Gospel Story Finder

When we graduated from high school, I had to make another decision: should I leave for my mission now, or should I go to a year of college first? It was a huge question for me. I had already been accepted to BYU, and I didn’t know which timing would be better for me. After a lot of prayer, I felt like I should go to school first.
It was hard not going on my mission at the same time all my friends were. No one judged me too harshly, even though people definitely commented on the fact that I was “still here.” But I know that waiting was the right decision for me and that I was inspired to do it.
I saw a lot of blessings in my life because I felt so much more prepared to go on a mission after a year of college. For instance, I wasn’t afraid of the long study schedule in the missionary training center because in college, I was studying all day anyway. It was a great experience having faith in God and in the promptings I got that it was the right thing to do, and then seeing the fruits of it.

I recall one writing assignment I had while I was in college. It was a political science position paper. I had gotten to a point where I had writer's block; I couldn't get anywhere. I decided that I ought to pray and I did and a thought came to me: "Write as if you are writing in your journal." That's not the usual counsel for writing an analysis paper but I did and the ideas flowed. I finished the paper, went back and edited it, turned it in, and received a higher grade on that paper than I ever did in Sister Feste's class. This ability to gain our own witness, our own guidance from the Lord, may be critical to becoming leaders and peacemakers the world is hungering for.

As soon as Rodney left, I felt sick inside. I hadn’t exactly promised to help him and Bryce take Mr. Archuleta’s apricots. I had just said that I knew Mr. Archuleta and wouldn’t be afraid to talk to him. Of course, I knew Rodney and Bryce wanted me to get Mr. Archuleta’s attention away from his trees so that they could slip over his back fence and steal some of his giant orange apricots.
I had been in Cedar Fork only two weeks. The thing that had worried me most about moving here from Logan was leaving my friends and going to a place where no one knew me. School was starting soon, and I’d dreaded going to fourth grade not knowing anyone.
Mom had told me that things would work out, but I wasn’t so sure. I wanted to just go back to Logan. Then Rodney stopped by my second day in Cedar Fork and invited me to play baseball with him and his friend Bryce.
After that, I was with Rodney and Bryce a lot. We played ball at the park, built a clubhouse in Bryce’s backyard, walked to Bond’s Market for ice-cream bars, and rode our bikes out to Juniper Hill, where we hunted for horned toads and lizards. I didn’t worry anymore about going to school, because I would be with them.
Then they decided they wanted some of Mr. Archuleta’s apricots.
“We won’t get caught.” Rodney grinned at me. “We’ve taken stuff out of his orchard and garden before.”
“Yeah,” Bryce joined in. “Last year, before you came, his cherry trees were loaded, and we took all we wanted. He almost caught us a couple of times, but we were too smart for him.”
I thought about the things Mom and Dad had taught me about being honest. “But isn’t that stealing?”
Rodney and Bryce glanced at each other, their smiles drooping a little. Then Rodney shook his head. “We’re just sort of borrowing. He has plenty.”
“Besides,” Bryce added, “lots more than we take fall off the tree, and he has to throw them away. We’re just getting them before they fall and get ruined. We don’t like things to go to waste.” He laughed, and Rodney joined in. I smiled but felt sick inside.
Mr. Archuleta had been one of the first people to come over and welcome us to Cedar Fork. Now I was going to return his friendship by stealing from him.
I watched Rodney and Bryce ride away. They said that they’d be back after lunch to get the apricots. I shuffled uneasily up my front walk and into the kitchen, where Mom was fixing sandwiches.
“Well, Joel, you look like you lost your best friend. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I mumbled. There was no way that I could explain to Mom what I was planning to do.
“Well, wash up and sit down. These sandwiches are almost ready.”
Mom tried to get me to talk during lunch, but I just silently nibbled on the corner of my sandwich. “Do you have any chores for me?” I finally asked her hopefully.
She looked across the table at me and raised her eyebrows. Usually I was trying to get out of work. “You cut the grass and raked it yesterday afternoon, didn’t you?”
I nodded.
“And you cleaned your room?”
I nodded again.
“And you took the trash out today.”
“Don’t you have anything else? I’ll do it.”
“You could clear the table and do these few dishes,” Mom said.
“Don’t you have something that will take more time than that?”
Mom laughed. “Are you feeling all right?”
I nodded.
“Why don’t you just enjoy the afternoon today. Aren’t Rodney and Bryce coming over again?”
I looked down at my half-eaten sandwich and nodded.
“Why don’t you play with them, and then if you still want to do a little work, I’ll find something.”
I dragged out to the front lawn, knowing that Rodney and Bryce were going to show up any minute. If I didn’t think of something quick, I’d soon be stealing Mr. Archuleta’s apricots.
I liked Mr. Archuleta. But I liked Rodney and Bryce, too, and wanted to be their friend. Except for sneaking things from Mr. Archuleta, they seemed to be pretty good guys. I didn’t want them getting upset with me. Then I thought of all the times Mom and Dad had talked to me about being honest. I had made up my mind a long time ago that I would never steal, but now. …
