Gospel Story Finder

In 1991 I was playing on a ward softball team that was participating in the local city league in Manhattan, Kansas. Before each game we would gather as a team to have a prayer. At one particular game for some reason we forgot to pray before the game. I was playing second base and in the second inning when we were in the field the first baseman said to me Hey we didn't have a prayer before the game. I responded, yes you are right. But silently I clearly remember thinking. "Ah so what, nothing ever happens at these games". Two innings later we were in the field again. The first batter up hit a hard low line drive directly at me. I could tell by the flight of the ball that it was going to hit about 5 feet in front of me. It was going to be a one hopper, one of the easiest infield plays. Now, I am a fairly coordinated person, and I have played a fair amount of infield. To this day I do not know how I missed the ball but I missed it. It hit me right in the mouth and knocked me to my knees. My very first thought was, I sure hope I still have my teeth. After checking my teeth my second thought was, I guess we should have had that prayer. My lip was split from the bottom of my nose all the way down. It took two hours in the emergency room and 15 to 20 stitches to patch me up. You can draw your own conclusions but I believe that I was taught a lesson that day. Regular prayer makes a difference. Even those prayers we say routinely such as at the beginning of activities or sporting events or meetings. God is paying attention and we should pray always with the understanding and faith that He is paying attention.

The first one we will call Jim. Jim comes from a distant state. He is a fine-looking, clean-cut young man not quite thirty years old. He was one of those who opposed the establishment and society in general. He came from a broken home. He had experienced no love in his life. He left home at age seventeen and joined the army. After release from the military, he wandered about the country without goal or purpose in life, finally finding himself in Salt Lake City. He was involved in a theft, arrested, convicted, and sent to prison. He escaped one day, was recaptured, and was placed in maximum security. In his words, “I came out of maximum security and returned to medium, and still did not know what to do with my life.”
One of the prisoners, knowing of some of the turmoil Jim was going through, sent him to see the LDS chaplain. This was the beginning of a completely new experience in Jim’s life. Even though he found himself in prison, he had taken the first step to a freedom he had not known existed.
After a few weeks of exposure to the program of the Church specially designed for prison life, he said he was able to give up smoking. He became involved in the various religious programs sponsored by the Church social service agency. He said, “I haven’t smoked a cigarette since that day. I haven’t had a cup of coffee since December of last year.” He goes on to tell of the good feeling of accomplishment in overcoming bad personal habits.
He also tells about the family home evening program conducted by his home teachers. He explained that he would have given up in discouragement many times had it not been for this wonderful couple who had been assigned as his home teachers. He said they actually loved him as a son, something he had never experienced in his life, even as a little boy. In his own words: “I have been in this program since June 16, 1970. For these sixteen months, I probably made more changes in my life—inside these walls away from the rat race of society—that I know are going to determine my whole future more than the first twenty-three years of my life before prison. I had no idea at all what the LDS people were or what the Church was until I went to prison.
“I am not proud of being in prison, but I am proud of my experience while being there. I am proud of being a graduate of the program that the LDS people have offered to the inmates at the prison.”
This is the young man who conducted the graduation exercises and did it in a most impressive manner. His goal now is to finish paying his debt to society in order to be released from prison so that he might prepare for baptism and membership in the Church.

A few years ago following general conference, our four-year-old grandson Andrew asked his mother, “Mommy, is Jesus counting on me?” His mother answered, “Oh yes, Andrew, Jesus is counting on you. He wants you to obey Mom and Dad, to do what is right, and especially to be kind to your little brother, Benny.” This four-year-old thought about that for a few moments and said, “Mommy, tell Him not to count on me!”
Fortunately, by the time Andrew receives the Aaronic Priesthood, he will have come to know that Jesus is counting on him.

Cindy Shropshal, 18, Perth. For Cindy, fellowship in the Church started with friendship in school. She became good friends with a guy in her English class—Cliff Allen. One night they went out with another classmate, who had a reputation as a drinker. Cliff insisted on an alcohol-free night. When they asked Cliff why he didn’t drink, Cindy recalls, “He started telling me about the Church. I started to feel the Spirit. I thought about it a lot that evening. I had been searching for the true church. That night I knew this was the church I should join.”

I have a nephew named Seth. When he was born, it was discovered that he had an extra chromosome, and that has made some aspects of life challenging. I remember his father wondering shortly after this discovery if he would be Seth’s only friend in life. Today, Seth has more friends than all of our family combined.
A few years ago as I arrived home from work, Laurie, my wife, met me at the front door to let me know that Seth, then our five-year-old nephew, was missing. Family and friends gathered nearby to search the neighborhood. Driving the speed limit was a real test that day; every stoplight seemed to turn red. Sitting at one stoplight, I glanced out the window and noticed golfers on the course. I remembered thinking how silly golf seemed at this moment in time, when I was desperately driving to join the search for Seth. I thought, “Wouldn’t everyone in Rexburg be willing to stop what they were doing and join the search if they just knew what was happening?” What was happening? Was Seth lost? Kidnapped? Hurt?
Shortly after I arrived and joined others in the search, I heard a joyful cheer come from down the road. Seth had been found in a neighbor’s home when the children living in that home had returned from school. What a tender sight to see my brother and his wife reunited with their son. Seth’s brief, dramatic disappearance (and life for that matter) has caused me to frequently reflect upon the worth of a soul and what really matters in life.

