Gospel Story Finder

Rebecca B., 15, of Leicestershire, England, played the role of Mary Alice Cannon, a young woman who was converted to the gospel and traveled to America with her family in the early history of the Church. During her time acting in the pageant, Rebecca had many chances to share the gospel. After one performance, Rebecca saw a young woman who was standing alone and decided to talk with her. “I discovered that she was not a Church member and that she came to the pageant because her friend was in it,” Rebecca said. Rebecca talked with her more and found out that she was attending some Church activities.
“A couple days later, I was able to get a Book of Mormon for her,” Rebecca said. “I wrote a note in it and then gave it to her friend to give to her. That was the first Book of Mormon I’ve given away, and the experience has helped me know that Heavenly Father will prepare a way for all of His children to receive the truth of the gospel someday.”

In a Sunday School class once, we discussed Moses’ reported failure to acknowledge the hand of the Lord in providing water for the children of Israel. Our teacher, a former stake president, tried to explain to the class that we sometimes put our leaders in a “difficult” position when we give them undue praise for their performance. Many class members were puzzled: how could that be a problem? But I knew. So I shared with them a recent humbling experience.
I had been asked to speak at our stake Laurel standards night. As I began thinking and praying about this assignment, I felt inspiration come to me several times through the day, and in the still of the night, I began putting it all together. When I thought the talk was complete—all I needed for the time allotted me—I suddenly seemed to recall a great flood of information from talks and articles on the subject. Speaking quietly to the Lord, I said, “Heavenly Father, I believe you are giving me too much material, I have only thirty minutes to talk.”
Then came the clear instruction to my mind, “Write it all down, then read it aloud and time yourself.”
“That’s a good idea,” I thought. I did it, and to my great surprise, the talk came to thirty minutes. I had such a good feeling that I could have leaped around the room—I was prepared!
But the day before the Laurel standards night, I felt that I should prepare myself spiritually to give the message, and that evening, I began to fast. The next afternoon, I went to my room and began going over the talk. To my surprise, I just couldn’t put it together mentally. “What should I do?” I said in panic to the Lord. “I’m afraid I’ll be reading most of this, and if I do, everyone’s attention will be on me instead of the message you want me to give them.”
Then, very strongly, the thought came into my mind, “Leave it home.”
I resisted this. “I just can’t do that. You know what a terrible memory I have.”
Again came the thought, “Leave it home.”
Frightened, I pleaded, “Remember when I was a Primary president and stood up to give a talk and no words came? That was a terrible experience. Don’t let me go through that again.”
But again, I felt impressed by the Spirit to “leave it home,” so I relented saying, “If I do this, I will have to rely completely on thy help.” And again came the calm assurance of the Spirit that I should leave my talk at home.
That evening as I went out the door, I carried only a handkerchief. And as I glanced up at my bedroom window, I felt literally faint. Once in the chapel, waiting for the meeting to begin, I again tried putting the talk together. I just didn’t have it. I began to panic and then to pray, and immediately felt the comforting assurance that the Lord was there.
When the time came, I walked to the podium with complete assurance and gave all thirty minutes of that talk. I could hardly believe it. This was a marvelous spiritual experience.
When the meeting was over, several people came up to me and paid me glowing compliments. I literally couldn’t force myself to say thank you, and after I stammered through an awkward acknowledgement a few times, I looked around for an exit. I wanted to go home. I could not take credit for what had happened.
Looking back on the experience, the thought has come to me that perhaps the kindest thing any of us can say to someone whose words have impressed us is, “Thanks for that inspired message” or “I felt the Spirit of the Lord in your address tonight”—otherwise we lead them into temptation.

When we understand this phrase, it is helpful to know that several years ago, in 1957, before Spencer W. Kimball became President of the Church he was visiting a conference in California, and the Primary children sang the song, “I Am a Child of God.” Later he said to a visiting Primary board member, “I love the children’s song, but there’s one word that bothers me. Would Sister Randall mind if the word know were changed to do?” The change was made, for President Kimball had pointed out the very important truth that, while it is important to know what is right, it is more important to do what is right. Only in this way can we be sure of returning someday back into the presence of our Heavenly Father, to our heavenly home, to live always with our Father and his Son Jesus Christ and our loved ones. What joy comes when we understand the full meaning of being a child of God!

After being sealed to their families or being baptized for the dead in the Washington Temple, several boys and girls wrote their impressions:
“I would like to bear my testimony that I know that this Church is true and I’m glad to be a member. When my dad wasn’t a member of the Church I thought that we would never be sealed. My dad grew stronger in the Church, and he was baptized last year. Now we are sealed in the temple and I’m very happy! Now I can live with my family for time and eternity. I love my family very much.”
Sylvia Haarsma

Last year I had the chance to play a round of golf with Elder David A. Bednar. He is a very good golfer! On the second hole of our round, I noticed a single player approaching as we were preparing to hit our tee shot. It was a young man who had just returned from his mission. Pointing to Elder Bednar, I told him, “You probably know him, but you don’t know me.” He replied, “You are Brother Newman, and that is Elder Bednar.” I asked him how he knew me, and he said, “I read the Liahona!” Elder Bednar then said, “Just so you know, there is no swearing in this group!”

