Gospel Story Finder

There are times when the feeling of love and closeness is so real that you hardly dare breathe—a feeling of warmth and caring so vivid that it seems like a loving embrace drawing everyone together.
There are times when the first few notes of a special song that you’ve rehearsed early on Saturday mornings now send electric tickles down your spine and fill your eyes with tears as the words speak your innermost thoughts.
There are times when you become so much a part of the group that you feel like you’re seeing only the best, the finest, the most beautiful in each person. It is exhilarating when you meet each other’s glances and exchange knowing smiles because you’re all sharing the same sensation.
Such rare and precious times are the Young Women in Excellence programs to be held on a stake or ward level churchwide to present the seven values as they are incorporated in the lives of Young Women. The seven values—Faith, Divine Nature, Individual Worth, Integrity, Good Works, Knowledge, and Choice and Accountability—are the basis for programs that can include displays, performances, dramatic presentations, and workshops. The programs, whether held in the evening or on a Saturday morning, are a time for joy in each young woman’s accomplishment. It is a time for recognition of achieving goals. It is a chance for each young woman to examine where she is going and what her life means.
Lisa Ward of Long Beach, California, instinctively understands what the Young Women values mean in her life. “The Young Women program is not just a meeting you go to on Wednesday night or something you do on Sunday. It’s about your whole life, everything you do.”
Jill Ensley, also from Long Beach, agreed. “The values help us to teach ourselves.”
“The values help us learn how to set our goals,” said Edie Hess, Long Beach California East Stake, “to show us that there are things you can do on your own initiative.”
Several stakes have already planned and presented their Young Women in Excellence programs. The results were especially gratifying as parents and leaders saw their young women stretch and grow. Each girl had a chance to give some deep and searching thought as to what the values meant and how they affected her life. As Melodie Lamm, a Young Women leader in the Meridian Idaho East Stake, said, “These girls had experience in the values. It went deeper than just making something with your hands. It went much deeper than that.”
The Young Women in Excellence programs were organized in a variety of ways in individual stakes. The colors, representing the seven values, were used in flags, in banners, in ribbons on displays, in streamers on a maypole, and in decorations at luncheon tables. Some stakes held workshops that addressed the dilemmas facing the young women in their area. Some had a combination of displays and talent performances that illustrated values in the lives of each young woman. Others had each ward present one of the values in any way their creativity dictated.
In the Bountiful Utah Central Stake, a symposium introduced the morning’s activities and workshops. Wendy Wiscomb and her mother were assigned to organize the symposium. “My mother and I passed out sheets of paper to the girls in the stake asking them to honestly identify their concerns. Then we took the main problems and wrote them into the script. Some of the dialogue was in the exact words of the girls. For instance, one girl said, ‘I don’t even know what I’m going to wear to school tomorrow let alone what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.’ We talked about these problems. A number of girls told me afterward that it was really wonderful to hear relevant issues presented and later discussed in the workshops.”
Displays were another way that girls were able to illustrate a value. Amberlee Stephenson, a Beehive in the Nephi Utah Stake, used her waterski to represent her efforts at gaining a feeling of individual worth. On a tag attached to her ski, she wrote, “Waterskiing helps me learn that sometimes it takes more than one try to be successful. We can learn from our attempts and failures, and when we succeed it is that much better.”
Tara Cowan, in the Nephi Utah Stake, illustrated her special singing talent with a collection of her favorite music and the story of how she started singing to her mother’s clients as they sat under the dryer or were getting their hair washed in the beauty parlor. Then she performed as part of the talent segment of her stake’s program.
Lihann Jones, of Long Beach California East Stake, used muffins she had baked to talk about integrity. One set of muffins were light and appealing because all the ingredients were used. The others were dismal failures. She wrote, “These muffins reflect a lack of integrity because certain ingredients were left out, making them incomplete, unfinished, and awful.”
Families were certainly involved as young women began planning and preparing for their parts in the programs. Often, working with the values led fathers and daughters or mothers and daughters to have meaningful, enriching conversations. Margaret Miller, stake Young Women president in the Long Beach California East Stake, said that one father told her his daughter and wife sat up late just laughing and enjoying being together as a result of working on the girl’s display.
Jonne Wheadon, stake Young Women president of the Meridian Idaho East Stake, said a woman reported that her husband and daughter had a special experience talking about and researching more information about her great-grandmother.
And families sometimes gave a little sigh of relief when the event was over. One father from the Nephi Utah Stake, obviously pleased by his daughter’s efforts, was overheard at the conclusion of the program saying, “That was great, and now we can have the kitchen table back.”
Participation was excellent, often more than expected. As girls thought about their projects and began work on them, the excitement seemed to spread and the more reluctant ones were drawn in. Vicki Jackson, stake Young Women president of the Nephi Utah Stake, said that one young girl tagged along with friends who were practicing with the chorus to sing “I Walk by Faith.” The girl asked if she could sing with the group. Then as she became more involved, she volunteered to participate in the talent presentations.” The stories of girls who were not participating fully in their wards yet became involved with the projects or displays were the ones that helped leaders see the great value of the program.
But most importantly, the Young Women in Excellence program was a catalyst for growth and introspection. Girls took each value, at first holding it cautiously, a little unsure of just what to do; then with increasing confidence turned it over in their minds as they probed for ways it worked in their lives. It seemed that each girl who participated could say, without hesitation, “I struggled, but I grew.”
And then there was that feeling, that sense of oneness, the all-encompassing embrace that validates the effort and the work.
Sister Wheadon put her arms around some girls after their program as they together treasured the feeling. She told them, “If things start to slide and life seems to get too tough, you call me and we’ll talk about this day and remember how we felt.”
“For my project on Divine Nature, I prepared a special book that included memories of my father. He was killed in an accident when I was three. I talked to people who knew him and came to understand more about him. My family was sealed in the temple, and I am thankful that I know about the eternal plan and that I’ll see my father again.”
Jamie TaylorNephi Utah Stake
“I chose Good Works. Service means you do things for people. We went to the hospital and put on a puppet show for the children. They really liked it, and we felt good because we were helping someone to be happy. They smiled a lot.”
Deborah Del BelloLong Beach California East Stake
“I’m the only LDS person on the swim team. When this program came along, it seemed natural to set a goal in swimming. I frequently set goals in competitive swimming. I decided I wanted to work hard and swim the 100-meter freestyle in 1:06. I had been doing a 1:09. I worked and worked. When we had invitationals, I was in a relay and I did a 1:06:91. This helped my feeling of individual worth.”
Shawna UlmerLong Beach California East Stake
“About a year ago I started bringing my best friend, Tami, out to church, especially Mutual activities. I’ve brought other friends to church, and they were interested in the activities, but Tami was more interested in the gospel. I knew that she would believe. It added to my faith as she gained hers. Pretty soon she started asking me questions, and I couldn’t answer them all. So the missionaries taught her the lessons, and she set a date and was baptized.”
Cami CriddleLong Beach California East Stake
“Cami asked me if I wanted to go to church. At first I thought, no, I didn’t really want to. Then I decided that since I hadn’t been baptized into any church, I ought to start looking around and seeing what I believe in. I went with Cami, and the things I was taught I believed, so I started going to church more often. When I had the missionary lessons, I felt I was ready to be baptized.”
Tami HowellLong Beach California East Stake
“For the value, Choice and Accountability, I made a game called, ‘The Choice Is Right, or Is It?’ I used my sticker collection to add pictures to the board. When you are consciously thinking of right or wrong, it’s much easier to make a right choice. Although it took lots of time to make my game, it was worth it. My whole family got involved in discussing decisions that teenagers have to make every day. And my mother and sister have noticed that I think more carefully about the consequences before I make decisions now.”
Cheri EverettMeridian Idaho East Stake
“I love to write about the things I love. One night I wrote about my horse, Missy. I had been having a hard time keeping her in the pen. The dogs were barking, so I went out to check on Missy, and she was out. It was a beautiful night with lots of stars. I could see her clearly, and she stood quietly while I put the halter on. I started to cry, I was so disappointed. It was like I was seeing how my parents feel when I disobey. I just hurt inside because I don’t like to tie her up. I explained that to her, and I felt she understood me and was sad that she had disobeyed. I forgave her and told her how much I love her. I know that my Father in Heaven loves and cares about me and how I feel. I am grateful to have Missy to help me learn the things I need to learn in life. I am grateful Heavenly Father has given me the family that he has and am grateful for each one of them and all they have done for me.”
Camille KenisonNephi Utah Stake
“Since I am the oldest with all sisters, we have lots of dolls without too many doll clothes. I started designing and making doll clothes for my sisters. Then for this project, I decided to try to make a dress from a pattern. I made a pink dress for my littlest sister, Molly Sue, with a fluffy skirt that she can twirl. It turned out really well and made me feel good about trying. I wanted to know that I could do it to increase my feelings of individual worth.”
Stephanie HowardNephi Utah Stake
“I encouraged my brothers and sisters to participate in a bike-a-thon for cancer research. We also did it to remember our friend Stan Miller. He died last year of leukemia. We rode around Rossmoor Park, and our sponsors donated money for every mile we rode. Among us we earned $250 for the hospital. When we got done, I felt good. I want to do it every year.”
Kacie SeamonsLong Beach California East Stake
“Each week for several weeks I gave a lady with five children in our ward a few hours to herself. Babysitting five kids is not easy. At times I could have pulled my hair out, but I survived and without losing my temper. I helped the children each transfer one of their drawings onto a quilt block, and we made a special quilt for their mother. Doing good works for someone else gave me a warm feeling inside.”
Heather BellMeridian Idaho East Stake
“For my project on Knowledge, I tape-recorded my grandparents telling their stories one evening. I was interested to know things about their lives; what trials and struggles they had and what joys. I learned things I hadn’t known before. It was a neat evening.”
Susan FanninLong Beach California East Stake
“To represent Faith, I drew this picture of my Savior. I looked into his eyes and his kind, compassionate face and gained a better understanding of the tremendous sacrifice he made for us.”
Holly PetersonMeridian Idaho East Stake
“I wanted to put something together out of wood so I could work with my dad. We cut a piece of walnut from a tree at my grandfather’s home. His land was formerly the old Wells Fargo station. My grandfather, as well as my own father, is a great example of the meaning of the word integrity. This plaque will always be a reminder of integrity to me because of where the wood has come from and the talents my father has shared with me.”
Tammy FarmerMeridian Idaho East Stake

