Gospel Story Finder

Still, in the 168 years between that first mission call and the creation of the first stake in Russia, Latter-day Saints from different backgrounds helped prepare the way to share the gospel with the people of Russia. In 1895, Swedish missionary August Hoglund arrived in St. Petersburg to teach Johan Lindlof, who had corresponded with the Scandinavian Mission and asked for missionaries after learning about the Church in his native Finland. Two days after meeting Elder Hoglund and talking with him through the night, Johan and his wife, Alma, asked to be baptized. On June 11, 1895, Elder Hoglund accompanied them to the banks of the Neva River. Unable to find a quiet, secluded location for the baptism, the group knelt in prayer to ask for the Lord’s help. Miraculously the boats and people began to leave the area. After the baptism, Sister Lindlof said, “I feel so happy! I know that the Lord has forgiven me.”3 Johan and Alma thus became the first converts to be baptized in Russia.

I can’t remember the exact day I decided to quit BYU. But I do remember definitely deciding to quit. I was in the testing center and had just been handed a departmental test that didn’t resemble in the least the class notes I had spent the previous three days studying. I entered the main room, took my usual seat by the western wall—I call it the wailing wall—and began.
Four hours later I looked down at my half-empty answer sheet and, with a sigh, began randomly filling in the leftover circles.
I then joined the rest of the outpatients in the recovery room, where the computer printout of my mistakes diagnosed my condition as being far from healthy.
Once outside the testing center and in my car, I realized I was not having fun. School and learning were not turning out to be the soul-exhilarating, mind-stimulating, and heart-vibrating experience I was promised in my freshman orientation pamphlets.
“It’s not worth it!” I told my wife that night. “I’m just sick of all of it. I’m quitting.” I thought my wife would be thrilled at the announcement and release me with a vote of thanks. After all, life would be easier for her without having to pay my tuition and books.
Instead, Debi asked, “Did you attend the devotional this week?” I hadn’t because I had spent the time studying for the test I had just bombed. Debi continued, “President Jeffrey Holland gave a whole talk on enduring and not giving up.”
“Great,” I thought. “That’s all I need right now.” But as it turned out, that was all I needed. We got a tape of the talk, and I listened to President Holland’s words:
My concern this morning is that you face some delays and disappointments at this formative time in your life and feel that no one else in the history of mankind has ever had your problems or faced those difficulties. And when some of those challenges come, you will have the temptation common to us all to say, “This task is too hard. The burden is too heavy. The path is too long.” And so you decide to quit, simply to give up. [My how well President Holland understood.] It is simply a truism that nothing very valuable can come without significant sacrifice and effort and patience on our part. … My plea is to stick with it, to persevere, to hang in and hang on, … I am asking you this morning not to give up “for ye are laying the foundation of a great work.” That “great work” is you.
President Holland then went on to tell about how our forefathers persevered, about Brigham Young, who on July 28, 1847, planted his cane in the Salt Lake soil and declared, “Here [we will build] the Temple of our God.” President Holland then told of the 40 years it took to complete that project. I had no idea that the foundation alone took over 9,000 man-days of labor to finish, only to be filled entirely back in when Johnston’s army came. After that threat was over, the Saints had to begin digging all over again.
The task of precisely cutting the granite stones out of the mountain and hauling them one at a time to Salt Lake was so arduous that it took three more years just to finish the first layer of stones around the foundation. When Brigham Young died in 1877, the temple stood only 20 feet high. More work was followed by more government persecution and intervention until finally, on April 6, 1893, the temple of God was complete. It was a grand, awe-inspiring structure. President Holland concluded by saying, “Know ye not that ye are the Temple of God?” (“However Long and Hard the Road,” BYU devotional talk delivered 18 Jan. 1983).
That was the perspective I needed. “Dear President Holland,” I wrote in a thank-you note, “You’ll never know what your talk did for me. Yesterday I felt like my foundation had been filled in and forgotten. Today, I started digging it out again. I will see you at graduation.”