Members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles are always teaching, so after a few holes Elder Bednar said something like this to the young man, “It seems to me that you may be looking for an eternal companion soon. You probably don’t want any advice, but I will give you some anyway.” The young man was, of course, grateful to hear Elder Bednar’s counsel. He basically told this young man, “You will never find a perfect person out there. You aren’t perfect either.
So, my advice is that you find someone who has spiritual and life goals similar to yours and with whom you can create the marriage and family you hope to have. You do not find a person who will give you a happy marriage. You prayerfully find a person with whom you, together, can create a happy marriage.” What great advice!

Lucia and I have almost 40 years of creating a happy marriage together. It has been a wonderful journey. If there was a scoreboard that kept track of the number of times one of us has had to say “I’m sorry” during our marriage, the scoreboard would read Brother Newman 100 and Sister Newman 1! I am so grateful for Lucia’s forgiving heart.

The organ music was solemn and low, and a reverent hush fell over the congregation as the pallbearers entered carrying the simple pine box. A few garden flowers had been lovingly placed on top, and nestled among them was an old mandolin, its worn but polished surface gleaming dully in the dim light. The flickering candles made the large room seem gloomier, although sunlight seeped in here and there between the rough-hewn logs.
The organ seemed out of place in this rugged wilderness. There were few luxuries in this early western settlement, and the small organ, brought all the way across the plains on a wagon, was highly treasured.
Amanda watched little puffs of dust rise from the floor as the pallbearers walked slowly down the isle.
“The coffin is so small,” she whispered to her mother.
“Your great-grandfather may not have been very tall in stature, but he was a giant in spirit,” Mother whispered back.
Amanda nodded, and bitter tears stung her dark brown eyes. Grandpa’s death was hard for her to understand. He had been lighthearted, always spreading laughter wherever he went. And music. How he loved music!
“Manda, the world would be a sad and sorry place without music,” he had said to her often. “It’s helped me more times than I can recollect, both before and after I left Denmark.”
“Tell me a story about Denmark, Grandpa. Please?” she used to plead.
“All right, but you know you’ve heard them all before.” His eyes would twinkle as the tale would unfold. “When I was a young lad in Alborg, my family tended sheep in the fields surrounding the town. The country was lush and green in the daytime, but at night everything was veiled in shadows. I had the evening watch alone. Sometimes the sheep were restless, so I always took along my old mandolin. I’d sing a quiet song, and it would settle them down. It would ease my mind a bit too. Tending sheep can be mighty lonely. My mandolin has always been a comfort to me, Manda. I’m glad you have learned to play it. Someday I want you to have it.”
A sharp nudge from her older brother brought Amanda back to the present. Bishop Madsen stepped up to the tall box that served as a pulpit and announced the opening song and prayer. Then Amanda’s mind wandered again as the service began. She could see herself bumping around in the back of the covered wagon, gazing wistfully behind them as the trial disappeared into dust. She’d missed her home and the friends she’d left behind. Grandpa hadn’t seemed to, though. He’d sat in front, constantly looking ahead.
“Let’s sing a song,” he’d suggest. Amanda would be the first to join in.
Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear;
But with joy wend your way.
Though hard to you this journey may appear,
Grace shall be as your day …
Their voices had been carried by the warm Nebraska wind, and soon all the settlers in their company had raised their voices to sing along.
The most precious moments had been at night around the campfire. The wagons had been pulled together into a circle, and the moon had loomed large in the prairie sky, softly shining on tired, sunbaked faces.
The trek to Utah was long and hard, Amanda thought. Grandpa had made it then. Why did he have to die now?
The bishop had finished speaking, and he turned toward Amanda.
“Amanda, we all know how much you and your great-grandfather loved to sing together. Do you think you could come up here and sing one of his favorite songs for us?”
Amanda froze in her seat. I could never sing without Grandpa, she thought. Then she looked at the mandolin lying among the flowers. It had helped Grandpa while he tended sheep. Maybe it would help her now.
She rose slowly and walked over to the casket. Her hands trembled as she lifted the mandolin from its bed of flowers. Several people in the crowd nodded encouragement. Amanda cleared her throat, placed her fingers on the strings, and began: “Come, come, ye Saints, …”
The song went beautifully until she came to the last verse. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her voice started to quaver.
Bishop Madsen stepped quickly to Amanda’s side, beckoning the congregation to join in. Instantly the little log church was filled with music.
And should we die before our journey’s through,
Happy day! all is well!
We then are free from toil and sorrow, too;
With the just we shall dwell! …
Amanda sat down, still holding the mandolin. Mother put her arm around Amanda’s shoulder and said, “Grandpa’s mandolin can become as much a part of you as it was a part of him. Take good care of it.”
Amanda smiled. It was already a great comfort to her.