The privilege of serving the Lord on a mission is felt and demonstrated in many ways. One missionary had struggled with family problems since he was a boy. While still young, he was expelled from his home and went to live with another family who introduced him to the Church. The gospel gave him direction in life where his natural parents had not. A few years later, after becoming one of the best players on a college football team, he decided to serve a mission. Before leaving on his mission, he gave copies of the Book of Mormon to his friends at school. This included his team coaches, fellow players, and teachers. He distributed more than 200 copies before entering the Missionary Training Center.
The missionaries who looked upon a mission only as a sacrifice were often honestly dedicated to the Lord’s service. However, I found they had not experienced personal revelation and inspiration. They were usually less informed about the Savior. But as they studied their scriptures and came to know Him better, their hearts seemed to soften and enlarge. They began to more deeply feel His love and know of the importance of missionary work as a continuation of this love extended to others. Many of those who began by telling of their sacrifices left the Missionary Training Center talking about privilege.

While I was still a student, my grandmother fell down a flight of stairs, injuring herself so severely that her heart stopped three times and had to be restarted. She also suffered broken ribs, a broken hip, and a broken jaw. Worst of all, she lost almost all of her vision.
A few weeks later, my grandfather suddenly died of a heart attack. Why had she survived her accident only to face this? she wondered. She missed my grandfather and longed to be reunited with him. Fortunately, she had a good home teacher who helped her to feel secure and looked-after.
As time went on, Grandma began to feel that perhaps she had survived her fall for a reason, and she determined to find out what it was. She began to realize that once a person is gone, there isn’t much left on earth to remember him or her by. Many of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren—including myself—hadn’t known her and Grandpa well. And she wanted us to know our heritage. Neither she nor Grandpa had ever kept a journal, so she decided to write about her fifty years of marriage and of her service in the Church.
With this new goal, Grandma became excited about life again. Her only problem was how she would be able to do it. She was nearly blind, and she didn’t know how to type. She tried tape-recording her recollections, but her memory was failing just enough to make accuracy impossible.
About this time, Grandma phoned me and asked for help with her history. I had never had a very close relationship with my grandparents, and the last thing I wanted to do was to help with this project. Besides, I didn’t have the means to get to where she lived to help her.
But the Lord must have wanted me to help, because when I graduated from college, I found a job and an apartment near where my grandmother lived. Though I still didn’t really want to help write her history, I felt a family obligation to give her some of my time.
One day, I visited her and evaluated what needed to be done. She had a box full of photographs, tapes, letters, newspaper clippings, and certificates. To organize this would take months, maybe years!
But the Lord was listening to her prayers. The first week at my new job, I hurt my back and couldn’t work for some time. I decided to spend the time recovering from my injury to helping Grandma with her history.
I soon found that the fastest way to compile the material was to tape-record Grandma telling her story as she responded to questions I asked her. Though the history was soon progressing well, my injured back wasn’t, and after a while I was almost out of money. I decided that I would have to return to work; the history would have to wait.
About this time, my grandmother’s home teacher, John Minor, told me about a night when my grandmother had almost died. She had been very sick and had called him—not to ask him for a blessing, but to ask him to pray for her, which he did.
That night John had dreamed that he saw my grandfather, who said that he was going to call for Grandma. John had pleaded, “You can’t. She hasn’t finished her book yet!” The next day, John had checked on Grandma, and she was all right.
As John told me of his dream, I felt the Spirit soften my heart. I sensed the urgency of finishing my grandmother’s history. It would not be easy, but I determined to spend as much time as I could with her—as long as my limited funds lasted.
Now my concern was shared by other family members. They all helped to support me with food and with rent money while I wrote. In a pocket of some clothing I had my family send from home, I found some money that I had forgotten about. The Lord was blessing me and Grandma as we worked on the project together.
As I wrote, I began to better understand my grandparents. I learned about the persecution they had endured when they had joined the Church. I learned that soon after their marriage they had found out that they could not have children until Grandma underwent an operation to allow them that blessing. I felt the Spirit of Elijah turn my heart to my fathers, and I loved and appreciated my grandparents more than I ever had before.
After a few months of steady work, I gave the first chapters of the history to Grandma. She loved them!
A few weeks later, Grandma died.
After Grandma’s death, I finished her history and made it available to our family. I am grateful that through it, other descendants can come to love and understand my grandparents’ as I have.