While my older children were at school and the little ones napped, I spread the household bills across the kitchen table. I began this dreaded monthly task by praying for wisdom and ability to stretch our meager income. The tithing check, as always, would be the first one written.
When I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as a young wife and mother, I had committed to pay tithing. I had never wavered from that promise. I was deeply distressed, however, by inadequate funds to cover yet another month of utility, mortgage, and insurance bills.
Now I was a single mother of six young children. I frequently felt overwhelmed by the constant workload, financial worries, and endless decisions involved in my efforts to be both mother and father with no extended family to give me relief or support.
As I sat at the table pleading with the Lord for His help and mercy, the Holy Ghost opened to my view a beautiful and comforting manifestation of the Savior’s love. I was able to see the money owed for household expenses with a new perspective as the sacred priorities of life were brought to my remembrance. I knew that our Heavenly Father wanted me to have the blessings promised to those who faithfully paid tithes and offerings. I also knew that tithe paying should be a joyful act of love, devoid of fear and worry.
As the Spirit of the Lord filled me, I found myself bearing testimony of convictions I had long held firm and sacred. My voice broke the silence of the kitchen as I declared that I would rather lose the water source to my house than lose the living water offered by the Savior. I would rather have no food on our table than be without the Bread of Life. I would prefer to endure the darkness and discomfort of no electricity than to forfeit the Light of Christ in my life. I would rather abide with my children in a tent than relinquish my privilege of entering the house of the Lord.
The burden of worry immediately lifted. My love for the Lord overcame the weakness generated by my fears. Our Heavenly Father is our deliverer, our benefactor, and our protector. He truly does supply all our needs. His promises are sure and unfailing. He commands us to pay tithing on our increase so that He may shower down blessings from heaven—including peace of mind, freedom from worldly and material worry, and confidence in His holy name.
From that day forward I have counted it a joy to pay my tithing, without reservation or fear, to Him and for Him who first loved me.

As coroners, they’ve each had to “manage the impact of dealing with death on a daily basis,” Brandt says. “On top of that . . . dealing with grieving whanau (families) in the rawest of times is a tough ask.” He coped by keeping himself physically fit and attending church regularly. “I have been lucky,” he adds, “with a whanau that keep my feet on the ground.”
Gordon remembers a difficult call regarding a 3-year-old who had drowned in a paddling pool. “I immediately went outside, emptied out [my own child’s] paddling pool and put it away.” But Gordon says it was only when the details of a case mirrored his own life somehow that it could affect him this way. “Otherwise, I didn’t find it that difficult . . . because of our knowledge of the plan of salvation. I knew that death is a part of life.”

On the afternoon of February 4, 1846, sunlight danced across New York Harbor as a crowd huddled at the wharf to bid farewell to the Brooklyn, a 450-ton ship bound for San Francisco Bay on the coast of California, a sparsely settled region in northwestern Mexico. On the deck of the ship, waving to their relatives and friends below, were more than two hundred Saints, most of them too poor to travel west by wagon.18
Leading them was twenty-six-year-old Sam Brannan. After the October conference, the Twelve had instructed Sam to charter a ship and take a company of eastern Saints to California, where they would wait to rendezvous with the main body of the Church somewhere in the West.
“Flee out of Babylon!” apostle Orson Pratt had warned. “We do not want one Saint to be left in the United States.”19
Sam soon chartered the Brooklyn at an affordable price, and workers built thirty-two small bunk rooms to accommodate the passengers. He had the Saints pack plows, shovels, hoes, pitchforks, and other tools they would need to plant crops and build homes. Unsure of what lay ahead, they stowed ample food and provisions, some livestock, three grain mills, grinding stones, lathes, nails, a printing press, and firearms. A charitable society also donated enough books to the ship to form a good library.20
As Sam prepared for the voyage, a politician he knew in Washington warned him that the United States was still determined to stop the Saints from leaving Nauvoo. The politician also told Sam that he and a businessman with interests in California were willing to lobby the government on the Church’s behalf in exchange for half the land the Saints acquired in the West.
Sam knew the terms of the deal were not good, but he believed the men were his friends and could protect the Saints. A few days before he boarded the Brooklyn, Sam had a contract drawn up and sent it to Brigham, urging him to sign it. “All will go well,” he promised.21
He also informed Brigham of his plan to establish a city at San Francisco Bay, perhaps as a new gathering place for the Saints. “I shall select the most suitable spot,” he wrote. “Before you reach there, if it is the Lord’s will, I shall have everything prepared for you.”22
By the time the Brooklyn left its moorings, Sam was certain he had ensured safety for the Saints leaving Nauvoo and a smooth voyage for his company. The ship’s course would follow ocean currents around the stormy southern tip of South America and into the heart of the Pacific. When they reached California, they would found their city and start a new life in the West.
As a steamship guided the Brooklyn away from the wharf, the crowd of loved ones on the pier gave three cheers to the Saints, who responded with three cheers of their own. The vessel then made its way to the narrow mouth of the harbor, spread its topsails, and caught a breeze that carried it into the Atlantic Ocean.23

