Gospel Story Finder

Football came to our country town later than most. The school board had neither the money for equipment nor a coach. Then the great day arrived. Our high school principal was able to buy twelve inexpensive football outfits, except the expensive cleated football shoes (we used our basketball shoes), and our coach was recruited from the faculty because he had witnessed a game.
We learned a few simple plays, how to tackle—or so we thought—and set off for our first game with Twin Falls, the previous year’s Idaho state champions.
We dressed and went out on the field to warm up. Their school band started to play (they had more students in the band than we had in our entire high school), and then through the gates came their team. The twelve of us—a full team of eleven plus one all-round substitute—watched in amazement as they kept coming through the gates—all thirty-nine of them in full uniform.
The game was most interesting! To say it was a learning experience is rather mild. After two plays we didn’t have any desire to have the ball—so we would kick it, and soon they would score. When they got the ball, they would run a baffling play and score. Our problem was to get rid of the ball—it was less punishing.
In the final minutes of the game they became a little reckless. A wild pass fell into the arms of Clifford Lee, who was playing halfback with me. He was startled, not knowing for sure what to do—until he saw the “Dallas Cowboys” thundering after him. Then he knew what to do. He was fast. He wasn’t running for points, but for his life! Clifford made a touchdown; six points went up on the board. The final score—106 to 6! We really didn’t deserve the six points, but with our torn shirts and socks and our bruises, we took them anyway.
A learning experience? Of course! An individual or a team must be prepared. In all things success depends upon previous preparation.

I guess if there is any one reason for success, Dean’s reason is determination. He started painting when he was eight. When he was twelve he spent most of a year talking his parents into letting him ride his bike across the country. He finished the long journey when he was thirteen, perhaps the youngest person ever to make the ride. He rode from Ogden, Utah, to Massachusetts and then down to New York. He rode along feeling and sketching the life of America as he went. And he has traveled since—in cars, in trains, in planes. He feels he needs to learn all the time. As he explains, “Sometimes you have to go slowly. When you are on a bike or walking, you feel, you touch the heat and the cold. It is good to get down to life and to see how people act; to feel the rain when it hits your head; to have to worry about a place to sleep. This next summer I plan to walk from Georgia to Vermont, and when I get there, I’ll know the people.”

I rest for a moment and watch the pink sky brighten. Early mornings are so special that I wonder why I hated them as a child. I spent my thirteenth summer at my grandmother’s house in Preston, Idaho. I wanted to eat raspberries, swim in the canal, and read books, but my stern grandmother insisted that I tend the roses, pick the strawberries, and learn to sew. I used to hide under the covers and pretend to be asleep as I heard my grandmother making breakfast. She called to me to come outside and work in her garden, but I ignored her when I could and let the clicking of her pruning shears and the rustling of the bushes lull me back to sleep.

When I had to work in the garden, I complained. Yet talking to my grandmother as the sun spun its way across the sky, I came to love her. In the garden, she didn’t seem so austere and forbidding as she usually did. She told me of her love for my grandfather and how she had never given up on him, though for years he was not a member of the Church. Her eyes grew misty and she smiled as she told me that the happiest day of her life was the day Grandfather took their family to the temple to be sealed.

I hear Jon’s motorcycle as he roars off to work, and I rest for a moment. My tears drop like rain as my heart follows him. Then I remember my grandmother. I remember watching her graft a branch from one of her most beautiful rosebushes onto an old, half-dead bush. Her voice echoes to me from years ago. “I won’t give up on this bush without a fight,” she had said to me on that long-ago morning. “It’s too precious not to try to reclaim.”

In 1941 the Gila River overflowed and flooded the Duncan Valley in Arizona. A young stake president by the name of Spencer W. Kimball met with his counselors, assessed the damage, and sent a telegram to Salt Lake City asking for a large sum of money.

Instead of sending money, President Heber J. Grant sent three men: Henry D. Moyle, Marion G. Romney, and Harold B. Lee. They visited with President Kimball and taught him an important lesson: “This isn’t a program of ‘give me,’” they said. “This is a program of ‘self-help.’”

Many years later, President Kimball said: “It would have been an easy thing, I think, for the Brethren to have sent us [the money,] and it wouldn’t have been too hard to sit in my office and distribute it; but what a lot of good came to us as we had hundreds of [our own] go to Duncan and build fences and haul the hay and level the ground and do all the things that needed doing. That is self-help.”

By following the Lord’s way, the members of President Kimball’s stake not only had their immediate needs met, but they also developed self-reliance, alleviated suffering, and grew in love and unity as they served each other.

