Gospel Story Finder

When 10-year-old John joined the swimming team, he told his coach he could compete in the meets held on Saturday but not those held on Sunday. At the last meet of the season, John’s relay race was scheduled for Sunday. He remembered a family home evening lesson about making decisions in advance so it would be easier to do the right thing when the time came. John said: “I had made the decision not to swim on Sunday before I joined my team. That made it easier for me to tell the coach that I couldn’t swim the relay. I thought the coach would be mad at me. But at the end-of-the-year banquet, … he told the team how proud he was of me for having standards and then sticking to them.” John shows he knows by keeping the Sabbath day holy and setting an example of someone who follows the teachings of Jesus. Every time you keep the Sabbath day holy, you show you know.

The Young men of the Sunderland Ward, Sunderland England Stake, held a fund-raiser to provide subscriptions to the New Era for the inactive young men of the ward.

They auctioned off their Young Men president to do gardening, decorating, shopping, and car washing. Chiltern MacNaught, a priest, used his talent of ballroom dancing to hold a sponsored dance. Now every active and inactive Aaronic priesthood holder in the ward enjoys a monthly issue of the New Era.

The first real test of my young testimony came when I had to decide between going on a mission and playing basketball,” says Dean Reid Burgess. Brother Burgess had spent his freshman year playing basketball for the College of Southern Utah on scholarship.
It was 1965, the height of the war in Vietnam, and not every young man had the chance to serve a mission because of the United States military draft. But Brother Burgess had the chance and the choice. “It took a lot of prayer and a lot of fasting,” he says. “But I knew serving a mission was a real privilege, so I left school to serve.” While serving in the Brazilian Mission, Brother Burgess solidified his testimony of the restored gospel.
Upon returning home, he completed his education at Brigham Young University in business management and graduated in 1970. Some time later, he met Annette Christensen at a BYU student ward. “She was the Relief Society president, and I was the elders quorum president,” he says. “She was always busy serving in worthwhile and constructive ways.” They began dating and were later married in the Provo Utah Temple on 27 December 1973. They have five children and reside in Sandy, Utah.
Brother Burgess, 57, was born in Alpine, Utah, to Reid and Ethel King Burgess on 24 May 1946. He grew up working in the family-owned mercantile store and on their 20-acre (8-ha) farm. His parents taught him the value of family, hard work, and the principles of the gospel—the same values he has tried to teach his own children.
In 1997 Brother Burgess returned to Brazil, where he served as president of the Brazil Belo Horizonte East Mission. His other Church service includes counselor in stake presidencies, stake Young Men president, bishop, and high councilor; all told, he has served with the youth of the Church for more than 24 years.

In 1856, two handcart companies, with 1,075 pioneers under the leadership of James G. Willie and Edward Martin, left later in the year than planned, and they encountered early winter storms in present-day Wyoming (see Kate B. Carter, comp., Heart Throbs of the West, 6 vols. (1939–51), 6:360–61).

Peter Howard McBride, then but a boy of six years, was a member of the Martin Company. His father, after helping push handcarts through the icy river, died in the snow and freezing cold that night. Peter’s mother was sick; his older sister Jenetta watched out for the younger children. Her shoes had worn out, and her feet left bloody tracks in the snow. On the banks of the Sweetwater River the wind blew their tent down during the night. Everyone scampered out as the snow covered the tent—everyone except little Peter. According to his account: “In the morning I heard someone say, ‘How many are dead in this tent?’ My sister said, ‘Well, my little brother must be frozen to death in that tent.’ So they jerked the tent loose, sent it scurrying over the snow. My hair was frozen to the tent. I picked myself up and came out quite alive, to their surprise” (Peter Howard McBride, quoted in Susan Arrington Madsen, I Walked to Zion, 41, 43, 45–46).