“I don’t know who my secret granddaughter is, but I just love her.” Sister Joseph, her eyes sparkling with light, says fervently.
Each Beehive, Mia Maid, and Laurel in the Parowan Utah Second Ward picks from an envelope a slip of paper. This reveals the name of her own “secret grandmother” from among the ward’s widowed sisters. The young woman then acts anonymously in giving to that grandmother throughout the year.
During the 1989 calendar year these southern Utah girls enthusiastically made a variety of gifts for their secret grandmothers, including decorated cakes, stenciled minirugs, birthday surprises, and handwritten cards.
At Christmas time the Young Women teamed up with the Young Men to fill fruit baskets for older ward members. At certain houses a shout rang out: “My secret Grandmother lives here. Some of you guys come so she won’t figure out it’s me!” One white-haired sister reached out to accept her laden basket saying, “You girls keep me going, doing all these nice things.”
During the holidays several secret grandmothers sought out Young Women leaders, exclaiming, “Please tell my secret granddaughter she has made my Christmas delightful.” Others brought a gift to be taken to their young, unknown friend.
Climaxing a year-long adventure, the Young Women worked together in providing and preparing a colorful salad bar for these special sisters. Leaders supplied warm bread sticks and apple crisp for the January event. With kitchen duties completed, the guests of honor were eagerly waiting for their “granddaughters” to identify themselves. As each young woman came forward, spontaneous embraces linked these friends, old and young.
Following the meal, Sister Bentley, who is 89 years old, spoke on behalf of all the secret grandmothers. Raising her hand to her ear, she commented about her anonymous Beehive:
“I’d hear a knock at the front door and I’d go to answer it. Nobody was there, but down on the step would be another gift.” Pausing, she peered around at her listeners rather mysteriously. “I’d always call out, ‘Thank you,’ but nobody ever answered.”
After the laughter subsided, she expressed gratitude to all the girls. “Your smiles are what we all love to see. Please keep smiling at us. This evening has been just lovely.”
The youth shared a final offering singing one of their Young Women songs. “I have never been more impressed with our Young Women,” stated their leader, “or loved them more than when they stood before these sisters and sang beautifully, ‘I am of worth, of infinite worth.’ I could see that their secret grandmothers had no doubt as to the truth of those words.”

I really wanted to help with my family history, but my father had seven generations in his family tree, and all the temple ordinances were complete. For 11 years he found no new information about his family. My desire and hope disappeared. I told myself with frustration, “All my family history is done. Where am I going to get names to take to the temple?”
I decided to look at all the information my father had on his FamilySearch tree and a voice told me that there was still much to do. I began to search for information all over the internet. I was able to find many people with my surname, but I could not find my relationship to all those people.
When my hope was exhausted, I decided to fast with my mother to have success in our family history. The next Sunday morning as we were getting ready to go to church, I did my typical internet search, and suddenly I found a page with information I had never seen. It was a miracle!
With the help of new information, I, at age 14, took a total of 400 family names to the temple. I was so happy. My favorite part was sharing those names with the youth and seeing their happiness at having so many cards in their hands.
I testify of this great and marvelous work. When we do family history, the Spirit helps us have success and touches our hearts.
Guillermo T., Chile

“I’ve been a member for only one year,” Jake began, even before we started to eat. “All my life I felt there was a God who knew and cared about His children here on earth. But it wasn’t until I heard the plan of salvation that I gained a real knowledge of God’s love for each one of us.” Here was a complete stranger bearing his testimony to me. “When I came up behind you in my truck and saw your BYU sticker, I had an overwhelming feeling that I should meet you,” he said.

After a while, Jake said, “Can you imagine how different this world would be if everyone knew what we know: that God knows each one of us, loves us, and wants us to be happy?”

What a wonderful testimony, I thought as Jake explained that he and his wife were planning to be sealed in the temple later that month.