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

A family night activity at a swimming pool could have ended in tragedy except for the quick action of 12-year-old Mike Kinder.
The Kinder family was visiting some friends who had access to a pool. Four-year-old Kyle was holding onto the edge, watching his older brothers and sisters play in the deeper section of the pool. The youngster tried to swim for a short distance and couldn’t make it. Mike found his brother floating face down and pulled him to the edge of the pool and yelled for his dad. Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation revived little Kyle, who was taken to the hospital and later released.
Mike attributes his fast thinking to things he has learned in church and Scouting. He said that his leaders “teach you to use your head and to make decisions so that when the time comes to use what you’ve learned, your mind is already made up.”
Mike is a deacon in the Baytown Ward, Houston Texas East Stake.

When Jeremy is not doing schoolwork, church work, or socializing with his friends, you might catch him involved in another rather surprising activity. Jeremy is a painter. His mother, an accomplished artist herself, has been a tremendous help and inspiration to him in this area and many others. With his canvas propped up in front of him, he holds the brush with his teeth and produces some impressive artwork. His favorite subjects are birds, but he created a Christmas scene that the Make-A-Wish Foundation used on their annual Christmas card. Make-A-Wish had previously helped Jeremy by making his lifelong dream of visiting Hawaii come true. By letting them use his painting, he was able to help them in return.

For some reason, a nice girl in my 10th-grade high school class decided to give me a copy of the Book of Mormon in English. I didn’t know what it was. My dad had given me a book of abridged Bible stories in Hindi when I was young. So, when I tried to read a couple of pages in the Book of Mormon and saw the name Jesus Christ, I thought, “This looks like the Bible.”
I kept the book, but I left it alone. I did not speak English, though I was studying it in high school. About that same time, I started preparing for exams with my friend who gave me the Book of Mormon. I was good at all my academic subjects but one.
“I am really worried about my English exams,” I told my friend. “I am afraid I am going to fail.”
She replied, “I have some friends who can help you learn English.”
Those friends were missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Soon they started coming to my home and giving me English grammar lessons. After a few weeks, they started teaching me the gospel.
As I investigated the Church, the missionaries taught me about the fruits of the Spirit (see Galatians 5:22–23) and helped me understand how the Spirit speaks to us. They also told me to ask Heavenly Father if their message was true. As I prayed, I didn’t expect an answer like the one Joseph Smith received, but I wanted an answer to come in a way that I knew I was making the right choice.
That answer came late one night in a way I cannot deny. It was an answer filled with light and peace. I felt uplifted and born again. I felt like I wanted to be the nicest person in the world. God knew how to answer me, and I knew what to do after that. In fact, I was scared what would happen to me if I didn’t get baptized.
When I told my parents, my dad was against it—not because he is not a nice man but because of the cultural pressure. He wasn’t sure how our community would accept my baptism.
“If you get baptized, you will be kicked out of our home,” he told me.
In tears, I told my mother, “I really want to get baptized, but this is what Dad is saying.”
She replied, “Go ahead. We’ll see what happens.”
I went ahead and got baptized. After that, I never turned back. All I saw were great blessings in my life.
My dad did not kick me out, but for a year or two, life was difficult at home. When anything difficult happened in our family, some of our relatives and family members thought it was because I had betrayed the gods by choosing to accept the gospel. But as my parents saw positive changes in me, things changed at home. Two years after I joined the Church, I baptized my two younger sisters. Later, my other sister got baptized.

About that time I was waiting in a doctor’s office, and I noticed that the young lady seated next to me had opened a book with a blue cover. The book’s text was written in columns like the Bible. I was curious to know if it was the Bible, but I also wanted to get back to the comic book I had been reading.
I directed my eyes to the blue book and read a word at the top of the page: Alma. I made an effort to remember that name from my Bible reading, then went back to my comic book. But the blue book continued to attract me, and once again I directed my eyes to that mysterious book.
When the young lady noticed my interest, I asked if the book was the Bible. She answered no and asked me what church I belonged to. I told her none, because I didn’t know which one was true.
That night I couldn’t stop thinking about that strange book. I didn’t know its name, because the young lady had said only that it belonged to the Mormon Church. I told my friend Ghersi about it, and he offered to get me a copy. Several weeks went by, and then one afternoon he handed me a book without a cover and with worn pages. All he said was, “Here’s the book.”
That afternoon I opened the book and read the testimony of Joseph Smith. I felt that it was what I had wanted to know; the feeling became stronger when I read about the visit of the angel Moroni. Unable to contain my excitement, I arose from my chair and shouted, “This is what I was looking for! Here is the truth!” I read the first chapters of 1 Nephi very slowly. I felt that I understood them as I had never understood a book before.