It was just before dawn. Slowly the anxious moments ticked by for the American soldiers who waited in boats for the signal that would start their battle. They were trying to take one of the Japanese island bases in the Pacific during World War II. In one of the boats were two young Latter-day Saint marines.
At twenty minutes to six, the signal came to start firing. Suddenly it was as though the island base and all the boats waiting to attack exploded into flame and fire. Dive bombers dropped their loads, machine guns cut down the men who started wading toward shore, and the island base of Kwajalein seemed to heave and roll with the fury of the battle.
The two marines were hit in the first wave of gunfire and one was very badly wounded. The other, who was less seriously hurt, held the head of his comrade above water until help came. Finally, a United Press newspaperman and some medics found them both in the water. They tried to give first aid to the least injured boy, but he refused help until his buddy was checked. The rescuers thought the boy was too badly hurt to ever recover. A war correspondent wrote the rest of the story on February 8, 1944.
“Then it happened. This young man, the stronger of the two, bronzed by the tropical sun, clean as a shark’s tooth in the South Seas, slowly got to his knees. His own arm was nearly gone, but with the other, he lifted the head of his unconscious pal into his lap, placed his good hand on the other’s pale brow and uttered what to us seemed to be incredible words—words that to this moment are emblazoned in unforgettable letters across the doorway of my memory:
“In the name of Jesus Christ, and by virtue of the holy priesthood which I hold, I command you to remain alive until the necessary help can be obtained to secure the preservation of your life.’”
The two young marines were later taken to a hospital with the newspaper reporter who concluded his story in this way:
“The three of us are here in Honolulu and today we walked down the beach together. … He is the wonder of the medical unit, for—they say—he should be dead. Why he isn’t they don’t know—but we do—for we were there, off the shores of Kwajalein.”

If it’s not global monitoring Syndi’s batting around, it might be Nephi and the brass plates. Religion seems to crop up wherever she is. After her first few trips she decided there were two things she couldn’t leave home without—her Book of Mormon and Church pamphlets.
“The people I’ve met seem to respect my beliefs,” says Syndi, “and no one has tried to pressure me to do things I don’t believe in. Many have made an effort not to swear around me. One night I stayed up really late explaining the Church.”
Dedicated to the gospel, Syndi has read the Old Testament, Pearl of Great Price, and Doctrine and Covenants. She has also read the Book of Mormon three times and the New Testament twice.
Syndi wishes more girls would join her in the math and science arena. Only a small percentage of the nation’s students are going into the technological fields, a fact which has not escaped the notice of many large corporations and government agencies concerned about the nation’s future.
“I know the things I enjoy don’t appeal to everyone,” says Syndi. “But there are girls who are being stopped or who are stopping themselves simply because they’re girls, and that’s not right. I’ve never worried that boys would like me less because I’m good at math and science, but I know a lot of girls do. I have a friend who loves chemistry but can’t handle competing with men. I wish girls would realize there’s a lot they could contribute to the field and that being smart in math and science doesn’t make them less appealing. I think it makes them more so because guys can communicate with them better.”
In addition, women often have a different perspective than men, according to Syndi, therefore their voices need to be heard more. “In Montreal, for example, I noticed during a debate that the men tended to hold the economy above ecology and women vice versa. But I think that’s beginning to change.”
With so much sizzle at such a young age, will Syndi burn out?
“Definitely not!” she says. “Every year it gets more interesting and exciting.” Her mother says that when Syndi gets home from a seminar, she’s literally dancing around the room because she is so excited by what she is learning.
Her long-range goals (not necessarily in order) are to earn an engineering degree at Cal Tech on scholarship, be married in the temple, raise a family, and improve the world’s energy outlook.
“I think I can make a difference,” she says simply.

Consider that you are invited to a friend’s house for breakfast. On the table you see a large pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice from which your host fills his glass. But he offers you none. Finally, you ask, “Could I have a glass of orange juice?”

He replies, “Oh, I am sorry. I was afraid you might not like orange juice, and I didn’t want to offend you by offering you something you didn’t desire.”

Now, that sounds absurd, but it is not too different from the way we hesitate to offer up something far sweeter than orange juice. I have often worried how I would answer some friend about my hesitancy when I meet him beyond the veil.
A story related by Elder Christoffel Golden, of South Africa, refreshed my concerns. He was recently in Lusaka, Zambia, attending a meeting of new converts. A well-spoken, well-dressed stranger with a Book of Mormon in hand walked in. He stated he had driven past the chapel many times and had wondered what church met there and what they taught for doctrine.
At the conclusion of the meeting, this gentleman stood up, raised his copy of the Book of Mormon high in the air, and asked, “Why have you kept this book hidden from the people of Lusaka? Why have you kept it a secret?”
As I heard this story, I flinched that one day some friend might ask me, “Why have you kept this Book of Mormon, with its message of truth and salvation, a secret?”
My reply, “I was afraid I would damage our friendship,” will not be very satisfying to either me or my friend.
Brothers and sisters, I pray that we may put our fears and our hesitancy behind us and no more keep secret the great treasure that is ours.