In November 1975, seven years after their baptism, Gerard was called as president of the France Paris Stake, the first stake organized in France. Three years later, he and Annie came to a turning point in their lives. Gerard was unhappy with the corruption he saw in the company where he worked, and he began looking for another job. At that time, the Church’s distribution center for France, Italy, Spain, and Portugal was in Grenoble, France, and the center needed a purchasing manager. To be hired for that position, however, Gerard would have to be released as stake president and move to Grenoble at a reduced salary.
During his interview with a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, Gerard expressed his willingness to abide by any counsel he received. “If I shouldn’t be released as stake president, we won’t move,” he said. “I have given my resignation, but I will stay and find another job. We have a year’s food storage; we can manage.”
He was released as stake president and accepted the position in Grenoble. The family lived with Gerard’s mother for a time while they built a new home. About a year and a half later, when their new home was almost finished, Gerard received the assignment to find a new location for the distribution center in the Paris area, which he found in Torcy. The family moved again, never having lived in the home they had built in Grenoble. However, they had been in the area long enough for Gerard to serve as district president.
In Paris he was called as a regional representative. Annie reflects on one experience they shared during those years: “My husband often had to be away all weekend to participate in stake conferences. One conference Saturday the alarm clock rang very early. Half asleep, I became aware of Gerard’s presence at the edge of the bed as he knelt to pray. He stood up and asked how I was feeling. I told him I felt fine. After a moment, he came back to ask about my plans for the day. He kept questioning me and even asked if I would like him to postpone his departure. Puzzled and completely awake by then, I decided to get up. When I got out of bed, I was overcome with dizziness and could not stand. My husband delayed leaving for a few hours until I had recovered. I’ve always appreciated his sensitivity to the whisperings of the Holy Ghost.”
In 1988, Gerard was called to preside over a new mission in the Mascarene Islands, with headquarters on Reunion. When he and Annie and four of their seven children arrived, they found home and office to be a missionary apartment with only an old typewriter and little else. They moved temporarily into the apartment and went to work.
Annie quickly accepted her own role as a missionary. “One day,” says Gerard, “she saw a lady in the supermarket whom she had met at a parents’ meeting. The lady had been impressed by Annie, but had never dared ask about her name tag. At the store, the woman took the opportunity to ask. She was baptized one month later, and the following year she received her temple endowment.”
In 1991, when the family returned from their missionary service, the Europe/Mediterranean Area was organized, with offices in Thoiry, France. Brother Giraud-Carrier was asked to move there and set up a Materials Management office.
In November 1993, he was given his current calling—patriarch of the Switzerland Geneva Stake. At the time, Sister Giraud-Carrier was serving as Relief Society president of the Jura Ward, Geneva Stake—her third assignment as Relief Society president. She has also served in ward and stake presidencies of the Young Women and Primary. Their three oldest children have served full-time missions.
Reflecting on the 25 years since he and his wife met two elders in front of a movie theater, Brother Giraud-Carrier says, “Throughout our Church experience, we seem to have been always beginning. Each assignment we have received has been a beginning for us. We have been privileged to preside over a new stake, a new mission, and a new department in a new area of the Church. Perhaps now, with my calling as patriarch, our beginning days are over.”
Perhaps. But given their pioneering spirit, Gerard and Annie likely have many more beginnings ahead of them.

The youth I saw confined to a wheelchair was a startling contrast to the boy I remembered from the year before. I remembered him as a happy, 18-year-old Indian boy whose swift, strong legs had carried him up and down the basketball courts. But that was yesteryear. Today he was in a wheelchair. Today his dark eyes and handsome smile caused me to stand in awe of his youthful courage.
I first met Don a couple of years ago and learned that he was a convert to the Church. His widowed mother lived in a remote section of the Navajo Indian reservation, and he was a participant in the Indian student placement program. His school work was excellent; he played the piano skillfully; and with the same slim, brown fingers he could paint beautiful pictures or strum the guitar in accompaniment to his clear soft voice. Don’s personality was pleasant, his standards were high, his testimony strong. He was soon to graduate from high school, and his plans were to spend a short time with his people on the reservation before returning to live with his foster parents, where he would work preparatory to receiving his expected call to the mission field.
Life seems to have a way of changing the most carefully made plans, but no one would have expected the traumatic experience that awaited Don. His fun on the reservation was cut short by painful events, and his mission began in a much different way than one would have imagined.
While riding in the back of a pickup with some of his friends, Don accidentally fell out onto the hard, black pavement and skidded painfully along its rough surface. That was the last thing he remembered until he awoke in a hospital bed, his body in physical torment.
An excruciating pain in his back persisted through the long night, and as the new day began, Don found himself unable to move his arms, hands, or legs. He was paralyzed from his neck down!
Following an emergency operation, he awoke in a recovery room conscious that the pain in his mended back was subsiding; but he was also painfully aware of his helpless limbs that refused to respond to his efforts to move them.
Don’s concerned doctors had little hope that this condition would ever change. As he lay helpless in his hospital bed, fighting back the tears of discouragement, he poured out the feelings of his heart to his Heavenly Father, asking for strength to endure and for a recovery from his affliction if it were His will.
Night after night while others slept, Don struggled through the long, dark hours attempting to move his helpless hands that lay inertly by his side. He would pray and try, pray and try, repeating over and over in his mind, “I can do it, I can do it, I can do it!” Then, as the early morning light filtered softly through the blinds of his window, he would surrender himself wearily to a merciful sleep.
On one such interminable night, Don’s heart suddenly pounded with excitement as an almost imperceptible movement was made by one of his fingers! Holding his breath in suspense, he moved his finger again!
There was no sleep for Don that night. A wonderful, elated feeling of hope buoyed his troubled spirit and gave him renewed determination to regain the use of his hands.
Each night became a new adventure as gradually, with great effort and perseverance, the use of his hands and arms slowly returned to him.
In the meantime, Don’s doctor had procrastinated the unwelcome task of informing him that he must mentally prepare himself to accept his paralysis as an unalterable fact of his young life.