When Zack and his dad drove into the Jenkins’s yard on Thanksgiving Day, he saw his cousins setting a ladder next to a tree.
“Hurry, Zack!” called Amber.
“You’re just in time,” said Penny.
Zack jumped out of the car into the soft snow. “In time for what?” he asked. He and his dad lived in an apartment far away from any relatives. They had never spent Thanksgiving with the Jenkins family before.
Penny held up the basket in her hand and said, “We’ve made all kinds of treats for the birds. It’s a family tradition.”
What’s a tradition? Zack wondered. He was about to ask, when William said, “Come on—you can be first on the ladder, Zack, since it’s your first time here.”
Zack’s dad helped William hold the ladder steady while Zack climbed up it. Penny handed Zack a popcorn-and-suet ball from the basket. Zack reached as high as he could and hung the ball on a branch.
Everyone took a turn climbing the ladder and hanging up a treat. Soon the tree looked splendid decorated with popcorn-and-suet balls, pinecones spread with peanut butter, orange and apple slices, and milk-carton feeders filled with crunchy seeds.
“Let’s go inside now and watch the birds through the window,” said Penny.
“What’s a tradition?” Zack asked as he trooped inside with the others.
“A tradition is something you do every year at the same time in the same way,” Penny said.
Grandpa Jenkins greeted them at the door. “Yes, and it wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without a feast for the birds,” he said.
Just then another car came up the driveway.
“Hurray!” everyone shouted. “Here comes Aunt Irene with the pies.”
“It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without Irene’s pies,” said Grandpa. He took the pies and gave her a hug.
Grandma looked over from the stove. “Set them on the counter, please, next to the pickles,” she said. Her face was warm and red from basting the turkey in the oven.
Zack sniffed the savory kitchen smells. “Wow! Pumpkin pie!” he exclaimed.
“Aunt Irene makes two kinds of pie—pumpkin and apple—every year,” Amber told him.
Another family tradition, thought Zack. Traditions are great! He smacked his lips and helped the other grandchildren set the table. His dad helped the uncles bring in extra chairs. The aunts mixed the salads. William fed the dog. Outside in the tree the birds chirped over their feast.
At last dinner was ready to eat, and everyone sat down. After a blessing on the food was said, each person shared aloud some of the special things he or she was thankful for that year. While they ate, they told funny stories and laughed.
As each course was finished, the aunts cleared dishes from the table. Empty dishes began to pile up on the counter where the pies and pickles and salads had been before. When the counter overflowed with dirty dishes, the aunts stacked more in the sink. When the sink was full, they piled more on the stove.
When the last slice of pie had been eaten, Grandma smiled and sighed as she put her apron back on.
“Now for the ‘dirty dish disaster,’” Aunt Nora muttered, echoing Grandma’s sigh.
But Penny, Amber, William, Grandpa, and all the uncles put on their jackets and caps and mittens.
“What’s going on?” asked Zack.
“It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without a walk in the park after dinner,” said Grandpa, patting his full stomach.
“The river is frozen hard enough to walk on. It’s fun. Grab your jacket and come with us, Zack,” said William.
Zack ran for his jacket. In the kitchen he stopped. Grandma and Aunt Nora were at the sink. It was spilling over with sticky dishes and dirty pots and pans. The other aunts were putting leftovers in the refrigerator and pantry. “Aren’t you going on the walk?” Zack asked them.
Grandma shook her head. “We stay here and attack the dirty dishes,” she explained.
“We always do,” said Aunt Nora.
“We have plenty of practice,” said Aunt Irene.
Penny and William and the others waited at the door for Zack and his dad.
Some people go for a walk. Others stay and do the dishes. Is this a tradition, too? wondered Zack.
“Aren’t you coming, Zack?” asked Penny.
Zack walked slowly over to the sink. “Dad and I do the dishes every night. I guess that’s our tradition,” he said as he took off his jacket and picked up a dish towel.
Zack’s dad nodded and rolled up his sleeves.
Then Amber took off her coat and said, “I can dry too.”
William took off his jacket. “I was on the dish-scraping crew at summer camp.”
Grandpa gave a little cough. “I suppose it won’t matter if we delay the walk a bit.”
Soon Zack, his dad, and all the rest of the Jenkinses were busy in the kitchen, scraping and washing and drying dishes. Grandpa put them away because he knew where they belonged in the cupboards.
“Well, I never!” Grandma kept saying.
When the kitchen was all cleaned, the sun was beginning to set. The blue sky was streaked with red and orange. Many of the birds were gone. Zack was worried. “Did we break your after-dinner Thanksgiving tradition?”
“You sure broke the ‘dirty dish disaster’ tradition,” said Aunt Nora, helping Grandma on with her coat, “and it’s about time!”
“Yes, you’ve helped us replace it with a better one!” declared Aunt Irene.
Zack gave a happy grin as they all went out in the fresh November air for their walk together—a new Jenkins family tradition.