About halfway through my third year at college, I realized that the money I had saved to pay for rent and utilities would not be sufficient to get me through the summer. It was that time of year when I could work to pay for the next semester. I found a part-time job as a shop assistant.
All went well until my work schedule changed to include Sundays. During the job interview, I hadn’t said anything about not working on Sundays because at the time the store was closed that day. Nevertheless, the job was important to me, and I liked what I was doing. I worked with a friend, and between us we could be free on two Sundays and work the other two. This let me attend some Church meetings and attend to my calling.
However, soon I found that I could not keep up with this schedule. I actually had a feeling that I wasn’t able to fulfill my Sunday responsibilities even if I didn’t work every Sunday. I started asking myself what I could do to change this situation. After I had prayed to ask for a way to soften the heart of my supervisors, I read 1 Nephi 7. I remembered reading verse 19, where, after Nephi had prayed, the hearts of his brethren were softened. Finally, I was able to speak to my employers about not working on Sundays.
I told my superiors that I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and they asked me about what Latter-day Saints believed. When I asked them if I could have Sundays off, the response was no. They pointed out that during my first interview, I had said I was available to work any day of the week and had never mentioned any religious needs.
The months passed without any change until one Sunday I rushed out of Church meetings to hurry to work. I asked myself, “What is most important to you?” The response was immediate and impossible to miss: the Church, the gospel, service in my calling, participation with all my heart in Sunday meetings, and discipleship in word and deed.
I decided that I would ask again not to work on Sundays, but this time I would do it with a letter of resignation in my hands, in case they told me no a second time.
I had prayed, fasted, and received supportive text messages from friends.
At the moment of my interview, even though my heart was fluttering, I was calm because I knew I was doing the right thing. This time my supervisor said yes. My prayer had been answered. I tore up my resignation letter as soon as I got home.
I received many blessings from this experience, but the most immediate and tangible blessing was that I was able to keep my job and still keep the Sabbath day holy. For that I am truly grateful to the Lord.

Before getting into bed, Karen and Katie knelt to pray. Karen soon finished and jumped back into bed. Katie was still praying.
Karen fluffed her pillow a few times and curled up under her nice warm quilt. Katie was still praying.
Karen closed her eyes. After a while, she opened her eyes again. Katie was still praying.
Karen adjusted her quilt again and snuggled in. Katie finally finished her prayer.
“What could you possibly be praying about for that long?” Karen asked.
“Well, I was thanking Heavenly Father for all He gave me today.”
Karen sat up. “Really? He gave you that much today?”
“Oh yes!”
“Like what?”
“Well,” Katie said, “when I woke up this morning, I opened the curtains, and the sun warmed my face. I was thankful for sunshine. I got dressed and rushed downstairs for breakfast. When we all knelt for family prayer, I thought, I’m so thankful to have a wonderful family!
“After breakfast, I went for a bike ride. I heard birds singing. I saw flowers of all colors and shapes. I saw the big shady trees up and down our street. I could smell the fresh air. I thought, I’m so thankful for this wonderful world!
“Then I saw my Primary teacher, Sister Smith, in her front yard. She waved and said hello. I felt blessed to have a nice Primary teacher who loves me and teaches me.
“When I got home, Brady was there to wag her tail while I petted her. I was thankful for Brady.
“Tonight at family home evening, Mom and Dad taught us more about Jesus Christ. I’m thankful for them. I’m most thankful for Jesus and all He’s done for me.”
“Wow!” Karen exclaimed. “I never realized how much there is to be thankful for.”
“There’s more,” Katie said. “When Mom reminded us to say our prayers, I was thankful for prayer itself. Not only can I talk to Heavenly Father any time and thank Him for all He’s given me, but I can ask for help with my problems.”
With that, Katie turned off the lamp and snuggled down in her bed.
Suddenly Karen turned the lamp back on.
“What’s wrong?” Katie asked.
“Nothing. I just need to say another prayer. I have a lot to thank Heavenly Father for, too.”
Katie closed her eyes tight and turned toward the wall. She had a feeling that Karen would be praying a long time.