I had never felt so miserable in my life. I loved eating juicy orange apricots, but somehow I knew that the plumpest, sweetest apricot off Mr. Archuleta’s tree would taste bitter if it were stolen. I tried to tell myself that I wasn’t actually going to steal the apricots. Bryce and Rodney would do that. I wouldn’t eat any of them, either. I could tell Rodney and Bryce that I didn’t like apricots or that I didn’t feel hungry. But those were just more lies.
Finally I decided to run away from my problem. I’d go to the park and stay all afternoon. That way I wouldn’t have to face Rodney and Bryce, and I wouldn’t have to steal from Mr. Archuleta.
Pushing myself up from the grass, I headed down the walk, wanting to get away before Bryce and Rodney came.
I didn’t get fifty feet, though, before Bryce called to me. “Hey, Joel, where are you headed?”
I stopped and turned. He was jogging down the walk toward me. “Did you think we’d ditched you?”
I gulped and shrugged.
“Rodney’ll be here in just a second. He had to do a couple of chores at home first.” Bryce pulled a plastic bag out of his back pocket and held it up. “I’m all ready. All you’ll have to do is keep Mr. Archuleta busy, and Rodney and I will do the rest.”
I knew I should have said something, but I couldn’t. I just swallowed hard and followed Bryce down the street.
Rodney showed up a few minutes later. We were soon across the street from Mr. Archuleta’s place. He was working in the flower beds along the side of his house. From there he had a perfect view of his apricot trees in the backyard. As long as he was working there, Rodney and Bryce couldn’t slip unseen into his backyard.
“All right, Joel,” Rodney whispered, “you start talking to him. We’ll go around and slip over his back fence. If you keep him talking, he won’t see anything.”
“What am I going to say to him? I mean, how can I keep talking that long?”
Rodney rolled his eyes. “All you have to do is ask him about his flowers and yard. He loves to talk about stuff like that.”
I looked away. Reaching down I picked up a pebble and tossed it into the street.
“You’re not chickening out on us are you?” Bryce accused, suddenly serious.
This was it. My two best friends in Cedar Fork were going to walk away, and I’d be alone again. I didn’t want to lose them, but I just couldn’t steal from Mr. Archuleta!
“I can’t do it,” I rasped, staring across the street at Mr. Archuleta.
“Why not?” Bryce demanded. I could tell he was angry.
“Because it’s stealing.”
“Come on, Rodney, let’s go.”
When I looked up, they were walking down the street. For a moment I wanted to call to them, tell them to come back, that I would go ahead and talk to Mr. Archuleta. But I didn’t. I just watched them disappear into Rodney’s yard.
“Hello, Mr. Archuleta,” I called out as I walked up his driveway and wandered over to where he was working.
He stopped digging in the dirt, turned, and smiled at me. “Why, hello, Joel.” He set his digging fork down, pushed his straw hat back, and wiped his brow with a white handkerchief. “What’s up?”
I shrugged. “I was just passing by and saw you out here working. Do you need some help? I don’t have much else to do.”
“Where are the two buddies you’ve been running around with?”
I took a deep breath. “They had some other things to do. I can give you a hand if you need some help.”
Mr. Archuleta thought for a moment. “There is one thing you could do, Joel. It’s a bit messy, but it’d sure help me out.”
“I’ve been messy before.”
“My apricots are coming on. A bunch of them have fallen on the ground. If I leave them, they just get stepped on or turn rotten and make an even worse mess. If you don’t mind, you could grab that bucket on the back steps and pick up all the fruit that’s dropped on the ground.”
I was glad to help out. As I worked picking up the soft and bruised fruit, I thought how much better I felt doing something kind for Mr. Archuleta instead of stealing from him.
When I’d finished and dumped the last bucketful into the garbage barrel, Mr. Archuleta thanked me and handed me a paper sack. “Now, Joel, do you see that one low branch that’s loaded with apricots? Why don’t you pick yourself a sackful. Those are some of the best apricots I’ve grown. I think you’ll like them.”
“Thanks, Mr. Archuleta! I love apricots.”
A few minutes later I jogged down the street with my freshly picked apricots.
“Hey, what’s in the sack?”
I turned. I was in front of Rodney’s place. He and Bryce were sitting under the willow tree in his front yard.
“Apricots,” I said, smiling and holding up the bulging bag. “Want some?”
“You got some of Mr. Archuleta’s apricots?” Rodney asked, standing up.
I nodded.
“You did it all by yourself?”
I nodded again.
“I told you he wasn’t chicken.” Rodney laughed and slapped me on the shoulder as I opened the sack and let them reach in. They each chomped down hungrily.
“But I didn’t steal them.”
Rodney and Bryce stopped chewing and stared at me.
“He let me pick them. I don’t like stealing things.”
“You just walked into his yard, and he let you pick a whole sackful of his best apricots?” Bryce didn’t believe me.
“I did some work for him, and then he let me pick the apricots.”
Bryce stared at me and took another bite. “They’re good apricots.”
Rodney nodded with his mouth full.
“And they taste better this way,” I said.
“What way?” Rodney wanted to know.
“When they’re not stolen.”
Rodney thought a moment, then nodded. “Do you think Mr. Archuleta would let us work for apricots too?”
“He probably would—we can ask him tomorrow.” I took an apricot for myself.
Bryce grabbed another apricot. “Rodney and I were just headed for the park to play ball. You want to come?”
I nodded, happy that we were still friends—the right kind of friends.

