Gospel Story Finder

Nathan’s fingers smashed the buttons on the controller. He was so close to beating this level! He stared at the TV while his rocket ship dodged the green blasts.
“Nathan, time for dinner!” Mom called.
Bam! Nathan’s ship got hit. Nathan groaned. Now he’d have to restart. But he knew he could beat this level if he tried just one more time.
Dad came into the room. “Did you hear Mom? It’s time to eat.”
Nathan sighed and paused the game. He and Dad sat down with the rest of the family. Nathan ate his food as fast as he could. He wanted to get back to his game.
“Thanks! That was good.” He jumped up from the table.
“Slow down, buddy,” Dad said. “Mom and I want to talk with you.”
Uh-oh. Was Nathan in trouble?
When everyone else was done, Mom and Dad stayed at the table with Nathan.
“We’ve noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time playing video games,” Dad said.
Nathan squirmed. “They’re really fun.”
“That’s true,” Mom said. “But other things are fun too. We missed you yesterday when we were playing games as a family. We always have more fun when you’re with us!”
Nathan had been working on an awesome bonus level last night. By the time he beat it, his family was done playing games. He felt kind of sad he missed it.
Nathan frowned. “Does this mean I’m not allowed to play video games anymore?”
“We’re not saying that,” Dad said. “We just want you to be more aware of how much time you spend on them. And to make sure they’re not keeping you from other important things, like chores and homework and scripture study.”
Nathan looked down. “I guess I have been falling behind on some stuff.”
“We’re sure you can figure out how to find a better balance,” Dad said.
“Could you help me?” Nathan asked.
Mom smiled. “Of course.”
Together, Nathan, Mom, and Dad decided how much video game time Nathan should have each day. Then they came up with a plan. They would put a poster of a stoplight next to the TV. If Nathan could stop playing when Mom and Dad called him, the stoplight would go on yellow. If they had to ask him more than once, it would go on red. And if he could stop on his own before they asked, it would go on green.
Each night before bedtime, they would talk about how Nathan did that day. If the stoplight was on red, he would have less time to play the next day. But if it stayed on green, Mom and Dad would take him to the space museum!
Nathan knew it would be hard to change his habits. But he was ready for the challenge.
For the first few days, the stoplight stayed on yellow. Then Nathan messed up, and it had to go to red. He wanted to try extra hard next time. So the next day, he set an alarm so he would know how long he’d been playing. Finally, he made it to green!
After a few days of green, Mom and Dad took him to the space museum. Nathan stared up at a giant rocket. It looked like the one in his game, but even cooler. He grinned. It was fun to be here with Mom and Dad. He wanted to see how long he could stay on green!
This story took place in the USA.

I couldn’t help looking back. My feet were moving one way and my heart the other. Through my tears I could see Mama still standing on the porch. She was getting smaller with each step I took.
So many times I had asked her, “Must I be the one to go, Mama? I am only eleven years old. Are you sure I can do it all by myself?” And each time she reassured me. Yes, I was the one to go. And yes, this was Heavenly Father’s way for me to reach Zion. With Mama praying for me, I knew I shouldn’t doubt.
Mama wanted awfully bad to go west with the Saints. She had no money for such a great undertaking, but she was a woman of faith and knew that her prayers would be answered.
Then Mama found a way for me to go. An elderly blind lady needed a companion to help her walk across the many, many miles of hazardous terrain to the mountains of Utah. So that is how I came to leave my mother and my family and cross the plains without them.
When I left, tears were streaming down my face. With all the courage I could muster, I clasped hands with the blind lady and walked away.
My blurry eyes became her eyes. I guided her with my sight; she guided me with the wisdom of her years. Together we walked every step of the way through the dust and the dirt of the crude trails. After many long, tiring days, and weeks, and months, we made it!