Brother McAllister moved into the house down the street from my family at about the time my father died. Mom told me Brother McAllister had been a patriarch in a stake across the mountains, and that he and Sister McAllister had moved to our town to work at the temple. At that time I thought a patriarch was an old, old man. And Brother McAllister fit the description. He seemed about as old as a man could be.
I saw him just about every day, but I never spoke to him. I guess I was a little bit afraid of him. It was partly because he once yelled at me for hitting his window with a green apple I had aimed at a neighbor girl. But I was afraid of him mostly because he reminded me of a skeleton. He was so frail and thin that he looked like he might tumble over at any moment. And his eyes—pale blue—set in his square face burned with a fierce energy.
Early every morning he walked out of his house in a stiff, slow-motion gait wearing an immaculately pressed old-fashioned brown suit. Then he helped Sister McAllister get into their car before he drove away at a snail’s pace toward the temple. In the evening, he put on coveralls and worked in his yard. I wondered why he bothered, since he obviously didn’t have long to live.
When it came time for me to be ordained a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, I told the bishop I would accept a home teaching assignment. I was assigned to go home teaching with Brother McAllister.
The first time was very awkward. I had forgotten he was coming, so I wasn’t ready. I put on a clean shirt and walked behind him to his car, feeling like I was being taken to the gallows. The way he did everything so slowly nearly drove me crazy.
Our first appointment was with Brother Tuttle. On the drive to the appointment, Brother McAllister told me Sister Tuttle had recently died and that Brother Tuttle was very lonely. I didn’t say anything. I knew Brother Tuttle as a grouchy old fellow who lived near my grandmother’s place. Once he had chased me out of his raspberry patch, and more than a few times told me not to play in his tumbledown barn. I was surprised when he greeted me warmly and told me a story about my grandfather. When he and Brother McAllister began discussing the lesson, I found myself staring at my companion’s carefully polished high-topped shoes. I noticed he put the laces in them so they went straight across instead of crisscross. Obviously, I wasn’t listening.
It went on like that for months. All the people we visited were old. They talked a lot about aches and pains, but were concerned about other things, too. Brother McAllister brought up the subject of dying, and said he was trying hard to get ready to meet the Savior. At first it really bothered me when he said things like that, but after a while, it didn’t. He seemed totally at peace with the idea. He talked about it the same way I talked with my friends about going on to high school. We were a little worried, but anxious to move on to something better. Slowly I began to understand why the pioneers and early Church members were willing to put their lives on the line for the gospel. Brother McAllister’s testimony had simply taken away all his fear of death.
Before long, I began to enjoy our visits. Even though I didn’t have much to say, I still felt like these people enjoyed having me come to their homes. Listening to Brother McAllister bear his testimony made me feel more confident about mine, and hearing talk about growing old gave me a totally different point of view.
I began to be ashamed of the pranks I had sometimes played on elderly people. When one of my friends suggested soaping windows or stealing fuses, I would picture Brother Tuttle or one of my families sitting alone in the dark, or trying to clean up the mess. I decided I would begin volunteering to chop wood or mow lawns for the widows in my neighborhood.
When Sister McAllister died, I attended her funeral. It was the first funeral I had dared go to since my dad died. Soon after her death, I was given another home teaching assignment. I didn’t speak with Brother McAllister much after that, but I noticed he still put on his brown suit and went to the temple every day. I marveled at how tidy he kept his yard, and wondered how he found the strength and determination to keep going. He even built a new carport.
The year I was picked as seminary president, Brother McAllister moved away to live with one of his children. I thought about him occasionally, especially when we had lessons about resurrection or the temple. Shortly after I entered the mission field, Mom wrote to tell me Brother McAllister had died. I thought about him that whole day, feeling sure he was happy and at peace. Later that night, I thought of him again when I found myself telling an investigator how a testimony of Jesus Christ and the ordinances of the temple could remove his fear of death.
I was still thinking about my home teaching companion when I said my prayers before going to bed that night. As I arose from my knees, I looked at my polished shoes and something dawned on me. I realized why it was I liked to put the laces in with the strings going straight across instead of crisscross.

The third area of improvement was finding faith that I could allow our four children, who are now grown, to live their lives without my feeling responsible to make them live a certain way. Some of them were less active in the Church, but I still wanted to influence them for good without infringing on their agency. On one particular visit to the temple, I put their names on the prayer roll and prayed long and sincerely in their behalf. I received a profoundly peaceful assurance that all would be well with them.
When meditating on the experience later, I realized that Heavenly Father loved them even more than I did because He understood them better. He wants to bless them and have them return to Him, and He will provide them with learning opportunities. Now when I begin to worry, I remember that experience and do what I can, knowing the Lord will do the rest.