This is beautifully illustrated by this story as told by President Faust:

“This story is about the great scientist Henry Eyring, who served on the Bonneville Stake high council. He was responsible for the welfare farm, which included a field of onions that needed to be weeded. At that time, he was nearly 80 and suffering from painful bone cancer. He assigned himself to do weeding even though the pain was so great that he pulled himself along on his stomach with his elbows. The pain was too great for him to kneel. Yet he smiled, laughed, and talked happily with the others who were there that day weeding that field of onions. I now quote what [President] Eyring said of this incident: ‘after all the work was finished and the onions were all weeded, someone [said to] him, “Henry good heavens! You didn’t pull those weeds, did you? Those weeds were sprayed two days ago, and they were going to die anyway.” Dad just roared. He thought that was the funniest thing. He thought it was a great joke on himself. He had worked through the day in the wrong weeds. They had been sprayed and would have died anyway. I asked him, ‘Dad how could you make a joke out of that?’ He said something to me that I will never forget . . . He said, ‘Hal, I wasn’t there for the weeds.’”

On Sunday afternoon Elder Clayton began by saying he felt impressed to completely change his talk. The Spirit told him he needed to speak to a family present that day. I immediately sensed that he would be speaking to our family. He told of a stake president whose wife was diagnosed with cancer. After much prayer and fasting by family members, friends, and members of her stake, she had fully recovered.

Elder Clayton then talked about another stake president, one whose wife had died of cancer during his service as stake president. She left several small children in his care. Many people had also fasted and prayed for her recovery. This story was particularly touching to Elder Clayton because this woman was his wife’s only sister.

