the Savior’s power manifested by the Holy Ghost, which touched my heart. I thought to myself, ‘I want to be able to do that someday. I want to be able to bring peace and healing to my loved ones.’”
Despite that calming reassurance, the words of the blessing that struck me the hardest were these: “You’ll be fine, but it’s going to take a while.”
That “while” included the time it would take to get me off the mountain. I’m six feet, four inches tall (193 cm), and at the time I weighed 230 pounds (104 kg). The young men wondered, “How are we going to get him down?” I wondered the same thing.
Because I had taken wilderness first-aid training the summer before, I directed our group in fashioning a splint for my leg out of rope, tape, tree branches, and a foam sleeping pad. We still had four miles to hike and a rushing mountain stream to cross before we could reach our vehicles and seek medical attention.
The two tallest members of our group supported me by holding on to my upper arms as they walked beside me. Slowly, we began making our way downhill. Sometimes my good knee would buckle, and I would fold over like a lawn chair. I had to fight nausea with every painful step. Bishop Heiner grew increasingly concerned with each passing hour of our descent.
While some of our crew cleared the trail ahead of rocks and debris to make the journey easier for me, others hiked back up the trail to bring me water, food, and encouragement. A hike that would normally have taken about two hours lasted eight hours.
Bishop Heiner and some of the young men hiked ahead to the stream. There, with what Daniel Palmer described as “a prayer in our hearts,” they lashed together logs from fallen trees and built a bridge over an abandoned beaver dam. They also made a makeshift handrail.
“When I reached the stream four hours into the hike,” Steven says, “I slowly and carefully crossed the log bridge supported by several helping hands.”
When I reached the stream four hours into the hike, I slowly and carefully crossed the log bridge supported by several helping hands. We stopped to rest and say another of several more prayers. At that point, we were halfway off the mountain.
A few hours later, the first young men emerged from the wilderness near the trailhead. They explained our predicament to some campers riding all-terrain vehicles. Several of those good Samaritans drove up the trail, picked up several of us, and drove us to our cars.
Soon we were headed for Trinidad, Colorado, where I received treatment at a hospital emergency room. A doctor fitted me with a knee brace and crutches, and we headed home.
Steven Ewing (second from left) and Bishop Bryce Heiner (far right) with the “ministering angels” who helped Steven off the mountain (left to right): Eric Palmer, Brighton Heiner, Daniel Palmer, Jacob Donaldson, and Zane Heiner (not pictured: Nathan Donaldson, who was serving a full-time missionary; and Mark Handly, who had moved).
No, I wasn’t healed instantly. Healing did “take a while” after surgery and physical therapy. But I’m thankful for the priesthood blessing I received, the faith shown by those who prayed for me and helped me (see James 2:26), and the unity of purpose we achieved as we worked together to get me off the mountain.
We learned some important things that day, lessons that strengthened our testimonies and resolve, helped the young men commit to serving missions, and prepared them for difficult mountains they would climb in the future.
“Among my amazing leaders and peers was the power of God,” Nathan remembers. “I believe He sent down angels that day to help us. This experience helped me understand the importance of being worthy to bless the sacrament and fulfill my other priesthood duties.”
I don’t know how big a part that experience played in helping the young men on that hike commit to lives of prayer, service, and worthiness. Many experiences in their young lives likely played a key role in their commitment to Jesus Christ and His Church. But every one of those young men went on to serve the Savior as full-time missionaries.
With the passage of time, I am increasingly grateful for those good servants of the Lord—what they did for me then and what they continue to do for others today. For me, they were, and remain, ministering angels (see Doctrine and Covenants 13:1).
For their “outstanding service in implementing Scouting skills and ideals,” young men from the Rio Grande Ward in Las Cruces, New Mexico, received the Medal of Merit award from the Boy Scouts of America.

“I have seen the Lord’s hand countless times in my life, but my biggest testimony comes from a trial I have endured for 10 years.
“I became pregnant with my second daughter but miscarried at seven weeks. I remember crying and pleading with the Lord but thought, ‘Surely our Savior has a greater plan for this baby than what I need right now.’ The following year I became pregnant and then miscarried again. I asked, ‘God, why hast thou forsaken me?’ (Matthew 27:46).
“Eventually, we miraculously got pregnant and had a healthy baby girl.
“But this was not the end of this trial. Unfortunately, we ended up having four more consecutive miscarriages.
“After moving to a new area and getting a new provider, I was diagnosed with a blood-clotting disorder. With this information, my doctor and I made a plan. I went on to have two perfectly healthy children!
“The Lord’s timing is perfect. This lesson has been the hardest one I’ve ever had to learn. He prepares the way for you and puts people and experiences in your life to strengthen you.”

Lucy Mack Smith spoke in general conference in 1845, after all of the Book of Mormon witnesses in her family had died of illness or been killed. She told a story from her son Samuel’s first mission.

Samuel, one of the Eight Witnesses, visited the home of Rhoda Greene, whose husband was on a mission for another church. Samuel asked Rhoda if she would like a book. “It is a Book of Mormon that my Brother Joseph translated from plates out of the ground,” he explained.

Rhoda accepted a copy of the book to read and show her husband. When Samuel returned later, Rhoda told him her husband had no interest, and she could not buy the book. Sad, Samuel took the book and began to leave. Rhoda later told Lucy that Samuel then paused and looked at her. “She never saw a man look so,” Lucy said in her conference talk. “She knew that he had the Spirit of God.”

“The Spirit forbids me taking this book,” Samuel told Rhoda, who knelt and asked Samuel to pray with her. She kept the book, read it, and received a testimony of it. So, eventually, did her husband. They chose to abide by its precepts throughout their lives.