Illustration by Rafael Mayani
A few years ago I was depressed because I felt like I had no one to talk to. My family was distant and I had no friends, so I couldn’t fathom the idea of living anymore.
I was living with my aunt and uncle, and the only thing they told me not to do was talk to the neighbor. They claimed he was strange, and they made up stories about him to scare me off.
However, one Saturday he and two teenage girls my age asked for my help with building a fence. I agreed and got to work.
After observing these girls, I realized they were nice, so I started talking with them, which led to a conversation about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I had so many questions, which they answered. I became intrigued. My neighbor invited me to go to church with him the next day to see how I liked it. I was at a low point in my life, so I figured I had nothing to lose.
Walking through those doors the following morning, I felt an instant inner peace that I didn’t understand, but I knew this church was where I had to be. I was introduced to the missionaries that morning, and I saw how they knew the Church to be true.
I began to listen to the various lessons from the missionaries. I couldn’t have asked Heavenly Father to send me those two loving, caring, and spiritual missionaries at a better time. Through their help I gained the knowledge they had about the gospel.
After listening to them share how their knowledge of Heavenly Father helped them through trials, I felt like I should pray to see if what they had said was true. After praying, I felt an intense feeling of happiness, peace, and calmness inside me. I knew that I had received my answer that night through the Holy Ghost.
Having this knowledge, my testimony has grown rapidly. Since joining the Church in 2013, I have definitely seen the blessings that the knowledge of our Heavenly Father has given me. I am thankful for those missionaries and for my neighbor inviting me to come unto Christ.

When I was a mission president in South Africa in 2005, I felt a very strong prompting by the Spirit to move our Norwegian missionary, Elder Joseph Henriksen, all the way across the mission—in between normal transfer dates—to replace a missionary who needed to have surgery. I had just interviewed Elder Henriksen in Queenstown, a two-hour flight plus a two-hour drive away from Cape Town, and on the flight home the Spirit kept telling me that he was the one who needed to move into the Strand Branch and replace the elder needing surgery.
As soon as we returned to the mission home, I called Elder Henriksen and asked him to pack his bags. . . . We picked him up [the next day] and talked to him about his new area, where they hadn’t had a baptism for 18 months. I explained to Elder Henriksen that he was the one the Lord had selected to be there and to make a difference in that branch. We introduced him to his new companion, who drove him another hour to Strand, a beautiful beach area on the Atlantic Ocean, about 50 miles south of Cape Town.
The first week in his new area, Elder Henriksen was thumbing through the area book and found a referral that hadn’t been contacted in the seaside town of Hermanus, another hour south of Strand, but in their assigned area. There was a small branch in Hermanus with about twenty active members, but he and his companion were the closest missionaries. Not wanting to waste time, but feeling prompted to contact the referral, he and his companion looked up the addresses of all the members in Hermanus so they could visit them as well as contacting the referral. Then they set aside a day to visit Hermanus.
When that day came, Elder Henriksen and his companion taught a first lesson in the home they were referred to, then began visiting the members. They knocked on the door of a member lady who expressed great surprise at seeing elders at her door. “I didn’t think we had missionaries in Hermanus anymore!” she exclaimed. Then she told them it was the greatest day of her life. She had just received in the mail a 300-year history of her ancestors. She was excited to be able to do temple work for hundreds of family members who had gone on before. Then she told them that her only problem was that she couldn’t understand any of it because it was written in Norwegian.
Elder Henriksen looked at her, smiled and said, “I’m Norwegian!” What a tender mercy for the Lord to inspire a mission president to suddenly transfer the only Norwegian missionary on the African continent to the area where this dear sister lived and needed a Norwegian translator. While he served there, he was able to visit her once a week and complete the translation. This experience strengthened the faith of everyone involved.
But the story doesn’t stop there. Because of what Elder Henriksen saw and felt in Strand and Hermanus, he telephoned one morning and said, “President, if you will leave me here six months, I promise you we will have twenty baptisms in the Strand Branch!” I reminded him that they hadn’t had baptized anyone in that branch in a year and a half. But I felt inspired to leave him there for the six months. Well, he didn’t just baptize 20 people, he baptized 21 in just six months! The Strand Branch grew so fast that it soon became the Somerset West Ward in the Cape Town Stake with three sets of missionaries, and there were soon two full-time missionaries in Hermanus as well, where they had several baptisms in that small but growing branch. The Lord truly knows how to make sure the right person is in the right place at the right time.