Elder Clayton went on to explain that no matter how much faith is exercised at times like these, sometimes the answer is no. Then he read what has become one of our family’s favorite scriptures, Daniel 3:17–18:

“If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of thine hand, O king.
“But if not, be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up” (emphasis added).

Elder Clayton did not speak of any doctrine that was new to us that afternoon. But a miracle happened that left us in awe. The Lord made sure we would be in attendance during the afternoon session by inspiring someone to ask us to pray. He also arranged for one of His servants, one who had had an experience similar to ours, to speak to us. And finally, He gave us someone wise and obedient who had lived his life in such a way that he could hear the Spirit and respond accordingly. Our spirits were touched in indescribable ways by that experience.

The next day we received the call telling us my sister had passed away. Although we were saddened, a sweet spirit of comfort was in our home as we prayed for her family—this time with full confidence that the Lord’s will had been done—and thanked Him for His precious answer to our prayers.

On 29 November 2018, my dear wife, Ruth, went into labor with our fourth child. Although this was an exciting and joyous moment for us as a family, there was some major concern. The pregnancy was at 32 weeks and the expected delivery was to be late January 2019. This was approximately eight weeks early. The thought—and the now-evident reality—of getting our baby preterm was disturbing.
Before we rushed to the Aga Khan University Hospital in Nairobi that night, I said a silent prayer and beseeched the Lord so that both the mother and baby would be protected. As we arrived at the hospital, the doctors warned me of the possible dangerous outcomes of preterm delivery. They mentioned that the baby’s development could be affected due to incomplete time in the womb. In the worst-case scenario, loss of life happens, and mom and baby could be lost. Although this terrified me, I knew that God was in the details. I knew that the Lord would do His will upon my wife and baby. This assurance gave me a lot of peace. I had prayed many times for other pressing matters in the past, and I had seen the hand of the Lord. He had answered all my prayers from the days of my youth. I knew He would not forsake us even in this case however difficult it seemed.
Things went on well and our baby, David, was born weighing 1.5 kg (approximately 3.3 pounds). The doctors said he looked good for his age and that he was not in any extreme danger. He was placed in the neonatal intensive care unit and he responded very well to the care given by the doctors and nurses. Like many other times in the past, I saw the hand of the Lord and His choicest blessing in my wife’s and son’s lives. This experience helped me appreciate our great medical technology and the selfless acts of the hospital personnel. David is healthy and thriving now and has been a great addition to our family. He is a source of joy to us all. His siblings Payson, Precious, and Natasha love him dearly. He is a constant reminder of the greatness of God.

Every day we make choices. Some aren’t a big deal—what color backpack we carry, for example. Other choices are a big deal—for instance, how we treat other people or whether we obey a commandment. Read the story below and pretend that you are the main character. What choices would you make?
Your mom says that you may invite two friends over after school tomorrow. First you call Julie, who lives a few miles away. She is in your Primary class as well as in your class at school. Her parents say yes! She will walk home with you; her parents will pick her up before supper.
Next you call Tasha, a nonmember who lives just a few houses away. She can come too. Before she hangs up the phone, though, she asks if anyone else is coming. When you tell her that Julie is also coming, Tasha says, “Yuk! Then I don’t want to come, after all.”
If you say, “Julie is my friend too. Why don’t you come and get to know her better?” go to A. If you say, “OK, I’ll tell Julie that something came up with my mom and that I can’t have anybody over,” go to F.
A. Tasha says, “Well, I guess I’ll still come, but don’t expect me to make friends with Julie.” After school, Tasha and Julie walk home with you. When Julie stoops to tie her shoelace, Tasha makes an ugly face at her behind her back.
If you say, “Julie, Tasha’s making faces at you. She didn’t want you to come,” go to J. If you say nothing but give Tasha a look of disappointment, go to E.
E. When you get to your house, punch and cookies are on the table. They turn out to be the favorite treats of both Tasha and Julie. As the afternoon goes on, you see that Tasha is actually being friendly with Julie. Tasha says, “Hey, Julie, I didn’t know you were such fun! You never say anything in school.”
If you suddenly feel jealous and try to discourage their growing friendship, go to B. If you try to help them become better friends, go to I.
I. You suggest that you all play on the tire swing. Tasha has the first turn swinging. As Julie climbs on the tire for her turn, a car full of teenagers zips by. One of them flips a cigarette on the curb. Tasha runs to pick it up. “It’s still lit!” She turns to you and says, “I dare you to try it!”
If you say, “No, I don’t do that kind of stuff, and I hope you don’t either, ‘cause it’s bad for you,” go to D. If you say, “Well, maybe just one puff—but you’d better not tell anyone!” go to H.
D. Tasha hides the cigarette as her mother drives past, then starts to put it in her mouth. You yell, “Stop! It really is bad for you.” She says, “Once won’t hurt. I want to know what it tastes like.” She takes a puff and starts to cough. When she throws the cigarette down, you stomp on it and say, “I wish you hadn’t done that. Heavenly Father doesn’t want us to hurt our bodies.” Tasha asks, “Is Heavenly Father the same person as God? How do you know that He doesn’t want us to smoke?”
If you say, “I just do, that’s all. Come on—it’s Julie’s turn on the swing,” go to C. If you say, “Because he told us so in a scripture we call the Word of Wisdom,” go to G.
C. You all three go back to the tire swing and have a lot of fun. After a while, Julie’s mom picks her up and Tasha walks home. You’re glad that she and Julie have become friends too.
This is the end of the story—unless you want to do a little more missionary work. If you do, go to G.