Joseph’s father, Hyrum Smith, was the Prophet Joseph Smith’s older brother. Both the Prophet and Hyrum were shot and killed by a mob when young Joseph was only five years old. It is well known that Hyrum had been the Prophet Joseph’s great friend and support through much of their lives and that Joseph had loved his older brother as he loved his own life. The Lord also had expressed his love for Hyrum, “because of the integrity of his heart, and because he loveth that which is right before me” (D&C 124:15).
Throughout his life, Joseph F. Smith loved his father with a special devotion. His last memory of his father, as Hyrum rode off to Carthage, was vivid: “Without getting off his horse,” President Smith related later, “father leaned over in his saddle and picked me up off the ground. He kissed me goodbye and put me down again and I saw him ride away.” This experience was to be followed by days of uncertainty and then a night of terror. “I remember the night of the murder … when one of the brethren came from Carthage and knocked on our window after dark and called to my mother, ‘Sister Smith, your husband has been killed.’” Although this occurred when the boy was only five years old, many years later he still remembered the terror of that night.
Two years after Hyrum’s death, Joseph F. Smith and his widowed mother, Mary Fielding Smith, set off across the plains of North America with many other Mormon pioneers. Sister Smith had not only her own two young children, but she was also caring for the five children of her slain husband and his first wife, who had died earlier. At age seven, Joseph drove the family’s ox team to Winter Quarters, Nebraska. At age nine, he drove the wagon on to the Salt Lake Valley.
During the time on the plains, young Joseph learned many lessons of faith from his mother. Upon awakening one morning, the Smiths found that their best team of oxen was missing. The young boy and his uncle, Joseph Fielding, set out and searched an entire morning in vain. Fatigued and discouraged, they returned to camp. There they found Mary Fielding Smith on her knees, pleading for God to help them in this search, since the loss of the oxen would mean further delay in reaching their destination.
Arising from prayer, this youthful pioneer mother told her brother and her son to have breakfast, and she would bring back the cattle. She started toward the river, despite her brother’s protests that further search was futile. Ignoring first her brother and then a herdsman from a Missouri wagon train who tried to tell her that he had seen the oxen headed in the opposite direction that morning, Mary Fielding Smith continued walking to the river. Then, turning at the bank, she motioned to her brother and son to join her. As they did, they found the oxen tied to a clump of willows, hidden from sight. Someone had apparently put them there, planning to return after the pioneer group had moved on.
President Smith later said that this experience was “one of the first practical and positive demonstrations of the efficacy of prayer I have ever witnessed.” The impression it made on his mind was to aid him all through his life.
Four years after they entered the Salt Lake Valley—when Joseph F. was thirteen years old—his mother died, leaving him without father or mother.
During his fifteenth year, Joseph F. Smith was ordained an elder, endowed, and sent to serve as a missionary in the Hawaiian Islands. There he experienced illness and discouragement far beyond that which is usual for a young man of his age. But with these experiences came an increased deepening of his soul and a broadening of his capacities as new spiritual insights were added in his life.
One such experience was a dream, significantly centering on a family experience. This dream occurred during a time in his mission when he was greatly depressed. “I was … entirely friendless. … I felt as if I was so debased in my condition of poverty, lack of intelligence and knowledge, just a boy, that I hardly dared look a … man in the face.”
In the dream, Joseph saw his uncle, the Prophet Joseph Smith; his father, Hyrum Smith; and his mother, Mary Fielding Smith. He was comforted, and his testimony of the Prophet and of the plan of salvation were strengthened: “When I awoke that morning I was a man, although only a boy. There was not anything in the world that I feared. … That vision, that manifestation and witness that I enjoyed at that time has made me what I am, if I am anything that is good, or clean, or upright before the Lord. That has helped me out of every trial and through every difficulty.”
Joseph F. Smith was not to be alone nor deprived of a family all of his life. When he was twenty years old, he married Levira Smith shortly before departing for his second mission—this time to Great Britain. During this mission, he had the comfort of knowing that someone waited for him. He later married five other wives (living as they did during the days of the Church’s practice of plural marriage): Julina Lambson, Sarah Ellen Richards, Edna Lambson, Alice Ann Kimball, and Mary Taylor Schwartz. He became the father of forty-eight children. One son, Joseph Fielding Smith, grew up to become the tenth President of the Church.
A beautiful illustration of Joseph F. Smith’s love for his family comes from his early years as a father, when he was existing on a poverty wage and was paid only in commodities. In these destitute circumstances, he made a trip to town one day before Christmas to buy “something for my chicks.”
“I wanted something to please them, and to mark the Christmas day from all other days—but not a cent to do it with! I walked up and down Main Street, looking into the shop windows … everywhere—and then slunk out of sight of humanity and sat down and wept like a child until my poured-out grief relieved my aching heart; and after awhile returned home, as empty as when I left, and played with my children, grateful and happy … for them.”
Another experience illustrating his love for family occurred at the death of his firstborn, a little daughter, Mercy Josephine, whom he affectionately referred to as “Dodo.” Little Dodo died when she was three. After watching over her night after night, holding her, and encouraging her, Elder Smith grieved when she went sleepless one entire night. The next morning when she said, “I’ll sleep tonight, papa,” the words “shot through my heart.” Shortly thereafter, she died.