In China we have nine-hundred million people. Yesterday about fifty Chinese Saints came in to see me. I took them through the Church offices and told them about our programs, and then I said to them, “We have been talking about China today.” (That was the day of the Regional Representatives meeting.) “We’ve learned of that people’s good qualities and that the Spirit of the Lord seems to be brooding over them, to bring the possibility of the gospel to them.” I asked all of those Chinese people who were here at conference, “Will you guarantee that in all your home evenings and in all your family prayers and in all your public prayers you will mention this to the Lord? Now, I know he can do it without our help; but I think he would want to know that we were interested in it and that we would appreciate it greatly.”

Heavy rains had been falling for several days prior to September 11, 1990. On this day the Han River began to overflow its banks flooding most areas in the Korea Seoul West Mission. The situation was extremely dangerous. Dikes had broken leaving thousands homeless.
With the mission secured we got to bed about midnight. At 2:00 a.m. the telephone rang and a voice in clear English said, President Snow, two of your missionaries are dead on the north side (Seoul Mission side) of the Pampo Bridge. The telephone then clicked off. Earlier the 8th Army news (AFKN) reported several deaths near bridges and the Pampo Bridge was deathly hazardous to cross. Who could the voice be? It seemed to resemble someone who might be acquainted with the Church vocabulary. In any event, I rose quickly, dressed and told Cindy I had a distinct feeling I would not return alive. After a difficult goodbye, I ran for the car but on touching the car door handle, I had a strong feeling almost physical in nature and not describable by words. A clear voice in my mind told me to stop and call President Shin of the Seoul Mission. I listened, made the call and he told me not to attempt to cross the bridge and after prayer, I agreed. The most comforting calm came across my mind. Morning revealed no deaths to missionaries and the telephone voice is unknown to this day.

This was the first youth conference Chris Windham, 14, of the Nacogdoches Ward, Longview Texas Stake, had attended. He had fun at the dances, listened to the speakers, and filled up on good food. But his strongest memory might be when his group came to the final house as they installed their last smoke detector. It was Chris’s turn to talk to the homeowner and explain their purpose. Each group member had taken a turn being the one to handle the screwdriver, hold the ladder, or do the talking.
At this house, it was Chris’s turn to talk. He reached for a picture of Christ. It was supposed to have someone’s testimony written in the accompanying paper. But they had run short, and the paper was blank.
Chris handed the picture to the man they had just met. He said, “I don’t have a written testimony to give you with this picture of Christ.”
He paused. The adult leaders, who were standing behind him, glanced at each other. What was Chris going to do?
As Chris said later, the Spirit was urging him to tell this man what he believed. So, without hesitation, Chris bore his testimony with power and conviction to someone he had just met. “I know that Christ lived, and that He suffered and died for us. …”
As Chris spoke, tears sprang to the eyes of the man listening. He carefully held the picture of Christ, with head bowed, and listened to the words of a 14-year-old boy.
For a few days, the LDS youth in these two stakes didn’t feel so few in numbers. They were a force for good, and they pulled strength from being together. They bore their testimonies, in writing and in testimony meeting.
Melanie Paul, 16, Coushatta Branch, Shreveport Louisiana Stake, said about their written testimonies, “These are going to people who may change their lives. I stressed the influence of Jesus Christ in my life. They may never get another chance to hear a testimony from a member of the Church. When you start writing, you aren’t just saying empty phrases. It’s true.”
This group also wanted to take sides against a chorus of bad influences. “The advertising is all aimed at kids our age,” said John Daniels, 18, Queen City Ward, Shreveport Louisiana Stake, “encouraging us to smoke, to drink, to do other things. We need someone on the other side, warning us, telling us where we can go wrong and how to avoid it.”
The voice of warning against the vices of the world may not be as loud and strident as a smoke detector, but for those with ears to hear, it is just as compelling, a voice of warning that may save someone’s life eternally.

When Elder and Sister Bednar were married, they consistently had family prayer, scripture study, and family home evening with their three sons. Sometimes things did not go well, and Elder and Sister Bednar wondered if their efforts were worthwhile. Now and then during scripture study there were outbursts such as, “He’s touching me!” “Make him stop looking at me!” and “Mom, he’s breathing my air!” Family prayers were sometimes interrupted with giggling and poking. And family home evening lessons were not always calm with three active, noisy boys.
But they kept trying.
Because they were consistent and kept trying, Elder and Sister Bednar’s family and their love for one another grew stronger. Their family learned together and felt the Spirit in their home because of the small things they did that matter so much.