Brother José de Souza Marques was the type of leader who truly understood the principle taught by the Savior: “And if any man among you be strong in the Spirit, let him take with him him that is weak, that he may be edified in all meekness, that he may become strong also” (D&C 84:106).
As a member of the branch presidency in Fortaleza, Brazil, Brother Marques, with the other priesthood leaders, developed a plan to reactivate those who were less active in his branch. One of those who was less active was a young man by the name of Fernando Araujo. Recently I spoke to Fernando, and he told me of his experience:
“I became involved in surfing competitions on Sunday mornings and stopped going to my Church meetings. One Sunday morning Brother Marques knocked on my door and asked my nonmember mother if he could talk to me. When she told him I was sleeping, he asked permission to wake me. He said to me, ‘Fernando, you are late for church!’ Not listening to my excuses, he took me to church.
“The next Sunday the same thing happened, so on the third Sunday I decided to leave early to avoid him. As I opened the gate I found him sitting on his car, reading the scriptures. When he saw me he said, ‘Good! You are up early. Today we will go and find another young man!’ I appealed to my agency, but he said, ‘We can talk about that later.’
“After eight Sundays I could not get rid of him, so I decided to sleep at a friend’s house. I was at the beach the next morning when I saw a man dressed in a suit and tie walking toward me. When I saw that it was Brother Marques, I ran into the water. All of a sudden I felt someone’s hand on my shoulder. It was Brother Marques, in water up to his chest! He took me by the hand and said, ‘You are late! Let’s go.’ When I argued that I didn’t have any clothes to wear, he replied, ‘They are in the car.’
“That day as we walked out of the ocean, I was touched by Brother Marques’s sincere love and worry for me. He truly understood the Savior’s words: ‘I will seek that which was lost, and bring again that which was driven away, and will bind up that which was broken, and will strengthen that which was sick’ (Ezekiel 34:16). Brother Marques didn’t just give me a ride to church—the quorum made sure I remained active. They planned activities that made me feel needed and wanted, I received a calling, and the quorum members became my friends.”
Following his reactivation, Brother Araujo went on a full-time mission and has served as bishop, stake president, mission president, and regional representative. His widowed mother, three sisters, and several cousins have also entered the waters of baptism.

A Relief Society president knows that, in spite of a report which shows members receiving temporary assistance constitute 4 percent of a ward, to the sister in distress it is 100 percent. Her needs are whole and real. Consider the case of a woman we shall call Sister Allen. Troubled and lonely, she had just returned from a hospital stay and major surgery. Two months before, her husband had abandoned his responsibilities to their family of five. The bishop had visited, and now the Relief Society president came. It was a family-needs visit, and as they talked Sister Allen spoke wistfully of having some cream of asparagus soup and blueberry muffins. These items were not on the bishop’s order form and could have been dismissed as not available. But the president really wanted to serve Sister Allen and wondered if this rather special request might suggest a need for more than food. What was Sister Allen’s real need? Was it for commodities or for consideration, for someone to demonstrate that she was worthwhile by giving her special attention now, when her problems seemed to overwhelm her?
Sensing the larger need, the Relief Society president ordered the items available through the storehouse, then assigned compassionate service responsibilities to her visiting teachers and others to provide meals that included the muffins and the soup and also to show their concern in other visible and tangible ways. Sister Allen responded. She got better, aided by the food but more so by their friendship.