In a talk given on October 19, 1896, Brother Woodruff said:
“Joseph Smith continued visiting myself and others up to a certain time, and then it stopped. The last time I saw him was in heaven. In the night vision I saw him at the door of the temple in heaven. He came to me and spoke to me. He said he could not stop to talk with me because he was in a hurry. … I met half a dozen brethren who had held positions on earth, and none of them could stop to talk with me because they were in a hurry. I was much astonished. By and by I saw the Prophet again and I got the privilege of asking him a question.
“‘Now,’ I said, ‘I want to know why you are in a hurry. I have been in a hurry all my life; but I expected my hurry would be over when I got into the kingdom of heaven, if I ever did.’
“Joseph said, ‘I will tell you, Brother Woodruff. Every dispensation that has had the priesthood on the earth and has gone to the celestial kingdom has had a certain amount of work to do to prepare to go to the earth with the Savior when he goes to reign on the earth. Each dispensation has had ample time to do this work. We have not. We are the last dispensation, and so much work has to be done, and we need to be in a hurry in order to accomplish it.’” (Discourses of Wilford Woodruff, pp. 288–89.)

Ethan sat in sacrament meeting and listened as his best friend, Sam, shared his testimony. He talked about a service project he did. Sam said he had a testimony of service. Ethan’s dad also gave his testimony. He talked about temple work. Everyone who spoke testified that the Church is true. It seemed like everyone except Ethan had a testimony.
What do I have a testimony of? Ethan wondered.
He thought back a few years to when he and his friends were baptized. His Primary teacher, Sister Calder, had given a talk on the Holy Ghost.
“The Holy Ghost can give you a burning feeling in your heart. He can help you know what is true,” she’d said. “And that’s how you get a testimony of what you believe.”
Ethan tried to do what was right so he could feel the Holy Ghost. He read the scriptures and prayed. But he had never had that burning feeling people talked about. Did that mean he didn’t have a testimony?
This question stuck in Ethan’s head all the next day. He was still thinking about it when he and Sam went skateboarding after school. He wondered how he could ask Sam about it.
“Hey, Sam,” Ethan finally asked, “were you scared when you gave your testimony yesterday?”
Sam hopped off his board and walked to the grass. “Not really,” he said, sitting down. “I’ve shared my testimony at family night before.”
Ethan joined him and set his skateboard on his lap. “But how did you know you had a testimony?”
“Well, I prayed and I felt good about it.”
Ethan slowly nodded and spun a wheel with his hand. Somehow he wanted to feel that way too.
That night, when the house was quiet, Ethan knelt by his bed to pray.
“Heavenly Father,” he said, “please help me have a testimony. Help me know that the Church is true. That Joseph Smith was a prophet. And that the Book of Mormon is true.”
In the middle of his prayer, Ethan stopped. He thought for a minute. Then he asked himself, Well, do I know anything yet?
And then he felt a quiet, peaceful feeling. It wasn’t a powerful burning feeling. But Ethan knew it was the Holy Ghost.
A thought came into Ethan’s mind: I know that I know. And as he thought about it, he realized he had felt this peaceful feeling before.
Whenever he read the Book of Mormon, it felt good and right. Now he knew that feeling was the Holy Ghost testifying to him. When he went to church and it felt good and right to be there, that was the Holy Ghost too. He had already been getting a testimony!
He didn’t need to know everything right now. But he did know that the Holy Ghost was real and could help him keep building his testimony.
Ethan began to pray again. But this time it was to say thank you.