I have to add this one. They were teaching a class of young people. A young boy told them about a high school French teacher in one of the countries from which they came.

During one of the late political regimes, she had been unfairly punished. She had watched vicious things and suffered vicious things and had sworn that she would never again utter another word to anyone as long as she lived. She had kept her vow since 1975, even during the time she and her mother walked clear across Cambodia to Thailand. She and her mother had been unable to obtain entrance to a third country since she would not talk. No amount of coaxing or threatening would bring her out.

One of our returned Thai missionaries who is helping in the camp found the young teacher, knelt by her, took her hand in hers, and said hello. The teacher answered! Her first words in six years, to one she had never before seen. A spirit of love reached her heart.

Benja returns to work with her each day. Now she has cut her hair and has enrolled in a basic English class. She talks every day. She is going to get to go to a new country with her mother.

During another time in my life, my husband and I moved to California. I was pregnant with our first child. We knew no one in the area.
We went to church, and a woman named Virginia greeted me enthusiastically. She said she had a bunch of boys and wanted to invite me to lunch. She was very sweet.
Virginia served simple tomato soup and half a grilled cheese sandwich and was so pleasant. We became friends. And oh, we were so different! She was just so friendly! To a young soon-to-be mom who knew no one, she was a lifeline. That one invitation led to a lifelong friendship.

I am so glad Jill is here today. We met some 30 years ago here upon the campus of BYU–Idaho, then Ricks College. It was a blind date. I remember going to pick her up. It was apartment #22 of Hillcrest Apartments, then called Mansard Village. Jill answered the door. I remember how beautiful she was, her wonderful smile and sparkle in her eyes. I hoped that this was indeed Jill Anstead. I told her I was Richard and that I was here to pick up Jill. She sweetly smiled, looked me straight in the eye and told me that Jill had left 15 minutes ago. Luckily her roommates started laughing in the background. That day, I received the first taste of her unique sense of humor.
She is my friend – my best friend – I am so thankful that our paths crossed here at Ricks College so many years ago.
Brothers and sisters, the reason I share these accounts with you, is that years from know, it will be times like these at BYU–Idaho which you will remember. It will be of being in the temple, going to Church, walking through campus on a sunny fall day. It will be your relationships with roommates, ward members, faculty and those you date. These very personal experiences will be the source of fond and rich memories which you will draw on in years to come.

The first day I saw Frances, I knew I’d found the right one. The Lord brought us together later, and I asked her to go out with me. I went to her home to call on her. She introduced me, and her father said, “ ‘Monson’—that’s a Swedish name, isn’t it?”

I said, “Yes.”