I didn’t know which was louder—my footsteps in the big, silent house, or my pounding heart. I hurried through the darkness and down the stairs to my parents’ room. I tried to step softly so the stairs wouldn’t creak.
Our hundred-year-old house often creaked and popped at night. Dad said it was the sounds of the old wood and adobe settling as the night cooled down. But it still sounded scary.
Dad was out of town for work, and I felt bad waking Mom up, but I had to talk to her. I stood in the doorway. The moonlight shone through Mom’s white curtains. I felt a little less frightened already.
“Mom?” I called softly.
She turned over. “What’s the matter?”
“I had a bad dream again.”
“Oh no. Come snuggle with me, OK?”
Relieved, I climbed into the big bed. The sheets felt cool and soft. Mom hugged me tightly. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“It was the dream with the giant shark.”
“You’ve had that dream before,” Mom said. I nodded and tucked my head under Mom’s chin. “Well, you’re safe, sweetheart. Sleep here with me until morning. After school tomorrow, we can talk some more.”
All day I wondered what Mom would say after school about my scary dreams. The shark dream wasn’t the only one. Sometimes I dreamed about a prickly monster. One night I even dreamed that my family was in a car accident.
My dreams really bothered me. Sometimes I screamed and cried in the night. I even felt afraid to fall asleep.
After school, I sat down with Mom. “Are you still thinking about the giant shark?” Mom asked.
I nodded.
“What do you think you’re going to do about those scary dreams?”
“Mom, they’re dreams. I didn’t make them start. I don’t think I can make them stop.”
“Probably not by yourself,” Mom said. “But there’s someone I ask for help when I have a problem I can’t solve by myself.”
“You mean Heavenly Father!” I said.
“Right! You can ask Heavenly Father to help you sleep well at night, with no bad dreams.”
“In my prayers before bed?”
“Then, and any other time you’re thinking about it. I know He will listen to you and help you.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“I ask Heavenly Father about problems a lot, and He helps me. Just this morning I asked Him what to do about your scary dreams.”
“Did He help you?”
“Yes. I had the idea that you should pray about your dreams, and when that idea came to my mind, I felt the Holy Ghost telling me it was a good thing to do.”
“How did it feel?”
“I felt warm and happy, and I felt sure everything would be OK,” Mom said. “Do you know what I mean?”
“I think so,” I said. And then I noticed that I felt warm and happy inside. “Mom, that’s how I feel right now!” I said.
“That’s the Holy Ghost telling you that what you’re learning is right,” Mom said.
That night, and every night for a long time afterward, I prayed that I could sleep well with no bad dreams. My bad dreams didn’t come back. Heavenly Father answered my prayer.

With these ideas on my mind, some months ago I was about to seal a young couple in the St. George Temple. As I invited them to the altar, he took her by the hand, and I realized that they were about to place upon that altar of sacrifice their own broken hearts and contrite spirits—a selfless offering of themselves to each other and to God in emulation of Christ’s sacrifice for them. And for what purpose? So that through a lifetime of sacrificing for each other—that is, living as He did—they might become ever more as He is. By trying to live that way every day, they would each come closer to God, which would also bring them closer to each other. Thus, living the covenants of the sealing ordinance would sanctify not only their marriage but also their hearts and their very lives.

One of the most beautiful modern-day examples of meekness that I am aware of is that of Brother Moses Mahlangu. His conversion began in 1964, when he received a copy of the Book of Mormon. He was fascinated as he read this book, but it was not until the early ’70s that he saw an LDS Church sign on a building in Johannesburg, South Africa, as he was walking down a street. Brother Mahlangu was intrigued and entered the building to learn more about the Church. He was kindly told that he could not attend the services or be baptized because the country’s laws did not allow it at that time.

Brother Mahlangu accepted that decision with meekness, humility, and without resentment, but he continued to have a strong desire to learn more about the Church. He asked the Church leaders if they could leave one of the meetinghouse windows open during the Sunday meetings so he could sit outside and listen to the services. For several years, Brother Mahlangu’s family and friends attended church regularly “through the window.” One day in 1980 they were told that they could attend church and also be baptized. What a glorious day it was for Brother Mahlangu.

Later the Church organized a branch in his neighborhood in Soweto. This was possible only because of the determination, courage, and faithfulness of people like Brother Mahlangu who remained faithful for so many years under difficult circumstances.