“Can’t we go any faster?” I asked anxiously as we rode along the graveled highway in our newly purchased secondhand pickup.
Mama smiled. “Why the big hurry?” she teased as if she didn’t know.
“I can hardly wait to buy the shoes,” I answered. I was so excited, for it had been nearly a year since I was 11 1/4 and had been taken to the store to buy new shoes. I had thought lately that they would never wear out, and I knew they wouldn’t be replaced until they did. But at last Mama had spoken the long-awaited words.
“I think it’s time to buy you another pair of shoes,” she said. “There is certainly no more wear in those.”
The town with the big country store was four long miles away, and it seemed like forever before we finally arrived.
As soon as we were parked, I jumped out of the pickup and ran into the building. I hurried past the canned goods, down through the hardwares, and wasn’t quite to the shoe department when suddenly I saw them. There on a middle shelf that was tilted up a little was a pair of bright red shoes sitting on a silver stand. I stopped short and caught my breath in awe at the beauty of their color and the daintiness of their sandal-type straps. Printed on a cardboard in the background were the words, “Newest 1940 Fashion in Footwear.” For a long time I stood and looked.
Mama came up behind me, and I led her directly to the shelf.
“May I have these?” I asked hopefully. Mama studied the shoes for a long moment.
“They aren’t very practical,” she said finally, “and you know they will have to last a long time. I think we should buy something more sturdy.”
“I’ll be ever so careful with them,” I coaxed. “Please.”
The clerk came up and measured my foot.
“The red shoes are a half size too small,” she said, “and it is the only pair we have left. However,” she added when she saw the disappointed look on my face, “sometimes sandal-type slippers run a little larger than the average shoe. Would you like to try them on and see?”
Mama reasoned with me, telling me my feet needed room to grow even if the shoes did fit now.
“But maybe there is a little extra room,” I said. “May I at least try them on and see?” I put my whole being into the pleading expression of my eyes.
“Well,” Mama puckered her forehead into a sort of deep-thought furrow for a moment before she answered, “all right.” I had the feeling that she sensed how important this was to me.
The shoes, with a built-in toe and heel, felt tight, but nevertheless I succeeded without too much effort in getting them both on, and I stood and looked down in admiration.
“May I have them?” I asked, feeling, without doubt, that I could stretch the tiny straps in a short period of time to fit comfortably.
The shoes didn’t look too small, but Mama seemed certain that there wasn’t enough room for my feet to grow.
“They will be getting more of this style in next summer,” she said. “Perhaps it would be better to wait and buy a pair then.”
My hopes declined. I was sure there would never be another pair of shoes as beautiful as these, but I said nothing. Mama focused her forehead into another deep-thought wrinkle as she walked over and picked up a pair of brown oxfords in the size I needed.
“Why don’t you try these on,” she said, “then you can make the decision yourself.”
I was elated. Even though I had made decisions before, I had never made one as important as this. I felt that Mama considered me sort of an adult, and I knew that she understood about 12-year-olds and growing up.
As I slipped one of the brown shoes on and tied the lace, it felt good in comparison to the red one on my other foot. I pondered silently as I tried to decide fairly, considering the good and bad points of each pair of shoes. The oxfords would last longer, and they were more comfortable, but they were so brown and plain, sort of ordinary looking really, and besides, they were the kind I had always worn. The red shoes were beautiful, and I wanted something different. If I was careful, they could last a long time. Admittedly, they did squeeze, but I could suffer for a day or two if need be, for I was very sure that I could stretch them in that length of time. Yes, I would take the red ones.
Mama didn’t say anything as she paid the clerk. After all, she had told me the decision was mine.
I strutted toward the door and was so preoccupied with how much older the shoes made me look that I knocked over a small display of cooking utensils and bumped into the candy counter on my way out. I was so happy over my purchase that I didn’t ask Mama what she had in the other package she was carrying when she got in the pickup.
The next two days I wore the pretty shoes in misery. Then a blister appeared on each of my big toes, and the misery turned to agony. Furthermore, I was becoming discouraged, for the tiny straps weren’t stretching at all as I had felt so sure they would.
If Mama saw me wrap small white strips of cloth around my toes to protect the blisters, she made no mention of it. I went outdoors as often as I could and slipped the shoes off. The cool air felt good on my hot feet, and each time I stayed out as long as I dared.
Slowly, out of desperation and pain, I became more brave, and the shoes lay forgotten on the floor of my closet as I went barefoot both inside the house and out. Mama, I am very sure, was aware of my bare feet, but as she didn’t question me, I hoped she supposed that I was trying to be careful of the shoes and make them last as long as the brown ones would have.
With Sunday came the sudden realization that I couldn’t possibly go barefoot to church. I put off the dreaded task of wearing the shoes until the last minute, and it wasn’t until everyone was ready to go that I carefully started the insertion of my foot into one of the slippers. As it entered the enclosure at the end of the shoe, my big toe rebelled hotly, and I pulled it quickly out. Several times I tried to put on the shoe, but each time my foot resented the tight squeeze and throbbed the resentment painfully.
Finally, I could stand it no longer. With tears close to my eyes and the red shoes held firmly in my hands, I went to Mama. My lip quivered, but I was determined not to cry. After all, I was 13 years old, in ten months, that is. I stood for a minute trying to gain my composure and to think of something sort of, well, mature to say.
“They pinch and they hurt,” I blurted out honestly.
Her answer came as such a surprise that all I could do was stand with my mouth open saying nothing.
“We do not always make the right decisions,” Mama said as she went to a drawer and took out a package containing the brown shoes. As she handed them to me she added softly, “And sometimes it takes a pinch of hurt to help us be more wise the next time we have something important to decide.”