“One cow in our team was very intelligent. In fact, she was so bright that she used to hide in the willows to keep from being yoked up but when father found her and yoked her she was a good worker and a good milker. She got very lame at one time and could scarcely travel. My parents were very much worried, having already lost one. They were afraid they could not keep up with the company, and so Mother said she would make a poultice and put it on as soon as the cow laid down for the night. She made a very large one that covered all over the lame hip. Well, the next morning, when father went to get the cows up he called out, ‘Why, Mother, you have poulticed the wrong hip.’ Mother said, ‘Never mind. It’s all right. It has gone clear through.’ And sure enough she [the cow] limped very little that day, and was soon as well as ever. I know there was a great deal of faith mixed up with that poultice.”

When I contemplate living honorably, my thoughts inevitably turn to Brother Gustav Wacker. I met Brother Wacker when I served as president of the Canadian Mission in Eastern Canada. He was president of the Kingston Branch of that mission. He was from Germany and spoke English with a thick accent. He never owned or drove a car. He was a barber by trade, making but little money cutting hair near an army base at Kingston.

How Brother Wacker loved the missionaries! The highlight of his day would be when he had the privilege to cut the hair of a missionary. Never would there be a charge. When the missionaries would make a feeble attempt to pay him, Brother Wacker would say, “Oh no, it is a joy to cut the hair of a servant of the Lord.” Indeed, he would reach deep into his pockets and give the missionaries all of his tips for the day. If it were raining, as it often did in Kingston, President Wacker would call a taxi and send the missionaries to their apartment by cab, while he himself at day’s end would lock the small shop and walk home alone in the driving rain.

I first met Gustav Wacker when I noticed that his tithing was far in excess of that expected from his potential income. My efforts to explain to him that the Lord required no more than a tenth fell on attentive but unconvinced ears. He simply responded that he loved to pay all he could to the Lord. It amounted to about a third of his income. His dear wife felt exactly as he did. Their unique manner of tithing payment continued. Gustav and Margarete Wacker established a home that was a heaven. They were not blessed with children, but they mothered and fathered the young missionaries who loved to visit them. Men of learning and men of experience sought out this humble man of God and counted themselves fortunate if they could spend an hour with him. His appearance was ordinary, his English was halting and somewhat difficult to understand, his home was unpretentious. He did none of the things to which the world usually pays attention, yet the faithful beat a path to his door. Why? Because they wished to drink this “fountain of truth.”

It was not so much what he said as what he did; not the substance of the sermons he preached but the strength of the life he lived. He had the glow of goodness and the ­radiance of righteousness. His strength came from obedience. In their later years, Brother and Sister Wacker served a proselyting mission to their native Germany and later a temple mission in the beautiful Washington D.C. Temple. Then, in 1983, his mission in mortality concluded: dressed in his white temple suit, Gustav Wacker peacefully passed away in the Washington D.C. Temple while being held in the loving arms of his eternal companion. He had felt a bit faint, and the two of them found a sofa there in the temple, where they sat down just before he slipped away. He had not laid up for himself treasures on earth; rather, he had laid up for himself treasures in heaven (see Matthew 6:19–20).

I have experienced many opportunities. One occurred 21 years ago, prior to the time when the German Democratic Republic—or East Germany, as it was more commonly known—was freed from Communist rule. I was visiting with the East German state secretary, Minister Gysi. At that time our temple at Freiberg, in East Germany, was under construction, along with two or three meetinghouses. Minister Gysi and I visited on a number of subjects, including our worldwide building program. He then asked, “Why is your church so wealthy that you can afford to build buildings in our country and throughout the world? How do you get your money?”
I answered that the Church is not wealthy but that we follow the ancient biblical principle of tithing, which principle is reemphasized in our modern scripture. I explained also that our Church has no paid ministry and indicated that these were two reasons why we were able to build the buildings then under way, including the beautiful temple at Freiberg.
Minister Gysi was most impressed with the information I presented, and I was very grateful I was able to answer his questions.
The opportunity to declare a truth may come when we least expect it. Let us be prepared.

One of the most beautiful modern-day examples of meekness that I am aware of is that of Brother Moses Mahlangu. His conversion began in 1964, when he received a copy of the Book of Mormon. He was fascinated as he read this book, but it was not until the early ’70s that he saw an LDS Church sign on a building in Johannesburg, South Africa, as he was walking down a street. Brother Mahlangu was intrigued and entered the building to learn more about the Church. He was kindly told that he could not attend the services or be baptized because the country’s laws did not allow it at that time.