He expressed the sorrow of his heart in a letter: “I scarcely dare to trust myself to write, even now my heart aches, and my mind is all chaos; if I should murmur, may God forgive me, my soul has been and is tried with poignant grief, my heart is bruised and wrenched almost asunder. I am desolate, my home seems desolate and almost dreary … my own sweet Dodo is gone! I can scarcely believe it and my heart asks, can it be? I look in vain, I listen, no sound, I wander through the rooms, all are vacant, lonely, desolate, deserted. I look down the garden walk, peer around the house, look here and there for a glimpse of a little golden, sunny head and rosy cheeks, but no, alas, no pattering little footsteps. No beaming little black eyes sparkling with love for papa; no sweet little enquiring voice … no soft dimpled hands clasping me around the neck, no sweet rosy lips returning in childish innocence my fond embrace and kisses, but a vacant little chair. Her little toys are concealed, her clothes put by, and only the one desolate thought forcing its crushing leaden weight upon my heart—she is not here, she is gone! … I am almost wild, and O God only knows how much I loved my girl, and she the light and joy of my heart.”
Forty-six years later, just two years before his own death, President Smith wrote in his journal, “This is the 49th anniversary of the birth of my firstborn child, Mercy Josephine. A most beautiful and intelligent little girl. She died June 6, 1870, nearly three years old, leaving but the memory of the sweetest, happiest, loveliest three years of my whole life up to that time. O how I loved and cherished that little angel of love and light.”
For Joseph F. Smith, love of family was the highest joy. Shortly after becoming the prophet of the Lord, he said:
“There can be no genuine happiness separate and apart from the home, and every effort made to sanctify and preserve its influence is uplifting to those who toil and sacrifice for its establishment. Men and women often seek to substitute some other life for that of the home; they would make themselves believe that the home means restraint; that the highest liberty is the fullest opportunity to move about at will. There is no happiness without service, and there is no service greater than that which converts the home into a divine institution, and which promotes and preserves family life.
“Those who shirk home responsibilities are wanting in an important element of social well-being. They may indulge themselves in social pleasures, but their pleasures are superficial and result in disappointment later in life.”
In addition to making great contributions at home with his own family, Joseph F. Smith spent most of his life as a missionary or Church leader. After his first mission in the Hawaiian Islands at age fifteen, he served a three-year mission in Great Britain and was then ordained as an Apostle and counselor to the First Presidency at the age of twenty-seven. As an Apostle, he served as president of the European and British missions. At age forty-one, he again became a member of the First Presidency of the Church and served in the First Presidency for nearly forty years—half his lifetime—until his death at age eighty. Having served as a counselor to the First Presidency during the administration of Brigham Young, he also served as counselor in the First Presidency to John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff, and Lorenzo Snow. Then, in 1901, at age sixty-two, he became President of the Church.
During most of President Smith’s life, the Church was under great attack from the United States government because of its practice of plural marriage. President Smith became one of the Church’s most able defenders of the practice. For a time, he and other leaders went into voluntary exile—and it pained him to be unable to be with and care for his large family. Then, in 1888 and 1889, he went to Washington, D.C., attempting to negotiate with the United States government for relaxation of repressive laws against the Latter-day Saints.
After President Wilford Woodruff received the revelation known as the Manifesto, discontinuing the practice of plural marriage in 1890 (see OD 1), President Smith continued to work tirelessly to ease tensions between the Church and the government and to enhance public respect for the Church. President Smith presided over the Church during a time of great prosperity and growth. As prophet, he strengthened the role of priesthood quorums and emphasized the importance of the home.
One of President Joseph F. Smith’s greatest contributions to the Church was his forthright teaching of the gospel. While he served as prophet, he and his counselors in the First Presidency issued statements clarifying Church doctrine on such topics as the origin of man and the nature of God the Father and Jesus Christ. They also warned against false teachings. After his death, some of his most important messages were published as a book, entitled Gospel Doctrine.
His “Vision of the Redemption of the Dead” has been accepted as scripture and is now found in section 138 of the Doctrine and Covenants [D&C 138]. On 3 October 1918, only six weeks before his death, President Smith received a vision in which he saw the Savior’s ministry in the spirit world during the short time between the Crucifixion and the Resurrection. (See 1 Pet. 3:18–20; 1 Pet. 4:6). President Smith witnessed the Savior ministering to the righteous Saints and prophets who had died; he also saw the Savior organizing missionary work to go forth among the spirits of the wicked and the unrepentant.
This wonderful revelation came to the aged prophet as he sat in his room, “pondering over the scriptures;
“And reflecting upon the great atoning sacrifice that was made by the Son of God, for the redemption of the world;
“And the great and wonderful love made manifest by the Father and the Son in the coming of the Redeemer into the world” (D&C 138:1–3).
In the vision, President Smith saw that “the saints rejoiced in their redemption, and bowed the knee and acknowledged the Son of God as their Redeemer and Deliverer from death and the chains of hell” (D&C 138:23).
Thus, he had hope for the salvation of all who love the Lord—from his own cherished daughter “Dodo,” to every one of our Father’s children.
And through President Smith’s witness, all of us can have that same hope in the eternal nature of God, in His plan for our happiness, and in His promise to the faithful of the blessing of eternal family relationships.