Photograph courtesy of Quinn A.
Ultimate (also known as Ultimate Frisbee™) is a fast-paced sport that combines the running of soccer, the aerial passing of football, and the vertical leaps of basketball. The game is played by millions in the United States alone, with competitions held around the country.
However, don’t expect the number-one nationally ranked high school team to attend any competition held on Sunday.
Three years ago, Lone Peak High School in Utah started an Ultimate team. “Every single person on the team said we were not going to play on Sundays,” explains Quinn A., a recent graduate who’s played on the team since the first year.
Skipping Sunday competitions (and there are a lot of them) hasn’t limited the team’s success. Not only are they ranked number one, but they’re also respected throughout the sport. For example, at a major national Ultimate competition—the Chicago Invite—judges allowed Lone Peak Ultimate to play all their games on Saturday even though the event took place on Saturday and Sunday.
They also have a reputation for being one of the friendliest teams around no matter where they go. “We always come out with friends,” Quinn says. “Every single game.”
Quinn is now helping to coach the team while he prepares to serve a full-time mission.

Sofía was almost eight years old. She was getting ready to be baptized. She was learning lots of important things. One thing she had learned about was prayer. She knew she could pray to Heavenly Father anytime. She knew she could pray anyplace.
One day Sofía and Mama decided to visit Papa at work. It would be a long trip. Papa worked in another town. They would have to ride on a bus, then in a truck, and then in a taxi.
During the bus ride, Sofía fell asleep. She woke up when she heard a baby crying. A mom and dad with a baby had gotten on the bus. The baby was sick and crying loudly. The baby’s parents looked worried.
Sofía felt sorry for the baby. She felt sorry for the parents too. Then she had an idea. She whispered in Mama’s ear. “Could I say a prayer and ask Heavenly Father to bless the baby?”
“Of course,” Mama said with a smile.
Sofía bowed her head and said a silent prayer. She prayed hard. She asked Heavenly Father to bless the baby. She asked Him to help the baby feel better and stop crying.
Sofía knew that we do not always get what we pray for. She also knew that our prayers are not always answered right away. But in a short time, the baby calmed down. Then the baby stopped crying. She seemed to feel better. Her parents did not look so worried.
Sofía felt warm and happy inside. She was happy for the baby—and for the baby’s parents. She knew Heavenly Father had heard her prayer.

Paul Ewing, 11, ignored his own broken leg to swim to the aid of an unconscious man after a boating accident.
Paul, of Phelan, California, was boating with his father and friend when they collided with another boat. The two men were injured and semiconscious. Even though Paul had a broken leg, he heard calls for help from the other boat. He dove into the water and started to swim to the drowning man.
Paul’s father revived and, seeing his son in the water, thought he was injured and swam to assist his son. Paul pointed out the drowning man to his father before swimming back to his own boat while his father pulled the unconscious man to safety. All four were taken to the hospital.
Paul was awarded the Honor Medal for Lifesaving from the Boy Scouts of America. This honor is considered the highest award given in Scouting.
Paul is a member of the Phelan Ward, Victoria California Stake.

Illustration by David Malan
After a long, hard day filled with the struggles that come from caring for three young children, all I wanted to do was take a shower and go to bed.
I took a deep breath and went into my room to unwind. That’s when our five-year-old daughter came in and reminded me it was her turn for the monthly personal interviews my husband and I had started having with her and our three-year-old son. We would ask them questions about their favorite things and what they liked about kindergarten or church. Then we would remind them that they were children of God and that we loved them.
I enjoyed these talks, but I didn’t feel physically or mentally up to it. I started to tell my daughter we would have our talk tomorrow night, but I realized how important our talks were to her.
“All right,” I said tiredly, “let’s get Dad.”
We three sat on the bed and began our chat. After my husband left the room for a moment, I asked our daughter, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
I was not prepared for her answer: “Like you.”
Tears welled up in my eyes, and my heart filled with emotion. I was touched by the way my daughter saw me, but I felt overwhelming anxiety that stemmed from fear of inadequacy. I thought of all the reasons I did not make an ideal role model for my children, and I was keenly aware of my shortcomings.
Later that night as I prayed, I fervently asked Heavenly Father to help me become a better example for my daughter and more worthy of her admiration. Suddenly, an overwhelming wave of comfort, hope, and love washed over me. I became aware of the gratitude my Father in Heaven and Savior had for me simply for being a mother who was trying to be better. They acknowledged my efforts and were there to help me become the mother and daughter They see in me.
I know with all my heart that God knows and loves us and that through “the enabling power of the Savior’s Atonement,” we can become who we hope to become.