Well, the first two or three weeks out there weren’t bad. While war was very much on our minds because of our previous training and the films we’d seen and all of the other things that train a boy to be what he ought to be in war, it still wasn’t real. Interestingly enough, during the first two weeks of our voyage, the army and navy, because they are always interested in the well-rounded personality, held a general church service every evening at 5:00 where we could come and sing a common song, whether we were Jew, Catholic, gentile, or Latter-day Saint, something that would bind us together in a religious cause. And the chaplain would talk to us for four or five minutes, and then we’d just sit and visit and talk about home and girls and all the other things that seem to be important to men at that stage of their lives, and then we’d be dismissed—about an hour of service every day at 5:00. Out of 3,000 there were 35 or 40 who used to go to this little service every day. Thirty-five or forty! That’s typical of life, isn’t it, as you look at your campus, your stake, your ward, or surrounding communities?
As we entered the third week, things started to pick up in tempo a little bit. They brought out some big rubber relief maps, and they had our target island depicted right down to the last palm tree and pill box, everything perfectly marked. Then they’d say, “Boat team 27 (that was mine), you’re going in.” And then, since it was the last hour and because they didn’t have room in the regular meeting place, we held the evening services topside on the bow. And there was one of the most interesting studies of human life I have ever watched in my life.
Do you know what happened that July 21, 1944? Three thousand men came to church! How about that? Three thousand got kind of excited about higher values in life. When the crisis is really on, watch people get religion. They sensed, as you can only when the chips are down, the need for higher aid, be they merchant, criminal, or ball player.
Well, I’ll never forget that church service conducted by a marvelous Protestant chaplain. I don’t even know what faith he represented. But bless his heart, he was honest and sincere, and he came straight to the point. I’ll never forget that calm day; the water was almost like glass, and we were sitting out there, 3,000 strong, singing that opening song, “Abide With Me, ‘Tis Eventide.” Can you imagine a chorus of 3,000 male soldiers letting their souls go, probably in many cases for the first time in their lives. Can you imagine what that sounds like? And you could even hear other ships echoing the same type of activity. There was a brief opening prayer, and then the chaplain got as serious as I’ve ever seen a man.
He said, “Men, I’m not going to kid you tonight. You’ve been training for the last year for what you’re going to do tomorrow, and you know full well what’s before you. Army statistics tell us that in an invasion like you’re going to experience tomorrow morning, a lot of you aren’t going to make it. We’ve got to pay a price to get this island.” He said, “If our records are accurate, half of you will lay your lives down sometime before 8:00 tomorrow morning. What I’m trying to say, men, is that one-half of you will be standing before your Maker tomorrow morning at 8:00. Are you ready?”
Well now, what would you say, young people? I was 18 years old at the time. If someone said, “Tomorrow morning at 8:00 you’re giving an accounting to the Savior for your life and your attitude and your activity,” how would you feel? There I was, sitting out there thinking of all my great and glorious ball days. See how insignificant they appear to be all of a sudden? Contracts and fame and fortune—a lot of nonsense, aren’t they, when you get right down to what really counts?
And for the first time I wanted to know something about the validity of religion. Does God really live? Why am I out here? Why should I take the life of a person I’ve never even seen before? Thousands of questions like that started to rush through my mind. Why? Why? Why? And it’s questions like that we ought to ask right now. Why do we do any of the things we’re doing in this existence of ours?

Consider an illustration. I once received a call that informed me that a missionary had been disobedient. I immediately had a negative feeling which was followed by this thought." He is a problem missionary."  As I had this natural thought, I had another negative feeling. I felt the virtue drain from me. Because I was sensitive to my feelings, I asked why? Inspiration followed. I was taught that I must never define anyone as a problem. A problem is something to be acted upon. People must not be acted upon. That revelation changed me, and the change in me, changed all our missionaries. The change came because I was sensitive to all negative feelings and all positive feelings.