Once, when we were still new converts and were living in my father’s house, the bishop came to visit. My father threw him out. He said he did not want members of the Church in his house. The bishop was inspired to call us in for an interview. He said that members and missionaries were not going to visit us in our home for a while so as not to antagonize our family. He said that we needed to be strong and that we would receive many blessings if we continued on the strait and narrow path.
We could not move to a house of our own due to my employment situation. I could not find good work as I had done before. I worked a little at jobs that didn’t pay much, but we managed to pay our tithes and offerings, attend church, and buy the food we needed. The Lord multiplied our blessings, and we were truly happy.

After Ron left me alone, I thought to myself, “If the Lord would tell my brother, then I’ll bet the Lord would tell me.” So I did what my brother did, reading and praying over every page of the Book of Mormon. Because I was still young, I didn’t understand a lot of the words, but it wasn’t long before I began to feel the Lord speak to me in my heart, telling me it was true. I read the whole book through and ended up with a strong testimony even at age 12. That really helped me through my youth and in preparation for a mission.
I have always been thankful for my good brother, who loved me enough to show me by example how to gain a testimony.

The crowd seemed to calm down suddenly as they focused their attention on the gymnastic arena. Everyone seemed to be watching the same girl—the one who had attracted their attention earlier in the balance beam competition. This time she was swinging on the uneven parallel bars.
The girl was Diane Ellingson, a typical-looking fifteen-year-old gymnast with a slim body, her hair in a blonde ponytail. But the crowd seemed to sense that there was more to her than her good looks.
Maybe they noticed her because of the confident way she performed her pirouettes during her floor routine. It could have been the spectacular twists and turns she executed when she flipped from the uneven parallel bars. It might have been her effortless leaps over the vault, but above all that, it was probably her genuine love for the crowd. They could feel it when she flashed them that winning smile at the end of a perfect routine.
Of course, even when her performance wasn’t quite so perfect there was still something about that smile. Even when she slipped and landed flat on her face at the end of a routine while being filmed on national television, she smiled and waved to the crowd until they applauded. In a competition on her eighteenth birthday she told the judges it was her birthday so they would ask the crowd to sing “Happy Birthday” to her. “I wasn’t embarrassed,” says Diane. “I would’ve let them sing it twice just for the attention.”