Trent sat high in the oak tree, dangling one leg over a thick branch. When Jared and Tom called to him from below, he didn’t even hear them. He was daydreaming about a book he had been reading. His Grandma Jessop had given him Pioneer Children for his birthday. After reading the book for a while, he had left it on his bed and climbed the tree to think about the pioneer children and their amazing experiences.
One boy in the book had saved his two little sisters when their house and fields caught fire. Another had found food for his family because his father was away fighting in a war.
The stories told about the many dangers that the pioneer children faced—bears, coyotes, starvation. Trent wished that he had lived then. He would have met the challenges! He could scare away coyotes and bears. He had learned in Scouts how to make a cave in learned in Scouts how to make a cave in the snow where he could keep himself and his little brother warm if they got lost, just like a girl had done in one of the stories. He would share a piece ot bread with a hungry child, even if it were all he had.
But it would never happen to Trent. His mother could buy him anything he wanted in the market—any type of bread, fresh fruits and vegetables throughout the year, even treats.
Finally, the voices below broke through Trent’s reverie.
“Trent! What’s the matter with you?” Jared called. “Have you gone deaf or something?”
“No. Why?”
“We’ve been shouting at you to come down,” Tom said.
“What for?”
“Who knows? We’ll just walk around till we find something to do.”
I’m sure you will, Trent thought. Jared and Tom were his best friends, but lately they were often into some kind of mischief. Trent climbed part of the way down the tree and then dropped to the ground.
“What were you doing up there, anyway?” Jared asked.
“I was thinking about this book I’ve been reading,” Trent answered. “It’s all about—”
“A book!” Jared sneered. “Don’t you have anything better to do than read books?”
Trent looked searchingly at Jared, trying to see beyond the dark eyes and freckles that he had come to know so well. Tom, too, was almost as familiar as a brother, although he had moved into the neighborhood only six months ago.
“What’s wrong with you, Jared?” asked Trent. “You used to like to read. You used to like the other things I like too.”
Jared just ignored Trent’s question.
“Hey, look,” Tom said, pointing. “Here comes Reggie. Let’s have some fun with him.”
Trent winced.
Reggie was working hard to pedal his bicycle up the hill, sweat gathering on his forehead, a paper sack held tightly in one hand. Reggie tried his best, but he just couldn’t do a lot of things very well, and he attended a special class for slow learners.
“Hey, you,” Tom said as Reggie neared them, “stupid kids like you aren’t allowed on this street. You’ll have to go back around the other way.”
Reggie stopped pedaling and put his feet to the ground. He looked around, confused.
“What’s the matter?” Tom went on, “Don’t you know the way?”
Jared giggled. Reggie was older than they were. He was bigger, too, but he looked afraid.
“What’s in the sack?” Tom asked.
“Candy.”
“Oh, let’s see,” Jared said, grabbing the sack away from Reggie. “Maybe you have my favorite kind of candy in there.”
Jared dumped out the candy, and he and Tom began dividing it between them.
Reggie blinked a few times, and Trent saw tears in his eyes. “My daddy gave me the money,” Reggie quavered. “I earned it.”
“Ha!” Tom jeered. “What did you have to do to earn it? Tie your own shoelaces?”
“Button your own shirt?” Jared added.
Trent felt tears starting in his own eyes. He didn’t want to go against his two best friends, but he knew what he had to do. “Stop it!” he shouted.
Tom and Jared looked at him, surprised. Even Reggie looked surprised. Trent grabbed the candy out of his friends’ hands.
“Come on,” Tom said. “We’re just having a little fun.”
“Well it’s not much fun for Reggie, is it?” Trent asked as he handed the sack with candy back to Reggie.
“No,” Reggie said, wiping the tears off his cheeks.
“Come on,” Trent said, his hand on Reggie’s shoulder. “I’ll walk with you.”
As they walked, balancing the bike between them, Trent and Reggie talked. They talked about bicycles, and Reggie told Trent about his new puppy.
When they waved good-bye, Trent felt good about what he’d done. He realized that although he hadn’t faced starvation or bears, as the pioneer children in his book had, by acting against his friends to help Reggie, he had acted with courage too. It was just another kind of courage.

“Mom,” Anna said, “could we please stop at the next rest area? I need to get out and stretch.”
“Sure,” Mom replied. “There’s one coming up in just a few miles. I guess you haven’t had much chance to stretch since I picked you up after kindergarten.”
As soon as Mom stopped the car, Anna jumped out. There were no other cars, so she ran back and forth along the sidewalk for a few minutes. Then she went into the rest room. The first thing she saw was a shiny blue belt lying on the counter. She picked it up and looked at it. It was almost new. She rubbed it against her cheek. It felt good.
Blue is my favorite color, she thought. This even matches my pants. She tried it on. It fit just right.
When her mother came into the rest room, Anna held up the belt. “Look what I found.”
“That’s really pretty,” Mom said.
“Would it be OK if I kept it? There’s no one here for it to belong to.”
Mom thought a minute. “I think it’s your choice, Anna.”
Anna left the belt in the rest room and went out and sat on the lawn. She thought about what a great belt it was. Then she remembered a story Dad had told them in family home evening about finding a pocketknife when he was a boy. He had left it where he found it because it wasn’t his.
But I bet he didn’t want the knife nearly as much as I want this belt, Anna thought. Anyway, who would it hurt? The owner is long gone.
She thought how impressed the girls at school would be when she wore it. Maybe even her teacher would tell her what a pretty belt it was. Then she remembered the story her Primary teacher had told last week about a little boy who had returned a ball he’d found and how good he had felt about his decision.
Anna went back into the rest room. She picked up the belt and tried it on again. She remembered that she had a skirt it would go with perfectly. She even had shoes that were the same color of blue. She started to leave the rest room wearing the belt, then stopped and looked at herself in the mirror. The belt looked awesome with her pants. But did she like the girl who was wearing it? She took it off and rubbed the buckle with her thumb. She put it back on the counter and left, looking back at the belt one last time.
As she walked out the door, another car pulled into the parking lot. A girl about Anna’s age jumped out and raced into the rest room. A moment later, the girl ran back out, waving the belt in the air. “Mom, Mom, it was still there!”
Anna smiled.