With great difficulty, the doctor broke this news to Don. It was a poignant moment for the good doctor who turned quickly to leave the room to conceal his emotion. As he made his exit, he stole a last glance at Don lying quietly in his bed. Just at this moment, Don reached his arm up to the head rail of his bed and pulled himself into a more comfortable position. The startled doctor could not contain himself. “Do that again, Don! Do that again!” he shouted with excitement. Soon the room was swarming with nurses and doctors who came running to learn the cause of the great commotion. It was a moment to be remembered.
Although Don was happy to feel the strength gradually return to his arms and hands, he had to fight back the tears when he looked down at his helpless legs.
In these trying circumstances he began to fulfill his desire to be a missionary. He told his roommate about the Book of Mormon and gave him a copy to read. Charles, a Hopi Indian boy, immediately became engrossed in the book, and, when darkness came at the close of the day, he continued reading. He devoured the words of this book for three days and two nights, jealous of the time it took to eat or rest. Finally, when he had turned the last page, he rose from his bed and walked over near Don’s side and asked, “Don, where did you get this book? I have shared in the traditions of my people that we hold to be sacred. Many of our traditions are written in this book. Where did you get it?”
Don happily shared his testimony with this new friend as he told him of the restoration of the gospel and of its special meaning to them as Lamanites, a covenant race and descendants of the Book of Mormon people.
Soon after this Charles was released to go home, anxious to share this new message with family and friends. Don was moved to a rehabilitation center in Denver, Colorado. He was quite unprepared for what he encountered at his new residence in the paralytic ward. Everyone seemed depressed, discouraged, and despondent. Patients could not understand how Don, who was in an equally distressing condition, could seem so happy. Some of them asked, “Why are you always so happy and smiling?” Don replied, “My smile keeps the tears from my eyes, and my laughter keeps the lump from my throat.”
With courageous determination Don took advantage of the special care he now received. Long after others would tire and leave the gymnasium, he would remain—trying, trying, trying. Through his valiant effort, accompanied by humble petitions to his Heavenly Father, he was finally strong enough to go up and down the parallel bars alone; and then he was able to walk with braces and crutches. His new mobility permitted him to attend church services. This spiritual comfort brought him great joy, but he was totally surprised by the reception he was given upon his return to the hospital. Everyone teased him for going to church! In his characteristic way, Don’s smile merely broadened at their taunting. He resolved to do something about the gloomy atmosphere in this, his new home, so he happily embarked upon the next chapter of his mission.
In the days that followed, he could be seen wheeling himself down hallways and into every room where patients would receive him, preaching the gospel to all who would listen. He became known good-naturedly as “the prophet,” a title that he accepted graciously.
In the evenings he often lifted his voice in song as he accompanied himself with his guitar. Others began to join in, and the spirit spread. Friday nights soon became known as the time for a hootenanny, and patients joined together with voices raised in song and laughter. Patients began to smile and call each other by name. This new spirit extended into other activities as well.
One of the more dramatic examples was the organizing of a wheelchair olympics.
On the day agreed upon, patients wheeled excitedly from place to place as they marked out a course for the coming events. Wheelchairs were lined up at a starting line, while occupants leaned forward, intently waiting for the starting signal. The signal was given, and they were off in a flurry of wheels and laughter. After a breather and an untangling of wheels, patients were given a chance to challenge another wheelchair. Don looked around, and pointing his finger at one of the chairs, said, “I challenge that chair.”
“Don, you can’t do that,” the astonished attendant replied. “That chair has a motor!”
The competitive young man was undaunted and remained firm; so a course was set and an eager audience waited expectantly for the signal to begin this most unusual race. Soon the signal was given and Don’s hands fairly flew as he propelled his chair toward the finish line. When he had gained full momentum, he ventured a cautious look toward his opponent, only to discover that he was shifting to a higher gear! To complicate matters further, a woven wire fence was stretched a few short feet behind the finish line.
With the heart of a champion, Don ducked his head and gave it everything he had. He crossed the line only inches ahead of his opponent and crashed happily into the wire fence. He was picked up and dusted off amid excited expressions of admiration. He had won!
All was not happiness for Don, however, for he longed to see his home, his family, and his friends. In spite of his high resolve, his vision clouded when he looked down at his crippled legs. Wonderful Church members tried to fill his hour of need, and Don said, “Through their kindness they put a smile on my face and laughter in my mouth.”
As time drew near for him to be released, he began to worry about his acceptance by friends and family upon his return.
The day finally came when his foster parents arrived. It was an ordeal for Don to muster up enough courage to direct the question that had filled his mind completely. “Do you want me to come back?” he asked apprehensively. They softly replied, “Of course, Don. We have a bed waiting for you.” The kind response was too much for him! This time his tears flowed freely and mixed with theirs in a demonstration of joy and love.
On the night of Don’s departure, a special hootenanny was held in his behalf. His many new friends shook the rafters with a song rendered in his honor: “Too Many Chiefs and Not Enough Indians Around This Place.”
The courage and spirit of this young man had touched the lives of others and left an indelible impression.
Two of the residing patients and two members of the nursing staff who waved good-bye to Don had embraced the gospel of Jesus Christ as a result of his influence. Many looked to the future with new hope, and each felt a personal loss at his departure.
Upon his return home, Don’s numerous friends were out to greet him and welcome him back into their circle of friendship. Don soon found a job at an LDS mailbox bookstore that enabled him to meet the payments on his car, a vehicle equipped with special controls that would carry him to his work and to the Mesa Community College where he was enrolled for classes.
As I concluded my visit with him, he handed me a letter. “What is this?” I asked. “It’s a letter from my physical therapist in Denver,” he smiled in reply.
I unfolded the pages and began to read. “Dear Don,” the letter began, “I don’t know how to thank you. Yesterday was the happiest day of my life. It was the day I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
I hope I will remember the example of Don. I hope I will remember his parting words when I asked about his future. He looked directly at me and spoke with conviction: “I’ll wipe away my tears and let the winds of discouragement blow. I cannot fail, for God is with me.”