As the Taylor family gathered around the dinner table, Shauna knew that her mother was upset.
“I have an announcement to make,” Mrs. Taylor said quietly, halfway through dinner.
Shauna put her fork down and looked at her mother.
“I have come to the conclusion,” Mrs. Taylor declared, “that this house is haunted.”
“You mean with a ghost?” Peter asked, his eyes growing big.
Shauna thought that ghosts only existed in books and movies.
“What makes you think there’s a ghost here?” Kathy asked. “I just read an article about a house people claim is haunted, but I don’t believe in them, do—”
“I haven’t seen a ghost,” Tim interrupted.
“It’s the only explanation left.” Mother continued. “Too many things are happening that none of us are responsible for.”
“What things?” Shauna asked for all of them.
“Oh, I found wet bath towels on the floor after you children hung them up. An entire package of cookies disappeared the other day when each of you only had two.”
Shauna watched Tim’s face turn red as he squirmed in his seat.
“Then, there are the dirty dishes,” Mr. Taylor added. “We know that you children always rinse off your dishes and put them in the dishwasher when you fix something to eat. But every time I come into the kitchen, I find dirty dishes all over. This ghost has been very hungry lately.”
“It’s also been sneaking into empty rooms and turning on the lights. The other day it even turned on the TV during study time,” Mrs. Taylor went on.
“Does anyone know who’s responsible for this?” Mr. Taylor asked.
The room remained silent.
“In that case,” Mr. Taylor concluded, “we must have a ghost.”
Shauna thought about the “ghost” several times that evening as she finished her homework and got ready for bed. Her mother had looked very tired tonight. Maybe if the Taylor ghost was a little better behaved, things would run more smoothly for her and for the whole family.
No one was home when Shauna returned from school the next afternoon. She removed her backpack, dug the house key out of its side pocket, and let herself in.
The house was a mess! Breakfast dishes were still on the counter. The living room hadn’t been touched since the night before. And towels were draped everywhere in the bathroom. Obviously, Mom had not been there all day as she usually was.
Shauna picked up a note on the kitchen table. “Dear children,” it read. “Grandma is not feeling well. I’m taking her to the doctor and then cleaning her house. Peter is going to Mrs. Pulsipher’s after school—please pick him up. I’ll be home in time for Tim’s award banquet.”
Shauna went to pick up Peter. At their return, Tim and Kathy were just getting home from school.
“I hope Grandma isn’t too sick,” Kathy said, after reading the note to Tim. “Me, too,” he said.
“This place is really a mess, isn’t it?” Shauna asked as they walked through the house to the kitchen.
“It looks like the Taylor ghost and its friends have been here.” Tim laughed. “Speaking of friends, I think I’ll run over to Jeff’s and pick up a tape I want to hear. I hope Mom didn’t forget about the muffins we have to take to the banquet tonight.”
“We can’t leave this mess for Mom,” Shauna protested.
“Get the ghost to clean it up,” Peter suggested.
“That’s a good idea,” Kathy agreed.
“I’m no ghost,” Tim argued. “I’m out of here.”
“I sure hope the ghost doesn’t tell Dad that you left without doing your homework,” Shauna said as Tim opened the front door.
“All right,” he groaned, returning to the kitchen. “But let’s get this over with. I don’t want to spend all afternoon playing ghost.”
Shauna and Peter went through the house putting things in their proper places. They especially made sure that all the towels were hung neatly. Tim did the dishes, while Kathy baked raisin muffins.
When all the tasks were done, Kathy helped Shauna cut out a ghost shape from a piece of white construction paper. They made a name tag for it with a red-bordered gummed label. Shauna printed Taylor Ghost on it, stuck it on the ghost, and placed it on the kitchen counter next to the muffins.
The children—even Tim—gathered around the kitchen table to do their homework while they waited for their mother. Peter brought a coloring book and crayons.
It wasn’t long before the front door opened and Mrs. Taylor rushed to the kitchen. She stopped abruptly and looked around, astonished. Then she spied the muffins on the counter and hurried over and picked up the ghost. “I see our ghost has been here. I like him. I hope he haunts this house forever!” She went around the table and gave everyone a big hug.
That evening as Shauna crawled into bed, she noticed something under her pillow. It was a candy bar wrapped in a note. She carefully removed the paper. It read:
Dear Ghost,
Thank you for helping me today.
I love you,
Mom
Shauna placed the candy bar on top of her desk. She’d save it for after school tomorrow. It had been a long, busy day, and she was tired. It’s a happy kind of tired, though, she decided as she drifted off to sleep.