“And thus the work began,” Lucy testified, “and then it spread like a mustard seed.”10

A teachers quorum decided that to prepare for their missions, they would all learn the missionary lessons found in the missionary lessons in Preach My Gospel. Each month, as part of their class, they would practice teaching each other. But that wasn’t enough. They wanted to do more. They noticed an unbaptized young man whose mother was a member and another young man who had stopped coming to church. They decided to go teach the missionary lessons to these young men. How great was their joy when the nonmember boy was baptized and the less-active boy returned to activity and was ordained to the proper priesthood office.

Later that year I felt I should go to the visitors’ center at the Washington D.C. Temple to see the Christmas lights. I had been to the visitors’ center to see the lights before but had never inquired about the Church or its beliefs.
As I strolled through the visitors’ center, looking at the many displays, I thought of my cousin and another friend who were planning to serve missions for this church. I had studied about many religions but never this one. I was a little curious.
In my head I asked, expecting no answer, “Why in the world would those two men, or anyone for that matter, give up two years to serve missions—and at their own expense?” Much to my surprise, I received a humbling response. The soft whispers of the Spirit pierced my heart as my eyes fell upon a replica of gold plates. I was drawn to them. As I looked at them, I felt a powerful feeling of love, safety, and comfort, and in my mind I heard the words, “These are important. Learn about them.”
Immediately, I found a missionary and asked her about the plates. She told me about Joseph Smith translating the Book of Mormon. She also suggested I meet with the missionaries, but I declined.
The next day I went to the library to read all I could about the plates and the Church. I bought a copy of the Book of Mormon from a used-book store and began reading. I also read about the Church, but I wanted to learn more, so I decided to attend a church meeting.
I knew if I studied and prayed, God would confirm to me that this is the right church. So that’s what I did. I watched and waited patiently. And sure enough, my prayers were answered. On March 25, 2001, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
This is the Church of Jesus Christ. There are many good churches with many good people, but The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the church of our Lord and Savior, and it is the church with which our Heavenly Father is well pleased (see D&C 1:30). Our Heavenly Father loves us, has a plan for us, and will guide us back to Him if we earnestly seek Him.

Elizabeth kicked an empty coconut shell down the dirt road. She frowned as it rolled away. Today had not been a good day.
Not at all!
Lagi said something mean to her at school. No one had played with her at recess. And then her art project got ruined. She’d worked on it for weeks!
“It’s not fair!” Elizabeth said. Who invented bad days anyway?
Elizabeth plucked a hibiscus flower. At least that was one good thing. In Samoa she could always find beautiful flowers. Even on a bad day.
She twisted the pink flower into her hair and walked home.
“Talofa!” Dad said. “How was your day?”
Elizabeth looked down. “Not very good.” She walked past the noisy pigs in their yard and sat next to Dad on the porch.
Dad listened as she told him all about her hard day.
“I’m so sorry,” Dad said, hugging her. “Days like that are really hard. Want to know something that might help?”
She nodded. “Yes, please!”
He started singing a song that Elizabeth knew well. It was a beautiful song that Dad sang to Mom all the time.
She laughed and pushed on his shoulder. “Daa–aad! That doesn’t fix anything.”
He grinned. “I’m serious! Good music can always help your day go better. And, speaking of music …”
Elizabeth knew what he was going to say. It was time to practice piano.
More than anything, Elizabeth wanted to learn piano so she could play songs in church. She already loved singing with her family. Especially with Dad. But playing piano was harder. Her fingers had to work to find the notes.
“I don’t know if I feel like practicing today,” she said.
Dad stood up. “Maybe it would help to think about what you’re playing.”
Then he took off his sandals and went inside to help with dinner. Elizabeth took off her sandals and followed him.
The sheet music for “Fa‘afetai i Le Atua” sat on the keyboard. Elizabeth loved this Samoan hymn. It was all about giving thanks to God.
Elizabeth turned on the electric keyboard and started playing. “Think about what you’re playing,” Dad had said.
Elizabeth decided to try it. She thought about all the things she was thankful for. Her family. Her house. Music. Beautiful Samoa.
Her fingers started to find the notes more easily. After a while, her feelings began to change. She felt peaceful. Elizabeth smiled. She was feeling the Holy Ghost!
Dad started humming. He stood next to her and began to sing.
She kept playing, and Mom joined in too. Elizabeth kept thinking about all the ways God blessed her and her family.
At the end, Dad leaned down. “Feeling any better?” he asked.
“Yes!” she said. “You were right. Good music did make my day better!”
What helps you feel better on hard days?
Turn the page to learn more about Samoa!

Grudges, if left to fester, can become serious maladies. Like a painful ailment they can absorb all of our time and attention. Guy de Maupassant has written an interesting chronicle that illustrates this.
It concerns Master Hauchecome, who on market day went to town. He was afflicted with rheumatism, and as he stumbled along he noticed a piece of string on the ground in front of him. He picked it up and carefully put it in his pocket. He was seen doing so by his enemy, the harness maker.
At the same time it was reported to the mayor that a pocketbook containing money had been lost. It was assumed that what Hauchecome had picked up was the pocketbook, and he was accused of taking it. He vehemently denied the charge. A search of his clothing disclosed only the piece of string, but the slander against him had so troubled him that he became obsessed with it. Wherever he went he bothered to tell people about it. He became such a nuisance that they cried out against him. It sickened him.
“His mind kept growing weaker and about the end of December he took to his bed.
“He passed away early in January, and, in the ravings of [his] death agony, he protested his innocence, repeating:
“‘A little [piece] of string—a little [piece] of string. See, here it is, [Mister Mayor.]’” (See “The Piece of String,” http://www.online-literature.com/Maupassant/270/.)