Brother Mahlangu accepted that decision with meekness, humility, and without resentment, but he continued to have a strong desire to learn more about the Church. He asked the Church leaders if they could leave one of the meetinghouse windows open during the Sunday meetings so he could sit outside and listen to the services. For several years, Brother Mahlangu’s family and friends attended church regularly “through the window.” One day in 1980 they were told that they could attend church and also be baptized. What a glorious day it was for Brother Mahlangu.

Later the Church organized a branch in his neighborhood in Soweto. This was possible only because of the determination, courage, and faithfulness of people like Brother Mahlangu who remained faithful for so many years under difficult circumstances.

One of Brother Mahlangu’s friends, who had joined the Church at the same time, recounted this story to me when I visited the Soweto stake. At the end of our conversation, he gave me a hug. At that moment, brothers and sisters, I felt as if I was encircled in the Savior’s loving arms. Meekness emanated from this good brother’s eyes. With a heart full of goodness and deep gratitude, he asked if I could just tell President Thomas S. Monson how grateful and blessed he and many others were for having the true gospel in their lives. Brother Mahlangu and his friend’s example of meekness truly influenced many lives for good—especially mine.

A story is told of the son of King Louis the Sixteenth of France. As a young man, he was kidnapped by evil men when they dethroned the king. For six months, he was exposed to every evil thing that life had to offer, yet he never buckled under the pressure. This puzzled his captors, and they asked him why he had such great moral strength. His reply was simple: “I cannot do what you ask, for I was born to be a king.”*

Elder Haight’s family and the Church were important to him, even more so after an experience he had while serving in the U.S. Navy during World War II. One night, while flying over the Pacific Ocean on his way from California to Hawaii, he looked out the plane’s window and saw flames coming out of an engine. “It was spewing so much fire that I thought the plane was on fire, which caused me great concern. I wondered about my family, whether I would see them again,” he recalled.

David couldn’t sleep that night, so he prayed. “I made a commitment to the Lord that if I got out of the war alive and back with my family, the Church would always come first in my life. … Before then it seemed to me that I didn’t have my priorities in proper order. That night I reappraised my life and recommitted myself to the Lord.”5

The plane arrived safely, and Elder Haight kept his commitment to the end of his life.

James: Cristi has this Christlike ability to see the good in others. She has a deep testimony of her Savior and a great desire to do missionary work.

Cristi: I remember trying to bargain with the Lord. For a while, it was like, “Come on, heal me. I want to gather Israel!” I tried to boss God around, but it didn’t work. Then I thought, “OK, my name, Cristi, means ‘follower of Christ.’ While I’m still here, I want to bring as many souls to Christ as I can.

James: And that led to another prompting.

Cristi: I started doing a social media message each day, a little message of hope and love. I called it “It’s a Great Day to Be Alive.” People started hearing about it. My sister-in-law was an atheist, but she said, “Will you start sending me your messages?” Over time she became a believer, and now she’s a member of the Church. And my brother started reading the messages. They helped him to find faith again. Now he’s active in the Church.

James: I was traveling a lot for work, going to small towns in Texas and Georgia. Cristi often went with me. We’d meet people we wanted to stay in touch with, and she would say, “Can I send you one of my messages? Then you can decide if you want to keep receiving them.”

Cristi: The number of people who wanted my messages kept growing. Now there are about 200. Some are Church members; some are not. For a long time, I sent out a thought every day, but now that’s getting harder and harder. I think the messages will be like a little history. When I’m gone, my family and friends will still have my witness about what I know is true.