Mark felt a tightness inside as he slid into his seat. This was the third elementary school that he had attended in the past few years. And although the first day in a new school was always the hardest, something far worse was bothering him: Grandpa Jim was dead. And nobody in his family could explain to Mark what really happens to someone when he dies.
Mark looked down at his desk as the announcements came over the loudspeaker. By the time they stood for the Pledge of Allegiance, he had his emotions under control. When he sat down again, he noticed the girl across the aisle staring at him.
What’s with her? he thought. He felt like making a face at her, but instead he got out his new notebook and the worn, gold mechanical pencil Grandpa Jim had given him.
“I want you to have this, Mark,” Grandpa had said. “It has been exploring with me through miles and miles of wonderlands. I used it to write my best ideas and thoughts in my journal. Sometimes I thought of the ideas myself. Other times I read or heard a good thought from someone else and jotted it down. I’ve had some wonderful adventures while going idea hunting, and I have a hunch that you’re ready to start your own search.”
Oh, Grandpa Jim, Mark had thought, looking at the thin face lying on the hospital pillow, You’re not finished adventuring! And how can I search alone? Don’t leave me, Grandpa Jim. But Mark hadn’t said anything except “Thank you” in a very quiet voice.
And Grandpa Jim had stopped adventuring. One winter afternoon Mark had stood aching and helpless beside a silent grave. Even Grandpa Jim’s gold pencil in his pocket had given him no warmth.
Mark got through his first day at school by avoiding everyone. When some of the guys invited him to play baseball after lunch, he just shook his head and wandered around inside the school yard until the bell rang. After school he walked home alone. Two blocks from his house, someone came up behind him. He moved aside, but instead of walking by, the girl who had stared at him in class fell into step beside him.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Marci. You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders.
“I live on the corner, down from your house,” she said. “I saw your moving van. It’s nice to have someone my age on our block.”
Mark thought, Why don’t you go away, but he just said, “Oh.”
“Do you like to play tennis?” Marci asked. “There are courts next to my house. We could play today if you want. My little brother sometimes plays with me, but he isn’t very good yet.”
“I’ve never played before,” said Mark, hoping to discourage her.
“Oh, that’s OK. We have an extra racket, and I can teach you. You look like you’d be a good player. I’ll come by at four o’clock to get you. See you then.”
Before Mark could protest, she was running down the sidewalk. “Now what’ll I do,” he groaned. “I don’t want to play tennis or anything else!”
Marci rang his doorbell right at four o’clock. His mom answered and called Mark to the door. “Have fun,” she said, gently pushing him out the door after Marci.
Marci explained how to serve and the various ways to hit the ball. Before long, Mark was running around the court, chasing the ball and sometimes even smacking it soundly across the net. He was surprised at how good it felt. He set his jaw and concentrated on each return, until soon he was getting more balls over the net than he was missing.
“You’re good!” shouted Marci, stepping back to serve. “It’s hard to believe that you haven’t played before.”
Mark felt a flush of pleasure as he stretched to return Marci’s serve.
When they had to go home for dinner, Marci said, “I’m glad that you moved here.” Then she jumped into the air, curled into a forward roll, and sprang up beside him again, grinning. “You’re neat.”
Marci asked Mark to do something nearly every day after school. They played more tennis, and she took him exploring in the forest behind her house. They hunted tadpoles and turtles, found giant yellow mushrooms and more kinds of fungi than Mark had ever seen, and chased squirrels until they scampered, chittering angrily, high into the trees’ foliage.
“Let’s have a picnic,” Marci suggested one afternoon. “I know a place along the creek where there’s a deep pool full of fish. Do you fish, Mark?”
“I used to,” said Mark, suddenly serious. He hadn’t taken out his rod since Grandpa Jim had become too weak to go with him.
They met early Saturday morning and tramped deep into the forest. “It’s really beautiful here,” Mark said. The leaves were in full color, and the colors astounded him. He was used to subdued hues of tan and yellow. The flaming oranges and brilliant golds here filled him with wonder. He almost felt happy.
After an hour of walking, they reached the pool. They baited their hooks and cast into the pool.
“I sure hope we catch something,” said Mark. “I love fresh fish.”
“I hope so, too,” said Marci. “You’d better be good, Mark, because I promised Mom that we’d bring some fish home for dinner.”
“I’m already good!” shouted Mark as his rod bent double. He planted his feet and began reeling in a large, speckled trout.
“That’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen!” Marci cried. As Mark reeled it in, she added, “He must be awfully old to be so big. I bet he’s a grandpa.”
Mark went cold. He looked down at the fish. A grandpa. A grandpa he was about to send to his death. He reached down, unhooked the frantic fish, and threw it back into the water.
“Why’d you do that?” asked Marci.
“I couldn’t let him die. He’s a grandpa.” His eyes filled with tears in spite of his efforts to prevent them.
“Oh, Mark,” said Marci. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s my Grandpa Jim,” choked Mark. “He died last winter. I miss him so much. I don’t understand why he had to leave me. I don’t know where he went or if I’ll ever see him again.”
Marci reached out and took Mark’s hand. “You will see him again, Mark,” she told him. “I know why he died, and I know where he is.”
Mark looked up at her, startled. “Where?” he whispered. “Where is he?”
“His body is dead,” Marci explained, “but his spirit lives in the spirit world.” She smiled at Mark. “Did you grandpa believe in Jesus?”
“Yeah,” he said. “He did. I don’t know much about Jesus, but Grandpa told me one time that some of his best ideas came from the Bible. Grandpa Jim liked good ideas.”
“Here’s one of Jesus’ teachings,” Marci said. “‘I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:
“‘And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.’*
“So, you see,” Marci went on, “only your grandpa’s body died. His spirit is still alive. Someday, because of Jesus, his spirit will come back into his body, and he will be resurrected. That’s why Jesus said that He was the resurrection and the life.”
“You really believe that, don’t you?”
“I really do,” Marci told him.
“Why?” Mark asked.
“Because my dad died two years ago.” Marci turned and looked into the pool. “At first I thought that I would never be happy again. I missed him so much! I still do. I guess I’ll always miss him, but I’m not sad anymore. My dad believed in Jesus, and so do I. Mom had us memorize that scripture so that we could be comforted.”
“Marci, will you help me learn that scripture, too?” he asked.
“Sure,” said Marci. “I wrote it in my journal on the day that we buried my dad.”
“Grandpa Jim wrote in a journal. He gave me his gold pencil to write in my own journal, but I haven’t started one yet. Maybe I’ll do it today. Do you have any more good scriptures that I could write down?”
“Lots,” Marci told him. “In fact, I can give you a whole book of them when we get home. You can use your pencil to underline them right in the book because there will be too many to copy.”
“What book is that?” asked Mark.
“The Book of Mormon,” said Marci.
Mark looked at her beaming smile and felt a warmth creep into his heart.
“The Book of Mormon,” he repeated. He’d never heard of it before. But if the Book of Mormon helped make Marci happy, he thought, maybe it can do the same for me.