As soon as Father and Saul had finished the morning meal, Rebekah began clearing the dishes from the table. If she hurried with her work, she might be the first to arrive at Hannah’s house.
“I’ll help you with the dishes before I leave,” Mother said.
“Leave?” Rebekah asked in surprise. “Are you going to Grandmother’s again?”
“No,” Mother answered. “But I must go to Ezra the potter’s home. His wife has been ill for many days and there is much that needs to be done. Have Rachel help you make the beds. Baby Anna will be ready to go back to sleep at midmorning.”
Rebekah looked at her mother in alarm. “Are you leaving the little ones with me?” she asked.
“Yes, dear, I must leave them,” Mother answered. “A home where there is sickness is no place to take children. You’ll be all right.”
“But I had planned to go to Hannah’s house today when my work was finished,” Rebekah protested.
“When there is need,” Mother said gently, “plans must often be changed. You can go to Hannah’s house another day.”
“Can’t someone else help this once? Why does it always have to be you?”
“Others will help,” Mother said. “There will be need for many to offer assistance before the potter’s wife is well. And so you must care for our own little ones today. Father and Saul will not return at midday, but lunch must be prepared for Rachel and Baby Anna.”
It isn’t fair, Rebekah thought. Why must I always miss the fun and stay home? Hannah and the other girls never have to stay home and work. It just isn’t fair!
After mother left, Rebekah forced herself to take care of the children and the house but she was tired and cross all day. That evening, however, Mother didn’t seem to notice that Rebekah was out of sorts when she said to her daughter, “I’ve just learned that the harvesters have finished in the grainfields west of the city. Grandmother will come to care for the younger ones and tomorrow you and I shall join the gleaners.”
“The gleaners?” Rebekah cried in disbelief. “The wife of Simon the wool merchant has no need to glean in the fields.”
“Perhaps not for her own family,” Mother answered soberly. “But her daughter needs to learn to do such work.”
Then she put a hand on Rebekah’s arm. “My child, a woman never knows when there might be need in her own family. She must learn to do many things—even difficult tasks.
“A woman’s hands are made for service,” Mother continued, “if not service to her own family then to others less fortunate. Always there is need and always there is opportunity.”
Once again Rebekah had to tell her friends that she could not play, and Hannah smirked when Rebekah suggested that they come along too. “My father asks no such help from the women of his household,” she answered haughtily.
A blush of shame rose to Rebekah’s cheeks. Why can’t Mother see how she makes me look to my friends? she thought indignantly.
The sun had not risen when Grandmother came to care for the little ones. Resentment was heavy in Rebekah’s heart as she walked beside Mother, each carrying a basket through the city and to the fields beyond. A few other women had already reached the fields.
Mother showed Rebekah how to find the heads of grain that had been missed by the reapers and how to break them off and place them in the basket. Mother even stooped to gather kernels of grain that had fallen to the ground.
“We must work as quickly as possible,” she explained, “before the birds come to take the grain from us.”
At first, Rebekah had difficulty in snapping the heads off the grain without breaking a large part of the stem. But after a while she became more skillful. Gradually the bottom of her basket began to fill. Her back and arms grew weary, and Rebekah paused to stretch. She glanced around the field and saw that many more people had come now to glean—women and children of all ages.
Rebekah was startled to see some who were there—women so old and crippled that it would seem they could not move across the field. But still they worked. And there were children working, too, children so small that they were little more than toddlers.
Rebekah’s hands flew faster as, in a sudden rush of compassion, she looked at the people working in the fields. Perhaps if I make a good gleaning, Mother will let me put some of my grain into the basket of that old woman or into the small boy’s basket, she thought.
Pausing once more to rest her weary back, Rebekah found herself within a few feet of a girl about her own age who looked up and smiled shyly. “That is the hardest part of gleaning,” she said. “The tired back. But it grows easier after a few days.”
“Then you have gleaned before?” Rebekah asked.
“Many times.” The girl rubbed her back, then stooped down to the work. “The men in these fields are always generous with what they leave for the gleaners. It is truly a blessing.”
Rebekah glanced quickly toward the other girl. A blessing to glean? she wondered.
Surprise must have shown on her face, for the girl said, “Two years ago my father was gored by an ox, and he can’t do hard work anymore. My mother is not strong either. There are three children younger than I, so we each do what we can.”
“This is my first time in the fields,” Rebekah admitted. “My mother said that I must learn. But I am so slow.”
“You will learn,” the girl assured her.
“My mother is over there,” Rebekah said, pointing across the field.
The girl nodded. “Yes, everyone knows her. She comes to the fields each year. And within the city there are many she has helped.”
The two girls worked together until Mother came to say that it was time for the midday meal.
“Eat with us,” Rebekah urged her new friend.
“I—I had not thought to stop just yet and my brother—”
The girl glanced toward the small boy whom Rebekah had noticed earlier.
“Your brother also,” Rebekah put in quickly. She guessed they had no food to bring. “Please share with us.”
The tired look left the small boy’s face at sight of the generous bundle of food. Hungry as she was, Rebekah ate less than she wanted and passed the extra portion to him.
After the girl and her brother returned to the gleaning, Rebekah asked her mother, “If I work hard every day of the gleaning, may I share what I glean with others who have need?”
Tears stood bright in her mother’s eyes, and she put her arms around Rebekah and said, “My child, such pride you give me. So quickly have you learned the way of compassion and love.”
“I should have learned long ago.” Rebekah replied, “when I have had you for an example.”