As Heber J. Grant matured, his faith in God also matured. When his first wife, Lucy Stringham Grant, lay critically ill, he called his children into her hospital room and told them she was going to die. His daughter Lutie pleaded with him to exercise his priesthood in her mother’s behalf and not let her die. When the children left the room, Elder Grant knelt by his wife’s bed. Of that prayer, he later said:
“I told the Lord, I acknowledged his hand in life and in death, in joy or in sorrow, in prosperity or adversity. I did not complain because my wife was dying, but that I lacked the strength to see my wife die and have her death affect the faith of my children in the ordinances of the gospel. I therefore pleaded with him to give to my daughter Lutie a testimony that it was his will that her mother should die. Within a few short hours, my wife breathed her last. Then I called the children into the bedroom and announced that their mamma was dead. My little boy Heber commenced weeping bitterly, and Lutie put her arms around him and kissed him, and told him not to cry, that the voice of the Lord had said to her, `In the death of your mamma the will of the Lord will be.’ Lutie knew nothing of my prayers, and this manifestation to her was direct answer to my supplication to the Lord, and for it I have never ceased to be grateful.”

One young woman found that when she was humble the Lord helped her make the type of decision the prophet spoke of.
“When I first heard these marvelous words by our prophet, it was during the time when I was struggling,” she wrote. “I was currently dating a nonmember friend, and I could see my life changing—and not for the better. As I took the dear prophet’s advice, I got down on my knees and humbly prayed to my Father in Heaven. A few weeks later my Sunday School teacher gave me the answer I needed as we were talking about our choices and consequences that follow. I knew right then that I was going to stop dating this good friend.
“I know with all my heart that the Lord humbled me enough so I could receive the answer I needed. Through this powerful experience I have been able to give this great young man a copy of the Book of Mormon, and within a few short weeks he is going to be baptized.”

If you had been in the small town of Wales, Utah, one Friday afternoon last June, you would have seen a miracle—bone-tired teenagers running uphill to go do some more hard work.
About 200 youth and leaders from the Orem Utah South Central Stake had already put in two days of hard labor. Sweating alongside the residents of Wales, they had cleaned weeds and brush from the town cemetery and cemented fence posts around it, painted the town hall and the pavilion in the town park, repaired roads and removed trash and debris, roofed and painted the water treatment chlorinator house, demolished old sheds and chicken coops, and repaired and painted barns and fences. They had installed a handsome new “Welcome to Wales” sign at the town park.
Now, as quitting time neared, most of the projects were completed. But the chain link fence around the cemetery was only about a third finished, and the workers there were exhausted. So a call went out for volunteers from among the tired youth who had finished their own projects.
Almost instantly, truckloads of young men and women came pouring into the cemetery. And those who couldn’t find a place in a truck came running up the hill. Within 40 minutes the fence was completed. There were high fives and handshakes, and a smile on every sweaty, sunburned face.
The project had begun with stake leaders searching for an activity that would not merely entertain the youth, but stretch their souls through service. The result was a “call” to the “Coalbed Mission” for every youth in the stake between the ages of 14 and 18.
The 12 youth from Wales were also called to the mission. The contingent from Orem nearly doubled the population of Wales. All were housed with local residents, and friendships quickly formed.
Since the project, young men and women from Orem have gone back to Wales every chance they get. Letters go back and forth. Long distance calls appear on phone bills. There are photographs of Orem youth on walls in Wales, and photographs of folks from Wales tacked on walls in Orem.
“The event had a big positive effect on Wales,” said the bishop there, Dennis Roberts. “All the memories come back every time we ride by the park or look at the post office or the new fence.”

Here is another example of the effect on the future of decisions made in the present. This example concerns the choice to make a present sacrifice to achieve an important future goal.
At a stake conference in Cali, Colombia, a sister told how she and her fiancé desired to be married in the temple, but at that time the closest temple was in faraway Peru. For a long time, they saved their money for the bus fares. Finally they boarded the bus to Bogotá, but when they arrived there, they learned that all seats on the bus to Lima, Peru, were taken. They could go home without being married or be married out of the temple. Fortunately, there was one other alternative. They could ride on the bus to Lima if they were willing to sit on the floor of the bus for the entire five-day and five-night ride. They chose to do this. She said it was difficult, even though some riders sometimes let them sit in their seats so they could stretch out on the floor.
What impressed me in her talk was this sister’s statement that she was grateful she and her husband had been able to go to the temple in this way, because it changed the way they felt about the gospel and the way they felt about marriage in the temple. The Lord had rewarded them with the growth that comes from sacrifice. She also observed that their five-day trip to the temple accomplished a great deal more in building their spirituality than many visits to the temple that were sacrifice-free.
In the years since I heard that testimony, I have wondered how different that young couple’s life would have been if they had made another choice—forgoing the sacrifice necessary to be married in the temple.

One morning during the conference, nearby Seabrook Beach was covered with wave after wave of teens in yellow shirts. They were youth conference participants dressed in Beacon-in-the-Night T-shirts who spent the morning collecting trash.
“People would approach us and ask if we were at some sort of a summer camp,” says Alex Morales. “It was great to be able to tell them that we are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was cool to be with other youth from the Church, showing people that service is an important part of what we’re all about.”
“I remember looking down the beach and seeing all those yellow shirts,” says Bethany Klick. “We were excited to be there, and I noticed that our attitude rubbed off on other people, too. When they saw what we were doing, they smiled and seemed to enjoy the day just a little bit more.”
Following the cleanup, youth and leaders ended the day at the beach with a sandcastle building competition.