A little more than two years ago, shortly after my parents divorced, I found the Church.
Growing up, my brothers, sister, and I were taught to believe in God, and we said prayers at dinnertime, but that had been the extent of my religious education. My mother was raised in the LDS Church, but my father was not. I guess over the years they found it easier to avoid religion than to quarrel over it.
I was the youngest and the baby of the family in more ways than one. My brothers and sister were much older and very protective. I believed everything would always be easy.
School was a rude awakening for me. In the early years I wasn’t required to do much work and my grades were pretty good. But, as the years went by, my grades began to drop, and it certainly was not easy. Consequently, my parents began getting calls from my teachers, and we entered the era of “What to do about Dane?”
My parents tried a variety of methods to get me to do my assignments, but nothing worked. Teachers, counselors, school administrators, and my parents, all threatened a whole array of punishments. But my situation worsened with each year of school, and by the time I was in seventh grade, everything was falling apart. I hadn’t done much in class except goof around for six years, so I was totally unprepared for junior high.
The year I entered junior high was also the year our family fell apart. Two weeks after Christmas my parents separated, and later they divorced. My two oldest brothers and my sister had graduated and moved out on their own. That left my brother Lee and me at home with our mother, and Lee was a senior in high school. To make matters worse, we had big financial problems. From my mother’s perspective, we had hit rock bottom. But that’s when I think things began to look up.
One day my mom sat me down, and we had a serious talk. We talked about her upbringing in the Church, and she said that even though it seemed like things couldn’t get any worse, she knew she could turn to God for help. She also said she believed that if I went to church, it might turn me around in school. I had attended church a few times with an LDS friend, and I had also attended summertime Bible schools at other churches, but my family had not been to church since before I was born. My parents both smoked, and the coffeepot was always on. And now, my mom was suffering because of the divorce and the loss of income. I didn’t want to add to her problems, so I decided to give church a try and to have the missionary lessons.
Before I joined the Church, I had experimented with cigarettes and alcohol, and I hung around with the kids I felt most comfortable with—the kids who weren’t passing in school and who were with me so often in detention. But when the bishop interviewed me and I made the commitment to get baptized, I made a promise to obey the Word of Wisdom. I found that I enjoyed the feeling of responsibility that came with holding the priesthood, passing the sacrament, and getting praise for the things I was doing instead of always being in trouble. These positive feelings I was experiencing started to influence my life outside of church. And, as I shared my testimony with my friends, I started to see who my true friends were.
I made it to eighth grade and served in the Church as a deacons quorum president and now as teachers quorum president. I haven’t quite made the honor roll yet, but I’m on the school’s academic team and have stayed eligible to play sports. I’ve tried to remain friends with the guys I used to hang around with, but I don’t go out with them much anymore. We’re still on good terms, but we have different interests now. I’m involved in Scouting and have been concentrating on my schoolwork.

Photographs by Richard M. Romney
Many exciting changes have come to the Church thanks to inspiration received by President Russell M. Nelson. Two of these changes have had a direct impact on the Clarkson brothers from California, USA:
Young men can now be ordained to a priesthood office in January of the year they turn 12, 14, and 16.
Youth are eligible to obtain a limited-use temple recommend beginning in January of the year they turn 12.
For brothers Matthew (15), Andrew (13), and Isaac (11), these changes have brought new opportunities to serve and progress in the gospel of Jesus Christ—not just on their own but together.
In January 2019, Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac all experienced a day of firsts. Andrew says: “Matthew became a priest, I became a teacher, and Isaac became a deacon at the same time. None of us were at the ages where we would have advanced before.”
“On my first day being a priest,” Matthew says, “I broke the bread for the sacrament and blessed it. I was kind of nervous. My hands were shaking a little bit when I said the prayer, but it was really amazing.”
New to the Aaronic Priesthood, Isaac now has the chance to learn from his older brothers. “It was cool because I was with my brothers and some of their friends,” Isaac says. “I felt the Spirit when I passed the sacrament for the first time.”
Along with receiving the Aaronic Priesthood and passing the sacrament, Isaac also attended the temple to perform baptisms. His father baptized him first, but then came a surprise:
“I got to baptize my brother!” Matthew says.
“I never expected Matthew to baptize me,” Isaac says. “But he’s a priest now, so he could. It was really a cool experience. I could feel the Holy Ghost.”
Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac aren’t the only brothers in the Clarkson family. There are four more: Levi (9), Eli (7), Sam (4), and Titus (2), and a baby on the way.
When President Nelson invited the women of the Church in October 2018 general conference to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year, Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac, along with their father and younger brothers, decided to offer Mom their support. “We’ll read it with you!” they said. Every morning before seminary, they woke up to read together.
“When we took on this challenge, I thought it was going to take a lot of time,” Andrew says. “I worried that I wouldn’t have enough time to do everything I wanted to do, like play the guitar or hang out with my friends. But I realized that it just doesn’t work like that. The more I was into reading the Book of Mormon, the more time I actually seemed to have. I realized that if I keep up on reading the scriptures as much as possible, my life is balanced. I have more time in the day.”
Matthew was going through a hard time when the family started reading every morning. He says, “I wasn’t doing well in school. I struggled with my personal scripture study and my relationship with Heavenly Father, and I kept it all to myself. I didn’t talk about it with my parents.”
However, as Matthew spent more time reading the Book of Mormon, the gospel began to take first priority in his life. He also put more effort into school. He worked hard and got his grades up.
“I also realized how much Heavenly Father and my parents love me and how much they help me. And I have a greater testimony of Jesus Christ. He has helped me overcome bad habits and helped me get my life headed in the right direction. I’m so glad we took President Nelson’s challenge as a family. It changed my life.”
Accepting President Nelson’s invitation also strengthened Isaac’s testimony. “We circled the words God, Lord, Redeemer, Savior, and Christ every time we found them,” he says. “On the day we finished, I flipped through the Book of Mormon and saw all the words I had circled. I thought, ‘Man, that’s a lot!’ I had never noticed how many there were. I felt much more spiritual reading the Book of Mormon. I’m glad we did it.”
Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac are amazed that their family finished the Book of Mormon in just two months. “It usually takes us a year,” Isaac says. Together, they discovered the blessings of following the prophet’s invitation.
“If you do what you’re supposed to do,” Andrew says, “like building a relationship with Heavenly Father through prayer, scripture study, and staying fully active in the Church, life is so much better.”
These three brothers have helped each other progress in the gospel. They follow the prophet, who has called on members “to increase their faith in our Lord Jesus Christ and in His Atonement, to … [make] and [keep] their covenants with God, and to strengthen … their families.”1