First, every ward needs a Sister McManaway.
Let me tell you about Sister McManaway, our Young Women president. Bishops, I hope that you have someone like her. When she read that a bishop’s most important responsibility was the youth of his ward—well, she believed that. When she pointed it out to me, I told her I believed it, too. She said, “You don’t act like it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you never do anything with the youth. You never interview them. You never come to opening exercises, and all during our meeting you interview adults.”
One day Sister McManaway knocked on my door and said, “Look here, bishop, I have a book for you to read. You don’t have to read it all, just the parts I’ve underlined.” It was a book by Elder Vaughn Featherstone entitled A Generation of Excellence.
First I read the underlined parts, and then I read the entire book. That book had a great impact on me, and I’m grateful that Elder Featherstone took the time to write it. But equally important, I’m grateful to Sister McManaway for caring enough about the youth to say, “Bishop, you need to read this book.”

Those who knew President Grant personally agree that two characteristics stood out among the many good qualities he possessed: his persistence and his sense of humor. President Grant often referred to the story of an ant that made 69 attempts to carry off a grain of corn before it was successful. “This wonderful lesson of perseverance by an insect has been an inspiration to me all the days of my life,” he said.13

An example of his persistence is demonstrated in the way he learned to sing. When President Grant was 43 years old, he decided he wanted to sing, despite the fact that he had never been able to carry a tune. As he explained:
“I had a private secretary with a beautiful baritone voice. I told him I would give anything in the world if I could only carry a tune. He laughed and said, ‘Anybody who has a voice and perseverance can sing.’ I immediately appointed him as my singing teacher.
“My singing lessons started that night. At the end of two hours’ practice I still couldn’t sing one line from the song we had been practicing. After practicing that one song for more than five thousand times, I made a mess of it when I tried to sing it in public. I practiced it for another six months. Now I can learn a song in a few hours.”14
President Grant’s sense of humor was evident in the stories he shared of his efforts in learning to sing. He told of a time when he was practicing his singing next to a dentist’s office. He heard someone in the hall remark that it sounded like somebody was having teeth pulled.15

History provides us a vivid example of the importance of the Lord’s servants being in tune with the Spirit. The young Prophet Joseph Smith could not translate when he was angry or upset.

David Whitmer recalled: “One morning when he was getting ready to continue the translation, something went wrong about the house and he was put out about it. Something that Emma, his wife, had done. Oliver and I went up stairs, and Joseph came up soon after to continue the translation, but he could not do anything. He could not translate a single syllable. He went down stairs, out into the orchard and made supplication to the Lord; was gone about an hour—came back to the house, asked Emma’s forgiveness and then came up stairs where we were and the translation went on all right. He could do nothing save he was humble and faithful.”

A family of four was initially contacted by sister missionaries, and from the very beginning the mother and her children often read in the Book of Mormon, prayed daily, and wanted to attend church. The father, however, resisted. Unlike his wife, he was not of a Christian faith, and he did not yet feel prepared to reevaluate his beliefs.
The sister missionaries were inspired to focus their teachings on Jesus Christ. In their words:
“We taught about Joseph Smith, of his faith in Christ, what we learn about Christ from the First Vision, and the Prophet’s testimony of our Savior. Everything we ever read together or challenged them to read as a family out of the Book of Mormon was teaching them more about our Redeemer. That is when we started seeing the progress. They displayed a framed picture of Christ proudly in their family room—it was one we had given them as a gift.”
The father’s change of heart occurred when his wife announced that she wanted to be baptized and his sons decided to pray to know whether they should also be baptized. From that moment on, he read regularly in the Book of Mormon and prayed about baptism. His sincere desire to know whether the Church was true changed him, and he became a spiritual leader in his home. Just before he and his family were baptized, the father asked for a tithing slip and an envelope. He did not want to delay keeping the commandments for even one second.