When I was a student at BYU–Provo a number of years ago, we had an experience that was part of an education class. We were to go on a three-day camping trip west of the Utah Valley area, which is basically desert. The first day, we arrived at our destination. The second day, it started to snow – heavy snow. A decision was made that we would pack up and leave versus staying the second night and into the third day. I realize that to some of you, snow is very foreign.

We started back out, and this was in the days before there were a lot of four-wheel drive trucks or cell phones. We ran into difficulty in the deep snow. We became confused at a fork in the road and took a wrong road. Eventually, we were stuck in the snow. A few of us hiked out to the main highway and caught a ride to the nearest community. This was a small Utah community named Eureka. About the only thing that was open at that time of night was the local bar/café. They connected us with some help, so we could help the others come out. As the people who were going to help us were establishing our location, I described the area, turn-off, etc. They finally said that this was the “No Name Road,” and that it wasn’t usually scraped to clear the snow until spring.

I have thought about the name of that road many times in my life – “No Name Road.” Sometimes, we can be on this road not knowing where we are going or what path we are on. A vision of where you would like to go and expectations of what you need to do is paramount. A vision of the blessing and opportunity of learning is special. Searching, pondering, praying, studying, and seeking inspiration will help create your vision for learning. It is important that we establish the road and path to follow.

Living next to the border between Mexico and the United States, we enjoyed traditions of both cultures. Every year in school we had piñatas. One year I was sitting on the first row and the blind-folded child successfully hit the candy-filled piñata with a stick. I was the first one able to reach the candy when the piñata broke open. I had my arms around the whole thing. Within two or three seconds every other child in the school was on top of me. I was just flattened, and I lost everything.
The lesson I learned from that experience was that sometimes when we are greedy and try to take it all, we end up losing it all. If I had started passing the candy around, the other children wouldn’t have all jumped on top of me. But because I tried to take so much, I lost everything.