Connor was hot and thirsty. He had been playing outside all morning, and his mouth was dry as he pulled open the back door. A rush of cool air greeted him, and it felt wonderful. He hurried into the kitchen to get a glass of water.
As he drank his water, he thought about the red toy helicopter he had seen in the store two weeks before. Connor couldn’t wait to finally have enough money to buy it. He had been saving his allowance money and doing extra chores ever since he had seen the helicopter.
He finished his glass of water and went into the living room to ask his mom if she had any more chores she could pay him to do.
“Mom,” he said. “Do you …”
“Shh, Connor. Wait just a minute,” Mom said. “I want to listen to this.”
Connor turned to look at the television.
On the news there were pictures of things that had been wrecked—buildings had fallen down, streets were full of stuff, and there were people who looked like they were hurt. He saw the word earthquake at the bottom of the screen, but it was in a place he’d never heard of.
“There was a terrible earthquake,” Mom explained. “Almost everything was destroyed. They have no electricity and no running water, and a lot of people are hurt and need help.”
Connor had a funny feeling in his chest. He wondered what it would be like to be thirsty and not have any water to drink, or to be hurt and not have someone to help you.
“Mom, can’t anyone help them?” he asked.
“A lot of people want to help, but right now it’s almost impossible for people to get into the country,” she said. “Most of the runways and roads are blocked or destroyed.”
“I wish there was something we could do,” Connor said. He felt sad for the people in the earthquake. Then suddenly he had an idea. “Mom, can we pray for them?” he asked.
His mom smiled. “That’s a great idea,” she said. They turned off the television and knelt on the floor. As Connor said the prayer, the sick feeling he had was replaced with a good, calm feeling.
After they said “Amen,” Connor had another idea. He knew how he could help. He ran into his room and found the jar of money he had been saving to buy the red helicopter. He took it to his mom.
“Mom, is there a way to get this money to the people in the earthquake?” he asked. “Maybe it could help get a real helicopter to bring them food and water and maybe even a doctor.”
Connor’s mom gave him a hug. “That is a very kind and thoughtful thing to do, Connor,” she said. “Let’s take it to the bishop on Sunday. He’ll know what to do with it.”
Connor was glad that even though he lived far away from where the earthquake happened, he could still help in a small way. He knew he wouldn’t be getting the toy helicopter any time soon, but he loved the good feeling he had inside. He was glad he followed the promptings of the Holy Ghost to help someone in need.

Four years after Grandfather joined the Church, my father, then a young lad eight years old, accompanied his family and the members of two other families to a baptismal service. Grandfather was to baptize his young daughter and the daughters of a neighboring family on that cold December 3, 1899. As they traveled toward the stream at Reynold’s Mill, they were approached by three men on horseback. When the men asked where they were going, Grandfather explained their intentions. The leader threatened to bring a mob upon them if they carried out the baptismal service. Grandfather informed him that he and the 20 people with him would complete their errand regardless of what the man and his associates did. Grandfather and his party continued their journey to Reynold’s Mill.
Arriving at the mill they located a secluded spot for the baptism. The hill above the river was covered with trees, scrub oak, and ivy. My father, young John, was perched on a fallen tree that stretched out across a sandbar into the slow-moving stream. Here he could observe every detail of this sacred ordinance. Grandfather waded out into the stream to find the right depth and then returned to the riverbank for prayer. In the quiet of the prayer John heard the sound of a cracking limb. Opening his eyes and glancing quickly up the hill through the trees he saw the men who had stopped them earlier. They had arrived with a mob to carry out their threat. One of them was by a pile of rocks and was ready to pelt the baptismal participants. Suddenly all eyes were opened as a big redbone hound owned by the leader of the mob bounded down to within a few feet of my father. Young John looked fearfully at the hound as it growled menacingly. These men and their associates were determined to stop the baptisms from being performed. My Grandfather Pinegar courageously proceeded with the services.
Convinced now that these Mormon families were unafraid of his threat, the mob leader commanded his dog to attack Grandfather Pinegar. At this moment an amazing thing happened. The dog let out a low growl and his hair bristled like that on an angry hog’s back. Suddenly it bared its teeth and turned on its master, leaping at his throat and knocking him to the ground. The rest of the mob fled in fear when they saw the dog turn on its owner. As soon as the astonished leader could free himself from his dog, he left in hurried pursuit of his associates, with the dog yelping close at his heels.
A miracle had occurred! The Pinegar family and their neighbors thanked the Lord for their deliverance, and the baptismal service continued without further interruption.
That evening the families returned to Grandfather’s home. After darkness had fallen upon the mountain cabin, the troublemakers returned and again threatened to mob my grandfather and his Mormon friends. As they taunted him from the gate, Grandfather commanded them in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ to leave. The mob departed and did not return.

I can understand in some small part how joyful the Lord must be when His servants obey without murmuring. Recently, my dear wife and I participated in a meeting during which our responsibilities were to be explained. We had no idea, at that time, what our assignment would be or where we would be serving. I was privately advised that we would be called to serve in West Africa. I was surprised and delighted with the assignment, but there passed through my mind the thoughts that would inevitably arise in the mind of my companion of almost 39 years. How would she receive this assignment? I knew she would agree to go. In all our years together, she has never refused a call from the Lord. But what would be the feelings of her heart?