Sister Evans and I served together as I presided over the Japan Nagoya Mission. Our desire was to increase the quantity and quality of convert baptisms and to more firmly establish the Lord’s church in Japan. As many of you know, in recent months, Elder Oaks has reminded us that the very doctrinal purpose of missionary work is to “teach repentance and baptize converts.”8 That is what we wanted to do! That was the desire of our hearts. We set goals and made plans on how to accomplish those goals. We worked with greater focus and desire than we had ever done in anything in our lives. As we worked with missionaries, we were blessed and the work increased. We found more opportunities to teach repentance and then saw the blessing of an increase in the number of convert baptisms. However, after experiencing this remarkable blessing, we then experienced a period where we plateaued and we stopped reaching our goals.

Have you ever felt this way in those things that you want to achieve? As I contemplated what to do, one of our missionaries wrote to me a letter in which he said:
“I am really thinking about what I can do to [achieve our goals]...I know that it will require more dedication than I have had to accomplish these goals. I think so many times when we have missed our goals, it came down to the sad fact that we just didn’t care. Of course we wanted baptisms, but we didn’t really care enough to do the things that make baptisms happen. It is sad, but when we all really think seriously about it, we all know it is true.”

Andy Mair has heard many of the stories about sacrifices made in building the first Nauvoo Temple. He knows about the men and boys who cut stone by hand, hauled heavy loads with just horses and mules, went without good food and clothing, and spent every minute they could building a beautiful House of the Lord.
Andy has plenty to eat and wear and because he’s only 14 he’s not really allowed to work on the temple site. But Andy has made sacrifices. He willingly left his friends and home to come with his family to Nauvoo where his father would oversee the reconstruction of the Nauvoo Temple. “I am not sorry that I came,” says Andy. “I have been able to learn a lot more about the history of the Church and Joseph Smith. I can say that I have walked and lived where the Prophet Joseph and the early leaders of the Church did. As I see the temple workers, I notice that they all have shoes and shirts. They also have modern equipment like cranes, lifts, cement trucks, dump trucks, tractors, and power tools. I try to imagine how people in the 1840s built such a huge building without these things.”
Also, during the construction of the temple, Andy has seen what kind of man his dad is. “It means a lot to me to have my dad be able to oversee the construction of this temple, because I know I am one of a few young men who is able to participate so closely in such an historic event. My dad is a great example to me of hard work and dedication.”
Andy and his new friends in Nauvoo keep track of the reconstruction. One friend, Tally Smith, says, “It’s special to drive by and notice more stone going up or another window in place.”
Amanda Smith also has loved watching the temple go up. “It’s amazing to have a temple right up the road—a temple that’s really a part of your life because you’ve watched it and seen the changes.”
One unique event that took place at the start of the construction was the laying of all four cornerstones. For most temples built today the cornerstone laying is completed as the building is dedicated, but in rebuilding the Nauvoo Temple, the sequence of events from the nineteenth century was duplicated as much as possible.
On April 6, 1841, the members of the Church in Nauvoo gathered at the temple site for the laying of all four cornerstones. Under the Prophet Joseph’s instructions, each cornerstone was moved into place under the direction of the presidents of the various quorums of the priesthood. In those days, the Aaronic Priesthood quorum presidents were all grown men.
But on November 5, 2000, the quorum presidents of the Aaronic Priesthood—representing the deacons and teachers—were Jared Brown, 13, and Hans Smith, 15, both from the Nauvoo Illinois First Ward. They were surprised and honored to be asked to participate in the cornerstone laying.
“I had always thought it would be cool if the Nauvoo Temple were rebuilt,” says Hans. “Now it is happening, and I am going to be here to see it.
“One evening, my stake president, Durell Nelson, came over to my house and told me there was going to be a special cornerstone ceremony. He asked me if I would be interested in being part of this historic event since I was the teachers quorum president of the Nauvoo Ward, and the original teachers quorum president had helped at the original cornerstone ceremony. Wow!”
On the day of the ceremony, Hans was right there with President Gordon B. Hinckley and Bishop H. David Burton, the Presiding Bishop of the Church. Hans says, “I was humbled to represent teachers all over the world at this event. Because I have cerebral palsy, I needed help to scoop in the mortar and was grateful to have Bishop Burton help me. I was grateful that those in charge didn’t let my handicap stand in the way of my participating in this great event.”
As deacons quorum president, Jared also participated. “I felt really blessed because there are so many other young men who would have loved this opportunity. It was probably the best experience of my life. I got to meet the prophet. I also got to keep the trowel I used. It’s something I can always remember and someday tell my children.”