He said, “Good.”

Then he went into another room and brought out a picture of two missionaries with their top hats and their copies of the Book of Mormon.

“Are you related to this Monson,” he said, “Elias Monson?”

I said, “Yes, he’s my grandfather’s brother. He too was a missionary in Sweden.”

Her father wept. He wept easily. He said, “He and his companion were the missionaries who taught the gospel to my mother and my father and all of my brothers and sisters and to me.” He kissed me on the cheek. And then her mother cried, and she kissed me on the other cheek. And then I looked around for Frances. She said, “I’ll go get my coat.”

My sweet Frances had a terrible fall a few years ago. She went to the hospital. She lay in a coma for about 18 days. I sat by her side. She never moved a muscle. The children cried, the grandchildren cried, and I wept. Not a movement.

And then one day, she opened her eyes. I set a speed record in getting to her side. I gave her a kiss and a hug, and I said, “You’re back. I love you.” And she said, “I love you, too, Tom, but we’re in serious trouble.” I thought, What do you know about trouble, Frances? She said, “I forgot to mail in our fourth-quarter income tax payment.”

I said to her, “Frances, if you had said that before you extended a kiss to me and told me you love me, I might have left you here.”

Brethren, let’s treat our wives with dignity and with respect. They’re our eternal companions. Sisters, honor your husbands. They need to hear a good word. They need a friendly smile. They need a warm expression of true love.

With the spring of 1666 came the second wave of the Black Death, the bubonic plague, to the English village of Eyam in Derbyshire. A few years before, the first onslaught of the plague had scattered residents about the countryside in a frantic effort to escape. But this time, the minister of the village church, William Mompesson, told his faithful flock that they should not run away, in case they infected others. “Stay in Eyam,” he pleaded, “to save the rest of Derbyshire.”
The minister must have been a persuasive man, for the townspeople heeded his request. A circle of stones was laid around the town as a warning boundary, and food for the villagers was left at the perimeter by outsides anxious to avoid contact.
Months went by, and the frightful disease took its toll. By the time the scourge had passed, 259 of the 350 faithful villagers were dead, including the minister’s wife. But the plague had not spread; Derbyshire was saved.

I recall a friend of mine going through a time in his life that shook him to the very core of his being and caused him and his family much heartache and soul searching. He had been raised in a strong member family, his parents had held responsible positions within the Church, but for much of his life he had felt that he had been "living a lie", as he described it, trying to be something he really wasn't. While his actions indicated full activity in the gospel—regular church attendance, full time mission, church service and even temple marriage— his thoughts became more and more focused on worldly pleasures. Over a period of several years, he gradually succumbed to these thoughts, convinced that they represented who he really was and began to act upon them.

My friend ended up isolating himself from his family and losing his membership in the Church and along with it, his self worth. Fortunately, he had a very loyal and faithful wife who stood by him and prayed for his well being constantly, even though she had personally suffered greatly from his actions. He soon realized that his worldly pursuits had robbed him of what was most dear, that made him truly happy, not just in a fleeting, superficial way as his current temporal pursuits did, but in a deep meaningful way. He desperately wanted back what he had lost, far more than the temporal pleasures he was indulging in. Thus began his long journey back into the light.

I am pleased to inform you that my friend did hold fast to the process of repentance and has once again achieved full fellowship. His gratitude and respect for his wife has grown immeasurably as she never faltered and never gave up on him. He then shared a very important insight with me from his experience and that is our actions, if we persist in them, can and will shape our thoughts. As he persisted in doing the right things, he found that his thoughts began to fall right into line. It did not happen overnight, but it did happen. His troubles began the day he ceased doing the right things.

Another man said that he would not go to church but that his family could go. The missionaries told him that they would always save him a seat right by the door in case he changed his mind. One Sunday he was prompted to go to church even though his family had left without him. From the foyer he could see his family seated with the missionaries and a space at the end of the pew vacant and easily accessible. He entered the little chapel, and his footsteps were heard. The missionaries turned their heads, and when they saw him, tears came to their eyes. After baptism the husband would say, “Never in my life had anyone ever cried out of happiness just to see me enter a room.”