As I sat next to her, she discerned in my eyes that I knew our assignment. She said, “Well, where is it?” I simply said, “Africa.” Her eyes brightened, and she said with cheerful heart, “Isn’t that great!” My joy was full.

It is interesting to note that in addition to such testimonies about President Monson’s loyalty to the elderly, many unsolicited testimonials of his equally urgent concern for the youth of the Church are also offered. There is something perpetually youthful about President Monson which allows him to relate to all the members of the Church, but especially the young. He loves them, is conscious of them, and is devoted to their spiritual success.
Immediately after young Tom Monson’s discharge from the navy following the conclusion of World War II, he was called to serve as a ward clerk. One evening he sat silently taking minutes while the bishopric agonized over the obvious lack of success with the young people in their ward, including challenges within the MIA program. Apparently the young clerk took it about as long as he could and then said, “Excuse me, brethren, but may I say something about the MIA and the youth challenges in this ward?” He then launched into a rapid-fire and profound summary of not only what was wrong with their ward youth program but what could rather quickly make it right. Then, realizing he may have been too bold and too presumptuous, he said, “Forgive me. I think I have said too much,” and excused himself from the room.
He was no sooner out the door than the bishopric looked at each other and said, “What are we waiting for?” They immediately called him back into the room, released him as ward clerk, and called him to be the superintendent of the MIA. In six months the 6–7th Ward combined program, with its totally committed young superintendent, was the example to which every other leader in the Temple View Stake looked for their own youth activities.
That lifelong devotion to youth is currently reflected in President Monson’s 25 years of service on the National Executive Board of the Boy Scouts of America, a longer term of service rendered than that of any other man who has ever been seated in that distinguished circle. Jere B. Ratcliffe, Chief Scout Executive for the Boy Scouts of America, says, “I don’t know any person about whom I could say more good things than I can say about Tom Monson. For me, Tom personifies enthusiasm in its original meaning—‘God within,’ or literally ‘inspired.’ He lights up every meeting he is in. The LDS Church is blessed to have such a leader of youth.”
One associate says that President Monson relates well to youth “because he is still just a boy at heart. Have you ever seen him at a Utah Jazz or collegiate game? He follows every play with keen personal interest. Tom is a big man with big responsibilities, but he still displays the enthusiasm of youth.”
Somehow that observation rings true, especially when we realize that this is the 12-year-old boy who, when making his first visit to the Seagull Monument on famed Temple Square, spent time wondering how a person could get those nickels and dimes, which had been thrown there by the slightly more contemplative, out of the reflecting pool. Actually, Tommy Monson was very touched by that visit to Temple Square, returning to his ward to give the first talk he ever delivered—on that wonderful pioneer story of the seagulls and the crickets.