Dave hurried up the last stretch of the grassy hill. Another gust of cold December wind brushed past him, but he didn’t mind. The oak tree at the top of the steep hill just had to have some mistletoe in its branches. He had a big Christmas surprise to pull off! And he needed to collect lots of mistletoe to do it.
But his pillowcase wasn’t even half full yet, and he’d been out hiking the hills with Dad all morning.
“Do you see any?” Dad asked from behind him on the trail.
Dave ran to the oak tree and peered up into its branches. There were no leaves this time of year, which made it easy to see that the branches were completely bare. There was no mistletoe growing in this tree.
“No mistletoe,” Dave said. He slumped down against the tree and sighed. This was taking forever! He thought mistletoe would be easier to find.
“Too bad,” Dad said. But then he smiled. “At least we’re up here in this clean air, enjoying some great exercise.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Dave said. Then he looked around. Green hills covered with nothing but grass and trees spread out in all directions. “Whoa! This view is awesome. Look! There’s the lake! I can’t believe we can see it this far away.”
Dad faced the direction of the lake. “You’re right! What a beautiful day to be outside.”
Dad eyed Dave’s pillowcase. “How are you holding up? Should we call it a day, or do you want to keep searching? You already have more mistletoe than I’ve ever seen in one place before.”
There was no question in Dave’s mind. He had something special planned for Mom and Dad. He needed to fill his pillowcase to the very top. “I want to keep going.”
Dad laughed and stretched his arms over his head. “This secret project of yours must be pretty special. All right. I love a good hike. Where do you want to try next?”
Dave spun in a slow circle. “How about that group of trees?” he said, pointing to the next big hill over. It would probably take them another hour to reach those trees, but there were a whole bunch of them together. He never would have noticed if they hadn’t climbed this huge hill.
“Sounds great to me,” Dad said. “If we get a move on, I’ll bet we can get there in time to eat lunch.”
They talked and laughed as they climbed down one hill and up the next. Dave loved going on adventures like this with Dad. Even the hike up the next hill didn’t seem so hard.
“You know, I think those trees have some extra shadows in their branches,” Dad said as they got closer. “This might be your lucky hill.”
Dave ran the last stretch again. Before he even reached the trees, he knew they’d hit the jackpot. “Yes!” he yelled. “We did it!” The limbs were full of mistletoe. He climbed a tree and started clipping mistletoe off the branches. Moving on to the next tree he continued filling his pillowcase while Dad got their lunches out.
“Congratulations,” Dad said as he handed Dave a peanut butter sandwich. “I have no clue what you have planned for all that stuff, but you sure have a lot of it!”
Two weeks later, Dave grinned as he wrapped the special Christmas presents he’d picked out for Mom and Dad—presents he’d paid for by selling mistletoe to Christmas shoppers at the mall. He’d planned this for months.
“Mission accomplished,” Dave said. Not only had he and Dad enjoyed a super fun adventure, now Dave couldn’t wait to see Mom and Dad’s faces Christmas morning! He loved making them smile.

Bravery is a trait every young man can develop. It is based on love for others more than safety for self. One Venturer Scout who is blind signed up to go on a hike in southern California with his Scout troop. They hiked to Lord Baden Powell Peak over a steep trail. The young man held on to the shirt of a fellow Boy Scout every step of the way. It was a long hike and took two full days. This boy did not complain, did not seek pity, just kept grinding on and on until they came to the trail’s end. Equally as brave was the Scout who volunteered to lead his friend over a steep and challenging trail. He felt honored to help.

Permit one other little story in this connection. A man was putting up a sign in a window: “Puppies for Sale.” Before he had driven the last nail there was a small boy standing at his side. That kind of sign seems to attract small boys. The youngster wanted to know how much the puppies were going to cost. The man told him that they were very good dogs and that he did not expect to let any of them go for less than thirty-five to fifty dollars. There was a look of disappointment and then a question, “I got $2.37. Could I look at them?” The man whistled and called, “Lady.” Out of the kennel and down the runway came Lady, followed by four or five little balls of fur and one lagging considerably behind. The boy spotted the lagger and, pointing, asked, “What’s wrong with him?” The reply was that the veterinarian had said that there was no hip socket in the right hip and that the dog would always be lame. The boy’s immediate rejoinder was “That’s the one I want to buy. I’ll give you $2.37 and 50¢ a month until I get him paid for.” The man smiled and shook his head. “That’s not the dog you want. That dog will never be able to run, jump, and play with you.” The boy very matter-of-factly pulled up his little trouser leg and revealed a brace running down both sides of his badly twisted leg and under the foot, with a leather cap coupled over the knee. “I don’t run so well myself,” he said, “and he’ll need somebody that understands.”