Even when I was a young woman, most of my callings in the Church involved teaching Primary children, and this influenced my decision to pursue a degree in elementary education. But the choice of a major wasn’t the only way Church teachings affected my education. That became very clear as I prepared to graduate.
The last project I had to complete was a final paper that I would defend in an oral exam before three judges. The judges were some of the teachers who had taught my classes.
My paper carefully finished, I spent part of the evening before the oral exam with my boyfriend’s family. When I left to go home, his mother said she hoped everything would go well and quoted, “If ye are prepared ye shall not fear” (D&C 38:30).
The next day came. Dozens of memories passed through my mind. I remembered how I decided to leave the city where I grew up to further my education; I remembered all the sacrifices my family had made to finance it. I could not disappoint them. My final exam had to be a success.
My classmates were also waiting to take their exams. All of us were concerned about the questions the judges might pose, but I felt secure because I had prayed for help and because I knew that God knew the effort I had made to organize, research, and write my paper.
My turn came. After explaining my paper to the panel, I began to answer questions. After asking several on the topic I had covered, one of the judges queried, “How much work did you put into this paper?”
“A great deal,” I replied. “I gave it everything I had because I wanted it to be innovative.”
“Burned the midnight oil?”
“No, I don’t usually stay up late doing schoolwork,” I said. “I organize my day so I can get my work done.”
The faces of the judges clearly showed surprise. The same judge remarked, “I find it strange that you should admit you haven’t stayed up late. We know your classmates have, for many a night.”
One of the other judges said, “Let me tell you about this student. She has time for everything. I can say so because I know her. She has time for her studies, her friends, her family, and she even attends church.”
“Really?” the other judge was again surprised. “What church do you attend?”
“I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“Oh, yes, I know what church that is,” one said.
“And we are taught to go to bed early so we can be invigorated the next day.”
I felt calm and safe talking about the gospel, even though I was surprised to be asked about religion during a professional exam.
“Your paper was written with great feeling. It is excellent. I suppose this is also due to the habits instilled in you by your church.”
“Yes,” I said. “I was taught at church how to teach children, and it has really helped with my degree.”
“You took to it like a fish to water,” one of the judges joked. “We hope you won’t stop going to church, because you owe much to the values you have gained there.”
Soon I was excused from the room so the judges could come to a decision. Two minutes later they called me back in.
“It wasn’t hard for us to reach an agreement. In view of your exemplary conduct, your excellent grades, and the paper you defended today, our verdict is unanimous in favor of graduation, with honorable mention. Congratulations!”
When I told my family, they wept for joy.

Carter walked into the kitchen with his friend Devin and opened the fridge. He pulled out two sodas and looked around. Where was Mom? Normally she was home when he got back from school. But her car wasn’t in the garage.
He handed a soda to Devin.
“Thanks,” Devin said. “I’m so mad about the science project. Only one week to finish the whole thing!”
Carter took a sip. “I know! It’s not fair!” The project their teacher had assigned that afternoon was going to take forever.
Devin said, “Now we probably can’t go on our bike ride on Saturday.”
Suddenly a swear word jumped out of Carter’s mouth. He hadn’t even thought to say it.
Devin looked surprised, but not upset. They’d both started swearing at school during recess a few weeks ago. But they’d never used bad words in their homes before.
“My thoughts exactly,” Devin said. Then he added a swear word of his own. They laughed.
Carter glanced around the empty kitchen. Mom wasn’t home, and Dad was still at work. It felt … kind of exciting to say that word in his own kitchen. But he also felt uneasy for some reason.
“It’s messed up,” Devin said. “He should’ve given us a month.”
“Totally,” Carter said. He took another drink of his soda. He drank too quickly and the carbonation burned down his throat. “And you know what else?”
This time Carter strung together a sentence with three swear words in it that made Devin laugh so hard he almost spilled his soda. Carter laughed with him.
“What!?”
Carter felt like a bolt of lightning cut through him as he heard Mom’s voice. He turned and saw her standing in the doorway to the garage. He hadn’t heard the door open.
Mom’s face showed how much his words had hurt her. Carter felt awful inside. He wanted to crawl inside a deep, deep hole.
“Uh, I gotta go.” Devin grabbed his backpack and hurried out the front door.
“Carter,” Mom finally said. She wasn’t yelling. He almost wished she were—that would be better than the disappointment in her voice. “We’ll talk about this later.”
She set her bags on the table and walked upstairs. Carter cringed. She was too upset to talk.
Carter finished his soda quickly and went out to the backyard. He plopped down on a lawn chair.
A few weeks ago he had decided it wasn’t that big a deal to use bad words once in a while—as long as he didn’t say them at home or at church. But only a few minutes ago that swear word had popped out before he’d even thought about it.
Carter already knew what he wanted to say to Mom. He wanted to tell her he was sorry and ask for her forgiveness.
Swearing wasn’t worth it, Carter decided. Not at home, and not at school. Not if it made him feel like this. Not if it upset Mom that way.
He prayed to Heavenly Father and asked for forgiveness. Carter promised right then and there. He was done swearing. Not ever again.
He felt a little tug of peace in his heart as soon as he made that choice. That was the Holy Ghost, he realized, telling him he was making the right decision.