Jamie was the smallest nine-year-old in the Regional Junior Olympics, and it was kind of scary competing against larger boys. But Jamie was pretty good at push-ups and had won first place in his Cub Scout contest. He grinned broadly at Mom, Dad, and his sister Karen, who had come to cheer for him.
At the signal, Jamie pushed up and down with all his might. Soon the perspiration was rolling down his face, and his shoulders strained until he thought they would surely snap. Up and down, up and down, with the judge counting each push-up.
“Time!” shouted the judge, and Jamie collapsed on the grass.
“Fifty-two for Jamie Roberts,” announced the scorekeeper and everyone clapped. Jamie had done more push-ups in one minute than anyone else his age.
“I’m proud of you, son,” Dad said.
Jamie beamed. He had really done it, and it was fun!
Next came the 100-yard dash. I should really do well here, thought Jamie. I’m a pretty good runner. Brother Brown had challenged him, “We’re counting on you for a blue ribbon in the race, Jamie.”
“Run really fast, Jamie!” cried five-year-old Karen.
The boys were divided into six groups, and the winners would compete in the final races. Jamie raced three times, winning each race. He was hot but not really tired.
Every boy in the race was eager to win. Their faces looked strained and some were panting as they lined up, one foot on the chalk line, the other stretched out behind in a starting position. Jamie spaced himself between two taller boys, crouched low, and waited for the starting whistle. When it came, he was off down the field. He couldn’t ever remember running so fast. His head was back and he felt the wind in his face from his own speed. Every part of Jamie strained to go faster, faster, and he felt the two boys right behind him and heard their heavy breathing. He knew he was ahead and meant to stay there.
Then it happened! One foot slipped in a low spot on the field, just enough to throw Jamie off balance. His feet tangled together and before he could put out his arms, the ground seemed to rise up and hit him squarely in the chest. The next thing he knew he was gasping for breath and spitting dry, bitter dust from his mouth. He heard the crowd cheering for the winners and knew that the race was over and that he was lying in the dust twenty feet from the finish line.
He dragged himself off the field and hid his face in his hands, wishing he were someplace else.
An official put his hand on Jamie’s shoulder and said, “Run and get your card signed, Jamie. You can still get points for finishing if you hurry.”
Jamie stumbled numbly across the finish line and handed his card to the judge. How everyone must be laughing, he thought. How dumb I was to think I could win anything. He turned to Dad. “Let’s go home. I don’t want to be in any more contests.”
Dad put his arm around Jamie as they walked off the field. “Son, we can go now if that’s what you really want. I know you’re disappointed, but the real winners aren’t always those who cross the finish line first, they’re the ones who hang in there even when it’s tough.”
“But Dad, I hurt all over. I’m going to be sick.”
“Let’s sit down and rest with Mom and Karen while you think it over. Then if you still want to, we’ll go, OK?”
“I guess so,” Jamie answered. His knees stung where he had fallen on them, his stomach felt tight, and the words, “We’re counting on you for a blue ribbon,” kept repeating in his head. But I’ve failed, he thought. I can’t throw the softball now. I just can’t. Tears and dust stung his eyes. He wished that somehow he could disappear.
“Drink some lemonade, Jamie, you’ll feel better,” Mother said as she offered him a cup.
The cool liquid felt good on his dry throat. Mother handed him some napkins to wipe the dust from his face. What will Brother Brown think if I quit now? he wondered. I know I can’t bring home a blue ribbon, but I can still finish.
“I guess I’ll stay after all, Dad,” he mumbled. Then he crossed the field to where the softball throw was already in progress.
Jamie managed the softball throw but not well enough to be a winner. Still it was better than he had expected.
Only the standing long jump remained. Jamie was hot and unhappy. What does it matter? I’ve already lost, he thought.
Karen tugged at his shirt. “Jamie,” she cried, “look how far that boy jumped.” The boy had jumped six feet and the crowd cheered. “You can jump farther than that, Jamie. I’ve seen you do it.”
Jamie looked into Karen’s warm, trusting eyes, and tears started up in his own all over again. He knelt beside her. “Karen,” he said, “I don’t care if I win this contest or not. I don’t even care if people laugh at me. But if you think I’m a good jumper, I’ll jump as far as I can just for you, OK?”
“OK, Jamie. Do it! Do it!” Karen encouraged.
“Your turn.” Dad patted him on the back. “Go out there, Jamie, and good luck!”
Jamie ran out, feeling better now, hardly tired at all. Waiting for the jump, he placed his feet slightly apart, toes on the starting line. He bent over, like Brother Brown had taught the boys to do, and swung his arms. “Here I go,” he said to himself. One—his arms came up and back. Two—up farther now, giving him momentum. Three—Jamie hurled himself forward through the air.
He landed in a cloud of sawdust, his feet stinging. Fall forward, he reminded himself, as he dropped to his knees. He heard cheering, this time for him, and watched in amazement as the judges measured his jump.
“Six feet, eight inches. Longest jump of the day,” the judge announced. Jamie could hardly believe his eyes and ears.
Karen ran right out onto the field and hugged her big brother. “I knew you’d do it, Jamie, I knew it,” she said, beaming.
Jamie was excited about winning the jump, but he was even happier because he hadn’t disappointed Karen, who believed in him.
When the judges were ready to announce the winners, Jamie listened quietly as the ten-year-olds received their prizes. He knew he wouldn’t receive one because of the race, but he was glad about the long jump anyway. Then came the nine-year-olds. First and second places went to two boys from another town.
Finally, the announcer said, “We have a tie for third place. Paul Brady had it wrapped up, but because Jamie Roberts did so well in the long jump, he earned the same total score as Paul. Congratulations to both of you.”
Jamie’s dad pushed him to his feet. “Go on, son, that’s you.”
He didn’t know how he got to the judge’s stand, but when he did the judge hung a bronze medal around Jamie’s neck and shook his hand.
“Do you suppose Brother Brown will be disappointed that I didn’t win first place?” asked Jamie.
“I’m sure he’ll understand,” Mother answered, smiling. And Dad agreed.
Karen danced up and down. For once she was speechless with excitement.
Jamie flopped on the grass and pulled Karen down beside him. “Hey, squirt, how would you like to wear my medal?” he teased.

"Oh no! How could I call her? I wondered. Sure, she’d been in my classes at church since Star Bs, but I didn’t know her very well. She was popular at school and seemed to have everything going for her. I didn’t dare call her.
Sometimes I feel really inadequate around people. They often seem so much better than I am, and I have a hard time talking to them. When I was asked to be the group leader for our tent at girls’ camp and was assigned to call all our girls and let them know what we were supposed to do, I had no problem calling the girls who were my close friends. But there was one I just didn’t have the nerve to call.
Finally I did it. While talking to her, I stumbled over my words and nothing seemed to make sense. This is so dumb of me, I thought. Why am I such a nervous wreck? After I finished talking, I hung up, embarrassed. “I don’t even want to go to camp,” I said to myself.
The first day of camp I found a quiet spot and opened my scriptures. I came across Doctrine and Covenants 60:2 [D&C 60:2], which read, “But with some I am not well pleased, for they will not open their mouths, but they hide the talent which I have given unto them, because of the fear of man.”
That’s it! I thought. Heavenly Father doesn’t want us to feel intimidated by other people. He loves each the same, and we are all his children. From then on I decided to be friendly and see what would happen.
As camp went on, we played games together and worked together. At night we sat in our tents talking and laughing together. It turned out to be one of the best years at camp I ever had.
The last night the girl I’d worried about bore her testimony and said that at first she hadn’t wanted to come to camp either because she felt that she wouldn’t have any friends to hang around with, but now she was glad she’d come. She’d made new friends. So had I. And we both learned so much."