Most people wouldn’t have thought 1853 was the best year for the Saints to break ground for an extensive building project. After all, people were still arriving in the Salt Lake Valley, and most of them didn’t bring much with them. One anonymous brother described his situation like this: “I walked the morning the ground was broken for the foundation of the Temple. … I went through frozen mud and slush with my feet tied up in rags. I had on a pair of pants made out of my wife’s skirt—a thin Scotch plaid; also a thin calico shirt and a straw hat. These were all the clothes I had. It was go that way or stay at home. … I was not alone in poverty. … There were many who were fixed as badly as I was.”

But the Lord’s house needed to be built. Later that day, John D. McAllister described the following event:
“The ground being frozen, President Heber C. Kimball commenced breaking the ground with a pick. … President Young took out the first turf. … While taking it out [a] silver dollar was flung from someone in the congregation which struck in the hole. Brother Kimball said that was an omen that we should have plenty of money to build the Temple.”

Students in the early-morning seminary classes in Irvine California used the Old Testament to inspire a service project. When they read the account of Elisha helping Naaman be cured of leprosy, they decided to find out about the disease. They were surprised to discover that between 11 and 15 million people still suffer from leprosy today. They also found out that the World Health Organization has approved a drug that has a 99 percent cure rate for leprosy. The drug treatments cost $150 per person.
The students knew what they wanted to do. They organized a read-a-thon, where sponsors promised to pay them for each book they read in the Old Testament. Their goal was to raise $150 to pay for one child’s treatment. But enthusiasm grew, and at the end of their project they had raised $1,100, enough to provide treatment for seven children.

Twelve-year-old Tim, ten-year-old Jake, and eight-year-old Jill closed their books for the day.
“Awesome history lesson, Mom,” Jake said.
“Totally!” Jill said. Mom made history so fun. It was Jill’s favorite subject.
“Thanks, kids,” Mom said as she gathered up her teaching supplies. “You’re all doing great. Your teachers next year are going to be so impressed with you, I just know it.”
Jill’s stomach did a little somersault. With the new baby coming, Mom had decided she would be too busy to teach homeschool next year.
“I’ll miss having you as my teacher,” Jill said.
Mom put a hand on Jill’s shoulder. “I’ll miss being your teacher too, sweetheart. But I’m still your mom.” She grinned. “And a mom is always a teacher!”
As Jill got ready for bed that night, she thought about what Mom had said. A mom is always a teacher.
Jill had never really thought much about it before. Mom had worked so hard. Right then and there Jill decided to somehow give Mom a gigantic “Thank you!” for being her teacher. It would have to be something special. But how should she do it? She prayed for help.
Several days later Jill still hadn’t thought of the perfect way to show thanks for Mom. She thanked her out loud all the time. But she wanted to do something more.
“You kids have done so well,” Mom said. “You’re definitely ready to graduate from homeschool.”
Jill’s hand froze in place, her pencil hovering above her paper. A fabulous idea popped into her head. Graduate! They could throw Mom a surprise graduation party! Mom would love it. It was the perfect way to say thank you.
Jill told Tim and Jake her plan. They soon began working to throw a great surprise party.
Jill had a hard time focusing on math the next day. She kept picturing Mom’s face when they surprised her.
Finally it was time to put their books away. When Mom turned around to wipe the chalkboard, Jill gave a thumbs-up to Tim and Jake to show that it was time. As quietly as possible they pulled out the secret party supplies they had hidden under their desks.
“Surprise!” they all yelled as Mom turned around. Jill ran over and gave Mom a rolled-up paper that she’d tied carefully with a ribbon. She’d worked hard on that homemade diploma.
“What’s all this?” Mom asked with a laugh. Tim put a graduation hat made of black construction paper on her head.
“It’s a graduation party!” said Jake. “From all of us.”
Jill gave Mom a big hug. “We wanted to thank you for being such a great teacher.”
“Happy graduation!” Jill and her brothers all shouted. Tim pulled out a party noisemaker and blew it loudly. “Come into the kitchen!” he said. “It’s time to get this party started.”
Mom laughed again and adjusted the graduation hat on her head. Then she followed Tim and Jake into the kitchen for the treats they’d planned.
Jill felt good inside. They had made Mom happy.
Next school year was going to be great, Jill decided. And if she ever had homework questions, she knew just who to ask for help. With a huge smile, Jill ran into the kitchen to join the party.