My journey started when I was introduced to the Church in 2015 by my son (who is a graduate student in Texas), while he was visiting Kolkata. It was then that I had received my first Book of Mormon in Bengali and had the opportunity to visit the Relief Society president of our Kolkata Branch. Soon enough, I started taking lessons through Skype from the elders in the India New Delhi Mission. On 18 June 2016, my daughter and I became the newest members of our Kolkata Branch. My son was present to baptize us.
It was the beginning of a new chapter in my life, an experience that has left a profound impact since. The promise of baptism is the first step to join the fold of our Heavenly Father’s covenant children and it consists of our being willing to obey all of God’s commandments. Just as we immerse ourselves backwards into the waters of baptism, it provides us a chance to revisit our old life; and to cleanse ourselves of all our past sins and transgressions. And as we come forward out of the water, it is as if we have our eyes fixed onto our future: to receive eternal life. Receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost is the immediate essential step toward this eternal progression. We are promised guidance, protection and knowledge about the truth through promptings and feelings, that can come from the continual presence of the Holy Ghost in our lives. The Book of Mormon describes the Holy Ghost as the “Comforter (that) filleth with hope and perfect love, which love endureth by diligence unto prayer, until the end shall come, when all the saints shall dwell with God” (Moroni 8:26).

I became aware that I was attracted to men as a teenager. I didn’t know what to do with my feelings or how to talk about them, so I just buried them for a long time.
I was too afraid to acknowledge that this was a part of my life. I felt that if I just continued to keep the commandments, pray, read my scriptures, and go to the temple and if I served a mission, God would somehow miraculously take these feelings away from me.
While all those practices did help establish my testimony of the restored gospel and of God and Jesus Christ, my attractions didn’t change. Eventually, through a lot of deep soul-searching, praying, and skilled therapy, I became closer to Them, learned to truly understand and feel Their love and mercy, and learned to work through my attractions while keeping my covenants.

If you had told me I would be standing inside a temple sealing room at only 17 years old, I would have laughed. No, wedding bells didn’t chime, but there I was, inside the sealing room of the house of the Lord. It’s amazing how life has a way of turning out.
In January 1995 my second baby brother was born. We called him Michael Jon Loveland. He was beautiful with tiny hands, an adorable little nose, and eyes you couldn’t stop smiling at. There was an instant connection between us.
As I looked around the hospital room at my mom, dad, older sister, and two younger brothers, I remember thinking nothing could ever change the serenity I then felt knowing that this was my family. This was the family I would be spending eternity with.
In the weeks that followed, however, it became clear that something wasn’t right. My mother began noticing things about Michael Jon that only a mother could notice. Her concerns were soon justified only a few weeks later.
I can still clearly remember the night my parents reluctantly told us the news. I’m still not sure how they managed to get it out, but somehow through tears and quiet sobs, we soon discovered what the problem had been. Michael Jon, my new infant brother, had been diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor.
The days that followed are now fairly hazy. I can’t even begin to describe the countless emotions that ran through me. Fear, confusion, anger. How could this be? He was only six weeks old! How could something so vile and destructive be inside my baby brother, so beautiful and pure?
The doctors said he had weeks, maybe a month. After prayerful consideration, my parents decided that bringing Michael home would be the best decision. In order to do this, however, my parents would need to be trained and aided by a team of home doctors and nurses who provided hospice care.
Having Michael spend time at home, as opposed to the hospital, was a quiet blessing in more ways than one. I still have fond memories of silently going into his room at night and just holding him, holding and rocking the small miracle that God had placed in our lives and would just as quickly be taking away. But aside from the fact that we all got to spend time with him, there was another small miracle that was slowly taking place.
The rest of my story, however, generally revolves around one of the hospice nurses in charge of taking care of Michael. As the weeks passed and Michael’s health began taking a dramatic plunge, she was constantly at our house, doing everything she could to relieve the strain my parents were feeling.
In April 1995, on my mom’s birthday, which was also Easter Sunday that year, Michael’s last day came. It’s one of the few times in my life that I have ever seen my father cry. It seemed so unreal! Yet this valiant spirit had slipped in and out of our lives in only three months. The impact his life had left, however, will never be forgotten.
At the time, though, it still seemed pointless. Why would Heavenly Father allow Michael to go through such tremendous amounts of pain and suffering? It all seemed so unfair. I had lost my baby brother, and all for what? I would never get to tease him about his first-grade crush, never get to congratulate him on making the high school baseball team, and never write letters while he served a mission. But, oh, how shortsighted earth life can leave us. At the time, I could not even fathom the remarkable mission Michael had already been called to serve.
With Michael gone, it was time the team of hospice nurses moved on. For whatever reason, however, my mother and the head nurse remained in contact, frequently bumping into each other at the grocery store or other activities. Of course, it was viewed as merely coincidence.
Then it happened, one of those rare occasions when you can actually step back and see the pieces begin to fall into place. Two years after Michael’s death, my mother received a call from the hospice nurse. Due to some unusual circumstances, two of her grandchildren were in need of a stable home.
I came home from Mutual to find a new baby girl, only 10 weeks old, lying on the sofa. “Where did she come from? How long will she be staying?” Within the next four weeks, we received her brother. Two children had suddenly been dropped into our lives without certainty as to how long they would be staying. Well, five years later, that question was answered. They’ll be staying for eternity.
We ended up adopting both David and Candace in February 2002, and five months later I found myself stepping inside the sealing room of the Idaho Falls temple. The temple sealing was incredible. Words can hardly describe the spirit that was present. I couldn’t stop crying as I witnessed David and Candace sealed to our family for all of time and eternity. I have no doubt that Michael was there as well. After all, had Michael not been born into our family, we never would have had these two children introduced into our lives.
It’s amazing how life has a way of turning out. “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1). Even the hardest trials are placed in our lives to serve as an anchor to strengthen us. We just need to have the faith and courage to endure to the end, trusting in the Lord.