Illustration by Emily Jones
I started taking piano lessons when I was seven years old. At first, it was hard to read the music notes and pay attention during my lessons. I just didn’t like to practice the piano.
Then my mom asked me to play “When I Am Baptized” (Children’s Songbook, 103) at my baptism. It was the first time I ever played in church. I was nervous but proud of myself when I did it.
Soon I got busy with school and wanted to quit piano, but my parents encouraged me to continue learning. They said that if I kept playing, I could find joy in serving the Lord.
From then on, I loved playing the piano. I started playing in sacrament meeting, and when I turned 12, I was officially called to be the ward pianist. I was so happy! I played in Primary presentations and accompanied our ward choir during ward conferences and devotionals. I was even called as the stake choir pianist and played during stake conference.
I’m grateful to my parents for encouraging me to do my best. I will be forever grateful to Heavenly Father for the talent He has given me. I know I’ll be able to use my talents on my mission and in other service someday. I truly find joy in serving the Lord.
Jyle S., National Capital Region, Philippines

Elliot Grow had it made. The summer before his senior year of high school, he was an aspiring lacrosse player with a promising future, and it looked like he just might land a starting spot on his school’s basketball team as well. But calamity struck for Elliot one day in June when he tore the meniscus cartilage in his knee during a recreational league basketball game.

Surgery came shortly thereafter, followed by three months of intense physical therapy. It was a lot of hard work, but Elliot persisted. Eventually he made it off the crutches and back onto the basketball court. Some people would probably complain about the months of lost training and the pain, but Elliot feels a sense of gratitude.

“I feel blessed that I am still able to do what I love. I love playing lacrosse. I love playing basketball. I don’t take that for granted anymore. When I am out there, I play as hard as I can and I don’t only play for me. My little brother had a brain tumor when he was three, so he can’t do some of the things that I’ve been able to do. Now I play for him.

“Before my injury, I would have thought, ‘My body is mine. I can do whatever I want with it,’” he says. “But after this surgery, I have realized that my body is a gift and I should take care of it the right way.”

President Thomas S. Monson shared this example of President Smith’s love: “On a cold winter morning, the street cleaning crew [in Salt Lake City] was removing large chunks of ice from the street gutters. The regular crew was assisted by temporary laborers who desperately needed the work. One such wore only a lightweight sweater and was suffering from the cold. A slender man with a well-groomed beard stopped by the crew and asked the worker, ‘You need more than that sweater on a morning like this. Where is your coat?’ The man replied that he had no coat to wear. The visitor then removed his own overcoat, handed it to the man and said, ‘This coat is yours. It is heavy wool and will keep you warm. I just work across the street.’ The street was South Temple. The good Samaritan who walked into the Church Administration Building to his daily work and without his coat was President George Albert Smith of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. His selfless act of generosity revealed his tender heart. Surely he was his brother’s keeper.”21