After hearing many wonderful lessons about ways to keep the Sabbath day holy, we concluded as a family that one of our family rules would be to keep the Sabbath day.
Keeping the Lord’s commandments comes with an invitation to “prove me now herewith” (Malachi 3:10). Of course, we were put to the test, and we wanted to prove to the Lord that we believe. One Sunday after church, our daughter who was attending the graduating class at elementary school, was called by her teacher who asked her to come to the school.
The teacher was at the classroom with other students preparing for an island-wide competition on Monday morning. My daughter explained to the teacher that one of our family rules is not to do schoolwork on Sundays. The teacher wanted to speak to my wife, who made the same statement. Then the teacher wanted to speak with me. Of course, I shared the same comment. She was very disappointed. She told us that she believes in keeping the Sabbath day holy, but this was a very important competition where preparation was key to winning. I told her I understood how important the competition was but keeping the Sabbath day holy is more important to us. She hung up on me leaving me speechless.
On Monday morning, our daughter was afraid to go to school where she would have to face the teacher. My wife drove her to school but found the teacher had left our daughter behind. My wife took her to the competition venue where my daughter joined her classmates. Our daughter did not win the competition that day, but she was the only student from her school who won a prize.

Mindy unfolded her collapsible cane, ready to go when her mother had the car warmed up.
“Come on, Mindy,” she heard her mother call. “Time to go.”
Mindy clutched a manila envelope under one arm and went down the steps of the porch. One, two, three, she counted silently, moving her cane down the steps as she went. Then she moved it back and forth on the sidewalk, exactly twenty-three steps to the car.
“Let me carry that, honey,” her mother suggested, taking the envelope from Mindy’s outstretched hand. Mindy folded up her cane and slid into the front seat.
She held her face out the window as the car moved off down the street. The air felt cool and brisk and made her hair dance. Mindy was so excited she could hardly stand it. Today she was going to enter her poem in the children’s poetry contest the school district was sponsoring. She had carefully written several poems on her braillewriter, then picked out the best one. Her mother had typed it up for her to give to the contest judges.
“This is very good,” her mother had said. “I hope the judges will think so too.”
Mindy was hopeful, but it was exciting just to have written a good poem. She leaned back, humming a little tune to herself. “Tell me what it’s like outside,” she asked her mother after a while. “I can hear some birds singing and the air feels cool. Is the sun out?”
“No,” said her mother. “It’s hiding behind a cloud. It may even rain today.”
Mindy hoped it would rain. She liked to feel the drops against her face or hear the rain beating on the roof. She liked the smell of damp earth and the booming thunderclaps.
“We’re almost there,” Mindy said. “I can hear the trains that run near the school and smell the flowers that grow by the fence.”
Mindy put her fingers on her watch that had no glass to cover the hands. “It’s four-fifteen,” she said. “We still have a few minutes.”
After the car had been parked at the school, Mindy opened the door and stepped out. Extending her cane, she asked, “Mother, may I have my poem now?”
“Just a moment,” her Mother replied, “until I explain where we’re going. Turn right, up one step, then about five steps to me,” directed her mother, who had become very good at judging distances for Mindy.
Mindy followed her mother’s directions, then reached for the envelope. Tucking it under her arm, she walked beside her mother, stepping up when the steps went up and down when they went down. Using her cane, she could go anywhere as long as she knew the right direction.
Someone was walking behind them. Judging by the click of high heels and the shuffle of another pair of shoes, Mindy was pretty sure it was a woman and a boy. Probably another contestant with his mother, she thought. The woman was murmuring, and Mindy could barely hear what she was saying.
“Look at that girl,” Mindy heard the woman say. “Poor little thing. How dreadful it must be to be blind. I hope the judges take that into consideration and give her a prize. She really deserves one.”
Mindy clutched her envelope tighter. She had worked hard on her poem, and she certainly didn’t want to win because she was sightless. Just before they entered the auditorium, she took her mother’s arm. “About how many steps to the judges’ table?” she asked.
Her mother looked in the door and replied, “About ten steps straight ahead.”
“Do I have to write anything?” Mindy whispered.
“No,” answered her mother. “It looks like the judges are doing all the writing. You just have to answer their questions.”
Mindy folded up her cane. “Hold this for me, please,” she said.
Mindy slowly walked the ten steps. When she felt the edge of the table she stopped, held out the manila envelope, and someone took it from her.
“Name?” a man’s voice asked.
Mindy instantly turned slightly to face him. “Mindy Martin,” she replied.
“Age?”
“Ten.”
“School?”
“Franklin,” responded Mindy, hoping that she was looking straight into the face of the man asking the questions.
“Thank you,” said the man.
Mindy turned around and walked the ten steps back to her mother. “How did I do?” she asked, squeezing her mother’s hand.
“Just fine,” whispered her mother. She helped Mindy to a chair next to the middle aisle.
Everyone listened while the judges read the children’s poetry aloud. Then they waited while the judges had a conference to decide who the winners were.
After conferring with each other, a man walked to a microphone at the front of the room. Everyone was quiet when he cleared his throat. “We have reached a decision,” he said. “The first-place winner is … Charles Monroe, for his poem ‘Sunflowers.’”
The audience clapped appreciatively, and Charles went up to the microphone to read his poem. Everyone listened carefully and nodded in agreement that his poem deserved a prize.
The man stepped forward again after Charles had finished.
“The second-place winner is … ,” he paused a moment. Mindy held her breath, and turned her face in the direction of the man’s voice. “Mindy Martin for her poem ‘Rain.’”
“Mother?” she questioned anxiously.
“Out to the aisle and then twenty steps straight ahead,” her mother whispered back. Mindy stood up, afraid she might trip or walk into someone’s chair, but somehow she made it up to the microphone.
“Mindy, would you please read your poem,” the man said and put a paper into her outstretched hand.
Mindy didn’t even pretend to look at the paper. She knew the poem by heart. She turned her happy face toward the audience, toward where she thought her mother was and began to recite her poem:
I love to hear the gentle rain
Dancing on my windowpane.
I know how fast the thirsty ground
Laps up the drops that sprinkle down.
And when the rain is pouring hard,
Making puddles in the yard,
I love to snuggle warm in bed
And hear the rain pound overhead.
The crowd applauded in approval. Mindy made her way back to her mother, who gave her a little hug. “I knew you could do it!” she said.
“And I won on my own,” said Mindy, “because my poem was good, not because I’m blind.”
Mindy’s mother gave her another hug. “You deserved to win, Mindy. Your poem was good. No one could argue with that.”
When the contest was over, Mindy put out her hand.
“I’ll take my cane now,” she said, smiling.

Jackson Payne’s life is busy and wouldn’t seem to leave much room for early-morning seminary or priesthood responsibilities, but he knows where his priorities are. Hailing from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, 18-year-old Jackson started participating in artistic gymnastics when he was 6 or 7 and has since made it to several national and international championships. The high bar is his best event, but he’s decided to reach for something even higher.
Instead of spending his time before school at the gym squeezing in extra practice time, Jackson attends early-morning seminary. This daily routine is just as important to him as his gym routines. “I think if I disrupted my routine by not going to seminary for a couple of days, it would really mess up my day. It’s important for me to stick to that routine.” He observes that “if you keep messing up your gymnastics routine, you don’t gain any confidence or consistency for competition. In the same way, if you don’t go to seminary or church, you’re more likely to fail in the real world.”
When it comes to gymnastics, precision is key. “You’re judged on everything you do; everything affects your score,” Jackson says. He also says that the better you perform a routine or skill, the easier it is to execute and the more it becomes second nature. No one can perform a perfect routine in gymnastics, just as none of us lives a perfect life in mortality. But Jackson says that unlike in gymnastics, we have a perfect example to strive toward: Jesus Christ. And in our paths to perfection we’re given commandments like tithing, the law of chastity, and the Word of Wisdom, commandments we can execute with exactness right now.
Gymnastics teaches Jackson about dedication and faith, principles he can directly apply to the gospel. “I go into the gym every day and have certain things I have to do. It gives me a test of my dedication and faith in knowing that if I do all the things I’m supposed to do, I can get better at gymnastics. In the same way, if I do things I’m supposed to do with church and Mutual and fulfilling my priesthood duties, my testimony will strengthen and I’ll learn more about the gospel.”

In a western city a young man had been preparing for 18 years to go on a mission. He was excited, his parents were excited, his girlfriend was also, and he was ready.

One evening at the city swimming pool, he and some friends were diving from the highboard. The second he hit the water, he knew his approach angle had not been good. He was in trouble. His head pierced the water and struck the bottom of the pool with a sickening thud. He was immediately knocked unconscious. He was brought carefully to the poolside and then rushed to the hospital. After weeks of medical attention, he was finally told that he would be paralyzed for the rest of his life from his neck down. He couldn’t move a finger or a toe, an arm or a leg. He would now lie in bed forever. His body would become a useless thing, and unless something unusual happened, so would his spirit.

A wise bishop recognized the problem. After talking with the boy’s parents and the doctor, the bishop gave him an assignment. It was unbelievable, unreal, impossible! The assignment: would he please write a letter each month to every missionary and serviceman from their ward? Was the bishop just not thinking or was he inspired? How could the boy write with no hands or fingers to assist? Some had learned to use their toes in such an emergency, but he couldn’t move his. Having faith in their bishop, the boy and his parents started to work on the assignment. It took days, weeks, and months of effort and discouragement. In time, it began to happen.

By putting a pencil between his teeth and moving his head, he learned to make a mark, then a word, next a sentence, and finally a page. He wrote and wrote.