Once I went to a family reunion in another state. It was a lot of fun. When Sunday came, I was nervous to go to a different ward. The only people I knew at church were my family. I wanted to stay home, but I knew going to church was important.
When we got to Primary, my nervous feeling went away a little. I started to feel comfortable with the other kids. They shared their scriptures with me, they talked to me, and they helped me answer questions. We became friends.
I was glad I went to church and thankful that everyone was so nice to me. I hope I get to go to that ward and see my friends sometime again.

For some, there will come the temptation to dishonor a personal standard of honesty. In a business law class at the university I attended, I remember that one particular classmate never prepared for the class discussions. I thought to myself, “How is he going to pass the final examination?”

I discovered the answer when he came to the classroom for the final exam on a winter’s day wearing on his bare feet only a pair of sandals. I was surprised and watched him as the class began. All of our books had been placed upon the floor, as per the instruction. He slipped the sandals from his feet; and then, with toes that he had trained and had prepared with glycerin, he skillfully turned the pages of one of the books which he had placed on the floor, thereby viewing the answers to the examination questions.

He received one of the highest grades in that course on business law. But the day of reckoning came. Later, as he prepared to take his comprehensive exam, for the first time the dean of his particular discipline said, “This year I will depart from tradition and will conduct an oral, rather than a written, test.” Our favorite trained-toe expert found that he had his foot in his mouth on that occasion and failed the exam.

Brigham is an example of faith and courage. When he was three years old, he became very ill with leukemia, a cancer of the blood, and had to endure a painful treatment for two years. As he did, doctors discovered that he also had another disease, one that he cannot be cured of. It causes great pain, but he doesn’t complain. In fact, after doctors gave him a very painful treatment for his cancer, Brigham told them “thank you” through his tears.

James Sweeney taught psychiatry at Tulane University in New Orleans, Louisiana. He directed the school’s biomedical computer center. He had a staff ranging from data programmers to maintenance workers. Sweeney believed he could take even a poorly educated man and, with the right motivation, make him into a competent computer operator. He convinced George Johnson, a janitor at the facility, to spend his free afternoons learning about computers.
Johnson was progressing rapidly when a university administrator told Sweeney the project must stop. All computer operators must pass an IQ test before entering the center. Johnson took the test and flunked. The results indicated he did not have the capacity to learn to type, much less run a computer.
But Sweeney convinced the university officials to allow Johnson to stay on, promising positive results. Within months, Johnson was so proficient at programming that he was asked to train new employees.
Both Johnson and Sweeney succeeded because they were willing to stick with it. As you search for a career, you may find that there is something you feel compelled to do. You will also find that it will become easier as you work at it, that it will become something that you’re good at.

Sister Hinckley’s roots sink deeply into rich pioneer soil, leaving an indelible imprint on her life and character. She wrote this about her great-grandfather:
“On a beautiful Sunday morning in the fall of 1841, my great-grandfather, William Minshall Evans, then sixteen years of age, was walking down the streets of Liverpool, England, on his way to church. Suddenly he heard singing that thrilled him beyond anything he had ever heard before. He followed the sound down an alley and up some rickety stairs into a room where a few people were holding a meeting. John Taylor, who later became president of the Church and who had a beautiful tenor voice, was the singer. The song he sang was so beautiful that William remained to hear the sermon.
“Upon returning home, William was reprimanded by his elder brother, David, for being absent from his accustomed place in the choir. Asked to give an account of himself, William replied, ‘I have been where you should have been, and I shall not be satisfied until you all hear the wonderful truth I have heard this morning.’
“… William and David were converted to the gospel, and then helped convert other members of their family” (Marjorie P. Hinckley, “Music Was the Missionary,” Ensign, July 1981, p. 48).
Sister Hinckley commented, “I never sing the hymns of the Church without remembering that it was the singing of a hymn that opened the door to the gospel for my family and made it possible for me to enjoy all the blessings that have followed” (p. 48).