Saturday was finally here. It was time for our surprise adventure!
“I hope we’re going to the trampoline park,” I shouted from the backseat. Mom wouldn’t tell us where we were going, but the street we were on looked familiar. …
Then it hit me. We were going to the care center. Our school class had gone there a few times. We each had a “grandparent buddy” to talk to and play games with. My buddy was named Bill, and he was pretty cool.
But not as cool as a trampoline park, I thought as Mom pulled into the parking lot. When my brother saw the red and tan building, he groaned.
“This is going to be the worst day ever!” he grumbled. “This isn’t a fun adventure at all.”
Mom looked at us from the rear-view mirror. “Oh come on, give it a shot. By the time we’re through, you just might change your mind.”
I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t so sure. I helped Mom carry bags of small quilts into the lobby. It felt calm and peaceful inside.
“Do you know why I like coming here?” Mom asked. I shook my head.
“I feel the same way here as when I see new babies at the hospital,” she said. “Like I’m close to heaven.”
Close to heaven. I liked that.
We showed the receptionist at the front desk the quilts we wanted to hand out, and he led us to a room where we could visit.
“Is Bill still here?” I asked. “The one who’s married to Ruth and likes baseball?”
One of the workers nodded. “Oh, yes! Bill is still here. We sure love him.”
We started talking with some of the people, and it was actually pretty interesting hearing about their lives. And after a while, I saw Bill sitting in his wheelchair.
“Hi, Bill!”
He didn’t look like he remembered me, but that was OK. I picked out a small quilt with a baseball pattern and laid it on his lap.
“He gets cold a lot, and that will really help him,” said one of the workers standing nearby. “His wife will be happy to see it. She comes to visit him every day.”
Our visit wasn’t long, but it was long enough to see Bill smile. On our way out, we read a piece of paper posted on Bill’s door that told some fun things about his life. We learned that he grew up on a farm and learned to play baseball from his stepmother.
“Hey, Mom, look!” I pointed to a line on the paper. “He was so good at baseball that he was going to sign on with a professional team! But then he served in the military instead.” It was neat to learn a bit more about Bill.
Soon we were back in the van, buckling our seatbelts.
“So?” Mom asked us. “What did you think?”
I smiled. “I actually had fun. And I feel really happy. I think it’s because we helped Bill.”
As Mom drove home, we talked about different ways we can show people love and how the Spirit tells us when we are making good choices. We were all feeling so great that we decided to go back and visit another day.
What a great day! I thought as we pulled into our driveway. It was a fun adventure after all.

Roger Bannister was a medical student in England who had an ambitious hope. He desired to be the first man to run a mile (1.6 km) under four minutes. For much of the first half of the early 20th century, field and track enthusiasts had anxiously awaited the day the four-minute-mile barrier would be broken. Over the years many outstanding runners had come close, but still the four-minute barrier stood. Bannister dedicated himself to an ambitious training schedule with the hope of realizing his goal of setting a new world record. Some in the sporting community had begun to doubt whether the four-minute mile could be broken. Supposed experts had even hypothesized the human body was physiologically unable to run at such speeds over such a long distance. On a cloudy day on May 6, 1954, Roger Bannister’s great hope was realized! He crossed the finish line in 3:59.4, setting a new world record. His hope to break the four-minute-mile barrier became a dream which was accomplished through training, hard work, and dedication.

“I forgot my sash!”
Erin looked across the dressing room to where a dark-haired girl named Dinah was frantically searching through her bag of dance costumes.
“I think I forgot to put it in,” Dinah moaned.
“Too bad,” Erin thought, pulling out her own carefully folded blue-satin sash—her favorite part of the costume. Mom had said that it brought out the blue of Erin’s eyes.
“What am I going to do?” Dinah was on the verge of tears. “There’s no time to go home and get it.”
Erin didn’t know Dinah very well. They lived in different towns and went to different wards and schools. But Erin could imagine how embarrassing it would feel to be the only dancer in the recital missing part of the costume. It would be hard to remember the dance steps if you thought everyone in the audience was staring at you and wondering why your costume was different.
Then Erin had an idea. She knew what she could do to help Dinah, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to do it. Erin silently prayed for strength to do the right thing. Then, with a sigh, she put the lovely blue sash back in her bag. “This is a group dance, not a solo,” she told herself.
Erin quickly explained her idea to the other dancers. She was relieved when they all agreed happily.
As the music began and they took the stage, their dance teacher, Mrs. Davis, gave them a quizzical look from the audience. The girls simply smiled at her and moved to the music. They performed the routine flawlessly.
Afterward, Mrs. Davis came backstage. “What happened to your costumes, girls?” she asked. “Weren’t you all supposed to be wearing blue sashes?”
“Well,” Dinah said, looking gratefully at Erin, “we decided we’d do better if we didn’t wear our sashes tonight.”
“I’m not sure why it made such a difference, but you were right,” Mrs. Davis said. “That was the best performance you’ve ever given. You girls were really together tonight, just like real dancers.”
“Just like real friends,” Dinah said.
The girls grinned, throwing their arms around each other’s shoulders in a group bow. Erin’s smile was the brightest of all. She had discovered that sometimes when you give something up, you find something better.