For over 20 years he has been writing beautiful letters. He has inspired thousands. The side benefit is that his own spirit, simply stated, is magnificent. Is it worth the effort to follow our leaders’ counsel no matter how hard or how difficult? He thinks so. So do I.

It was too late to stop. As I crashed into the car in front of me, the splinter of glass and crumple of metal dimly registered, an echo of my own shattered breathing.
I started to cry, and my brother Rob said, “It’ll be okay, Alanna. Everything will be all right.” But everything was not all right. I had caused a four-car accident.
Minutes later, a policeman told me no one was seriously hurt. Fortunately, everyone involved was wearing seatbelts. A paramedic treated me for minor cuts, and after I complained of a sharp pain in my neck, I was put on a stretcher.
On the ride to the hospital, a paramedic said, “Alanna, you’re a very lucky girl.”
Lucky? I was strapped in a stretcher with my neck immobilized in a brace. I had totaled my dad’s car, and was responsible for the damage to three other cars. How could he say I was lucky?
“The only reason you’re still alive is because you were wearing your seatbelt,” he added.
For as long as I can remember, my parents stressed the importance of wearing seatbelts. Because of my parents’ example, I wore my seatbelt without fail. This one small act may have literally saved my life.

Since I could not escape my newfound notoriety, I decided to create opportunities that would add laughter to potentially uncomfortable conversations. I took a chance and dressed up as a nametag-wearing missionary for Halloween (a costume holiday celebrated in October). I knew this was a risky endeavor as I could be completely ridiculed, but I had a feeling that doing so would show that I was sure of my beliefs.

The risk paid off. Walking around campus as a missionary made everyone smile and sparked lively role-playing sessions. I broke some stereotypes and made some new friends.

I’d like to tell you of an experience of a faithful Latter-day Saint who is a good friend of mine. I’ll refer to him only as “my friend” for reasons you will understand.
Working as a special agent for the FBI, my friend investigated organized crime groups transporting illegal drugs into the United States.
On one occasion, he and another agent approached an apartment where they believed a known drug dealer was distributing cocaine. My friend describes what happened:
“We knocked on the door of the drug dealer. The suspect opened the door, and upon seeing us, tried to block our view. But it was too late; we could see the cocaine on his table.
“A man and a woman who were at the table immediately began removing the cocaine. We had to prevent them from destroying the evidence, so I quickly pushed the drug suspect who was blocking the door to the side. As I pushed him, my eyes met his. Strangely, he did not appear angry or afraid. He was smiling at me.
“His eyes and disarming smile gave me the impression that he was harmless, so I quickly left him and started to move toward the table. The suspect was now behind me. At that instant, I had the distinct, powerful impression come into my mind: ‘Beware of the evil behind the smiling eyes.’
“I immediately turned back toward the suspect. His hand was in his large front pocket. Instinctively I grabbed his hand and pulled it from his pocket. Only then did I see, clutched in his hand, the semiautomatic pistol ready to fire. A flurry of activity followed, and I disarmed the man.”
Later, in another case, the drug dealer was convicted of murder and boasted that he would have also killed my friend had he not turned around at that very moment.

This story took place in the USA.
Svetan felt excited. His family was moving from Argentina to the United States. And now it was finally time to get on the big airplane!
Svetan looked out the window as the plane took off. He wondered what his new home would be like. Everything would be different. A new house. A new bedroom. A new neighborhood. And new friends to meet! Svetan was excited.
Svetan also knew that his new home was close to a temple that had just been built. In Argentina, the temple was far away. He had only seen it in pictures.
Svetan turned to Mami. “Do you think we’ll be able to see the temple from the sky?”
Mami smiled. “I don’t think so. But we’ll see it soon.”
Svetan smiled back. Mami and Papi said that the temple wasn’t open yet. But soon there would be an open house. That meant people could go inside to see it before it was dedicated. And Svetan’s family was going to go to the open house! He couldn’t wait to see the temple in real life.
A few hours later, Svetan and his family were at their new house. There was lots to do. Svetan helped unpack their boxes and make their home look nice.
On the day before the open house, they sat down in the living room to talk.
“The temple is the Lord’s house,” Mami said. “When we are inside, we must be reverent. Do you know what that means?”
“To talk quietly so we can hear the Holy Ghost better?” Svetan asked.
“That’s right,” Mami said. “We can learn a lot when we’re in the temple.”
Svetan nodded. He wanted to be reverent so he could feel the Holy Ghost in the temple.
The next morning, Svetan got up early. He dressed in his Sunday clothes. Soon it was time to go.
Svetan’s family got to the temple. People helped them put little plastic covers over their shoes.
“Why did they put these little bags on my feet, Mami?” Svetan asked.
“Because inside the temple everything is new and clean. We want to take care of it.”
A woman welcomed them. She read the words on the temple door: “Holiness to the Lord—the House of the Lord.”
Svetan held Mami’s hand. They walked inside. Everything was so beautiful! Maybe this was what heaven felt like.
“Look!” Svetan whispered. He pointed to a painting. “There’s Jesus!”
When they were done, Svetan felt happy. He was grateful he could go inside the temple. He wanted to go inside again when he was older.
How did Svetan get ready to go inside the temple?
Illustrations by Mark Robison

I had just turned 14, and my bishop had invited me to enroll in seminary. Unfortunately, my bishop’s invitation came right when I was embarking on a system of torturous school examinations known as the General Certificate of Secondary Education. In England (I live in Manchester), we refer to them as the GCSEs. So here was the bishop inviting me to seminary, while the storm of exams, homework, mock exams, projects, tests, and experiments that are the GCSEs were just beginning.
Consequently, apathetic would be the best word to describe my approach to seminary. There was the initial excitement of studying in the same class as my big brother, but that quickly wore off. It wasn’t until I decided to find out about the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon that I began to appreciate what seminary could do for me.
When I began the course, we had been taught that Moroni 10:4 [Moro. 10:4] was our key scripture for the year. I had marked that scripture in red and green, and I had felt prompted to ask Heavenly Father for a special witness concerning the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon.
As I knelt by my bed to talk with my Father in Heaven, I realized I had not prepared myself very well. I remembered the passage in the Doctrine and Covenants where the Lord tells Oliver Cowdery that he “took no thought save it was to ask me” (D&C 9:7). I knew I was doing the same thing, and when I prayed to Heavenly Father I felt nothing different except a feeling that I was right to ask. But I didn’t feel like I’d received an answer to my prayer. I knew I had to do all that the Lord asked of me before I was to find out whether the Book of Mormon was a book of scripture or just a very clever novel.
One night I was alone in the house. My homework was already completed, and usually such times are a welcome opportunity to sit in front of the television or get lost in a science-fiction book. But that night I felt like doing neither.
On impulse, I went to my room and picked up my new copy of the Book of Mormon. I searched for the final chapters of Nephi’s life in 2 Nephi.
Somehow I felt that these were important chapters, so I said a short and simple prayer before I began to study, asking that the Spirit be with me. I had often asked for the same thing when I would pray before seminary lessons, yet this time my request seemed to mean more. I felt I needed to feel these words as I read them, so I began to read the scriptures out loud to myself.
As I read one chapter, then another, I began to feel as if I could actually hear Nephi himself saying those things to his people. As I read of his love for his people, I could feel the words of a prophet crying out, each sentence filled with the anguished cries of a loving man who had served God all his life. I read through chapter 32, spellbound by the words of a man who was suddenly becoming very real to me. The things he said were beautiful and right. When I turned the page and began to read chapter 33, my empathy for this man overflowed. I could not contain my tears as I read how this prophet cried day and night for his people, and so I cried with him—desperately aware that those words were the last ones we have from him in the Book of Mormon.
I finished the final testimony of Nephi with a clogged throat and teary eyes. Yet inside I felt on fire, alive with a knowledge that had settled in my heart. Nephi was a prophet of God, a real man, with a real life.
Many weeks after I had first prayed to know if those words were God’s words, I had fulfilled my part in Moroni’s promise and received a testimony that I hope will stay with me forever.