My fondest childhood memories are of my family piling into our big gold van and fleeing the flat deserts of Texas toward the mountains and rivers of the West. As we climbed in elevation, my father, a geologist, would point out the window at rock formations and explain how the layers were deposited just so and how the rocks contained a record of past processes that quietly shaped the landscapes in front of my eyes. My mother would take pictures of wildflowers, collect pine cones, and revel in the turning of the seasons.
Their love for nature was contagious, and I fell in love with the world of living things too.
Years later, while serving my mission among the mountains and forests of Alaska, I developed an even deeper respect for the connections between God’s human and nonhuman creations and decided to devote my life to the conservation and study of nature.
Throughout my studies, I’ve been encouraged by principles of earth stewardship taught by prophets, apostles, and other Church leaders. For example:
At the beginning of this dispensation, the Lord told Joseph Smith that He wanted the Saints to be “accountable, as [stewards] over earthly blessings, which I have made and prepared for my creatures” (Doctrine and Covenants 104:13).
President Russell M. Nelson has taught: “As beneficiaries of the divine Creation, what shall we do? We should care for the earth, be wise stewards over it, and preserve it for future generations.”1
In 2019, Sister Sharon Eubank, First Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency and president of Latter-day Saint Charities, discussed the connection between God’s children and the earth by stating: “Some people will say, ‘Isn’t there something more important to do? Shouldn’t we be caring for the poor versus caring for the earth?’ And my question is, are they not linked so inextricably that we can’t do one without caring for the other?”2
And finally, President M. Russell Ballard, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, spoke these words directly to our generation in March 2020: “I see … your commitment to a more sustainable future for all of God’s children and creatures and the earth. Whether it is environmental, economic, or social, I would hope you will continue to find creative solutions to help protect the future for all of God’s children in our world. We should do whatever we can to protect and preserve the earth, to make life better for those who will live here. We have a divine stewardship, as noted in Doctrine and Covenants 59:16–20.”3
These teachings and many others4 highlight our responsibility to care for God’s creations, both today and for future generations. So how can we as young adult Latter-day Saints respond to these prophetic teachings more fully today? Here are a few ideas to consider.
In the past few decades, nations across the world have been experiencing increases in pollution, deforestation, drought, species extinction, biodiversity loss, and other challenges that are intensifying.5 We need to always keep in mind that God created this earth for us, His children, and it’s our responsibility to care for and protect it (see 1 Nephi 17:36; Doctrine and Covenants 59:20; 103:13).
We can start by learning more about these and other environmental problems that may exist in our communities and countries. As Latter-day Saints, we’re taught to be informed about “things both in heaven and in the earth, and under the earth; … things which are at home, things which are abroad; the wars and the perplexities of the nations, and the judgments which are on the land; and a knowledge also of countries and of kingdoms” (Doctrine and Covenants 88:79). Surely the Lord wants us to care about the issues that affect His creations—both this earth and its inhabitants.
Learning about the role we play in our local ecological communities can also help us discover how our individual actions affect the environment. In our increasingly connected world, people’s individual actions on one continent are now collectively contributing to the environmental effects felt by God’s children in other parts of the world (for example, things like rising sea levels, food shortages, plastic pollution, and invasive species). This relationship with our global neighbors provides a whole new meaning to the commandment to “love [our] neighbour as [ourselves]” (Matthew 22:39).
It’s good to learn about environmental problems, and even better to do something about them. Here are a few practical steps you can take:
Go outside and learn about the plants, animals, and ecosystems around you. Knowledge leads to understanding and respect; use field guides, online resources, or apps to get to know God’s creations more personally.
Choose to walk, skate, cycle, carpool, or use public transportation where available. You can enjoy the outdoors a little bit more while at the same time reducing pollution.
Buy local. This has the double benefit of directly supporting your community and cutting carbon emissions (products grown or made locally don’t need to travel as far).
Plant a garden. There are few food sources more sustainable or personally fulfilling than growing your own!6 As a young adult, you might have limited space, so start small by growing an herb garden or consider joining a community garden.
Reduce, reuse, recycle. Consume less, carry reusable grocery bags and water bottles, and check what materials are recyclable in your city.
Use less water and energy. Things like taking shorter showers, turning off lights, and unplugging appliances when not in use can all add up.
Get involved. You could consider volunteering or supporting reputable environmental groups.
Vote. Take the time to be educated, and vote the way you feel will best affect environmental issues and policies.
Be “anxiously engaged in a good cause” (see Doctrine and Covenants 58:26–29). We’ve been taught the principles—now it’s time to act on them.
You don’t have to feel overwhelmed by this list: to start, choose just one item and put energy behind it. Doing something is better than nothing. In doing these simple acts of environmental service, you may feel that your contribution doesn’t matter, that it won’t make any difference against the magnitude of the world’s ecological issues, but remember that “by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6).
In spiritual matters, we don’t stop choosing the right just because the world is growing more wicked! We know that our small acts of kind service won’t stop all the evil in the world, but we continue to perform them anyway, blessing lives in the process. We can have a similar attitude toward the earth and her inhabitants.
Throughout my life, I’ve had the privilege to travel and conduct research in many different countries and landscapes. Despite the drastic differences in species, climate, and human culture that exist on our planet, there is one unifying principle among each of these ecosystems: they are all connected and beautifully alive.
When Christ returns to this earth—a world He created to sustain us physically and spiritually, and one that He commanded us to preserve—I, for one, hope to have done my best to take care of His beautiful creation.

When the Second World War erupted, all American missionaries had to return home. Local Swedish men were then asked to serve as missionaries. C. Fritz Johansson, who had joined the Church in 1931, was called as the new mission president. One year before the war, he sold his grocery store business and became a missionary with his wife and three children. When the war was over, President Johansson and seven missionaries from Sweden were called to reopen missionary work in Finland, which had stopped because of the war.

“My dad’s been a less-active member of the Church now for 20-odd years,” Elder Barry says. “He’s fully supported the family; he just hasn’t come to church himself.

“But since I got my mission call, there’s been a change. The branch president said I could ask Dad to speak in sacrament meeting before I left. And Dad said it would be a pleasure! In the meeting he said he loved me and wanted the best for me on my mission.

“Just like that he’d given me a blessing straightaway. Those words meant a lot to me and to our family. Now I have a letter from him, and at the end he said, ‘Jim, do your best in the Lord’s work.’ I feel if I do and if I’m obedient, maybe Dad will understand how important the gospel is. So I’m going to do my best.”