We can seldom foresee how the Lord will make us instruments in his hands. One year when my companion was out of town, my daughter Elizabeth went with me on my visits. It was Christmastime, so we baked cookies, wrapped them in cellophane, and tied them with red ribbon and a pine branch. Then we put all these little gifts in a bag and had a prayer together. At the last minute I felt a strong prompting and slipped in an extra package.
After visiting several houses, we reached the home of a sister who lived with her married son and his family, all of whom were members. Another older woman, looking very tired, was there delivering clothing. Her name was Margarita, and she earned her living doing laundry by hand. Knowing what hard work that is, I handed her the other little package of cookies and wished her a Merry Christmas. With tears in her eyes, she told me that she was completely alone and that this would be her only gift.
I spoke to her then about the Lord Jesus Christ and told her that if he is with us, we will not be lonely. I assured her that she was a daughter of God who loved her just as an earthly father loves his children and that if she sought after him, he would receive her with open arms. I told her many more things. Her face lighted up, and she agreed to receive the missionaries.
The next month when we went to visit that house, Margarita was there again. She hugged us and said, “Now I can really call you sisters. I was baptized last week.”

At the Berlin Olympics in 1936, Hitler declared that Caucasians were a superior race. North America had 10 black athletes, who, much to Hitler’s chagrin, scored more points than any national team. Chief among them was Jesse Owens. At the opening ceremonies, Hitler refused to greet Owens and deliberately snubbed the black athletes. Owens simply shrugged and said, “I didn’t come over to shake hands with Hitler, anyway.” Owens then battled to win four gold medals. As he broke the world’s record for the running broad jump, the first to greet him was not a fellow team member but an exuberant German competing in the same event, Luz Long.
“I have never seen anything like this. You are the greatest of all!” Long exclaimed.
As Owens took Long’s hand in both of his and squeezed it, the crowd thundered approval. Then the two competitors wrapped their arms about one another and began to walk toward the track. The crowd—in spite of Hitler’s presence—went wild with joy and shouted for many minutes.

Yes. The last item is correct. That’s what the young men from the Canyon Ward, Spanish Fork Utah Stake, learned last year. Not only did they get to hike in some of the most scenic mountains in Wyoming and Montana, but they scaled even higher heights by including daily scripture study as the focus of their wilderness experience.
“We’ve been on great hikes before,” says John Oldham, 16, past captain of the ward’s Varsity Scout team. “But this time we really emphasized the spiritual side in our planning.”
For example, the trek began with a testimony meeting. “It was great,” says Joshua Christensen, 18. “We sat and looked at the Teton Mountains as the sun went down. We talked about the gospel, about each other, about the Savior. The Spirit was there. It set a great mood for the entire trip.”
That’s not all. The group held devotionals and firesides every day. And each day they studied a scriptural theme.
“We’d read a scripture together in the morning, ask some questions about it, then we’d try to think about it or put it into practice during the day,” explains Doug Thompson, 15. “Then at night we’d talk about our answers.”
The result was that everyone was talking about, thinking about, and acting upon the scriptures.
“We read about prayer,” Doug continues, “and while we were hiking there was a time for everyone to ask for something, like praying for strength when the backpacks seemed too heavy, or for a little extra boost to make it through the rain.”
Joe Oldham, 16, says he appreciated one day’s devotional that talked about helping others.
“That same day, my cousin John and I were the first ones up to the top lake. I stayed there to watch our packs, and John went down to help my younger brother, Mike (14), with his pack because it was so heavy. Everyone helped each other out.”
“One day when our firewood was all wet,” says Alex Wright, 19 (now on a mission in Brazil), “a bunch of guys came and brought us dry firewood. That was on the same day we’d been reading about service.”
“There were tons of waterfalls,” Ryan Steadman, 14, remembers. “They’re huge and they cascade down the rocks and make all this mist. It’s so beautiful you have to believe someone made it. It made me think of the scripture (Moses 6:63) that says, ‘All things bear record of me.’”
And there were other lessons learned while hiking and camping:
“I gained an appreciation for the blessings we take for granted at home,” says Joe Elliott, 16. “In the wild you can’t just go get a drink of water; you have to pump for 20 minutes to purify it.”
“You think you need all these things to survive,” John adds. “You think you need to play basketball, to go on dates, to listen to music all the time. But out there, you can live without the worldly things. And when you read the scriptures, you can concentrate more closely on what the Lord wants you to hear.”
“Our first devotional was on prayer, on being able to pray at any time about anything,” Joshua says. “I think we all did that throughout the trip. And it taught us how to walk with the Spirit. I thought a lot about Proverbs 3:5–6 [Prov. 3:5–6], ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.’ I thought as we were hiking along the mountain trails physically, that spiritually we were also hiking some trails.”
Talk with these young men today, and there’s no question last year’s trip left enduring memories. They speak of how the rains came every day, right on schedule, and how that taught them the value of being prepared in advance. They talk of deepened respect for plants and animals. They express a desire to learn more and more. They laugh about diving into ice-cold water, enduring mosquito bites, and returning down the trail in search of stragglers. They even speak reverently about specific answers to prayer.
But threaded into almost every comment, and tied forever with their summer activity, is a deepened love and appreciation for the word of the Lord.
Mike may express it best when he says, “Anybody can go out and go backpacking. But we had a different kind of experience because we oriented it toward the scriptures.”
It’s an adventure that left them, literally, on top of the world.