Russell carefully packed his two pencils and his notebook in his schoolbag. He combed his hair and checked to make sure his clothes looked nice. After giving his mom a hug good-bye, he ran to the bus stop. He felt like he would burst if the bus didn’t come soon. He was excited to start school for the first time.
Every year, Russell had watched his older brothers and sisters walk to the bus stop, where they got on the bus for school. He wanted to ride the bus with them. Even more, he wanted to learn the things they did. He wanted to learn more about dinosaurs. He wanted to know how trains worked. He wanted to learn to read. He just knew he was going to like school.
Russell’s teacher, Mrs. Wilson, smiled when he walked into the classroom. She showed Russell where his desk was. She also showed him where to hang his schoolbag.
“Maybe we’ll learn about dinosaurs first,” Russell thought.
“Welcome to school,” Mrs. Wilson said. “We’re going to introduce ourselves and tell something about ourselves.”
Russell frowned. “Well, we should get to know everyone,” he thought. “Maybe we’ll learn about dinosaurs afterward.”
When it was Russell’s turn to introduce himself, he said, “I’m Russell. I am excited to learn everything—especially about trains and dinosaurs.”
“That’s great, Russell,” Mrs. Wilson said. Russell smiled. He was sure they’d be learning about trains and dinosaurs soon.
But they didn’t. They ate a snack and played with blocks shaped like circles, triangles, and squares.
“Mrs. Wilson, when are we going to learn about dinosaurs and trains?” Russell asked.
“Not right now, Russell,” she said. “Now it’s time to read a story.”
“Is it about dinosaurs?”
“No, Russell.”
After the story they learned about the alphabet. Then it was time to go home.
Russell was mad.
He frowned out the window on the bus. He ran home from the bus stop and stormed through the front door. He ran into his room and buried his head in a blanket.
Mom came in and put her hand on Russell’s head. “How was your first day?” she asked.
“Terrible. I’m never going to learn anything, and I’m not going back. All we did today was play with blocks and read stories.”
“Well, Russell, it’s just your first day,” Mom said.
Russell sat up and looked at Mom. “I want to learn about dinosaurs and trains and reading—now.”
Mom sat next to Russell on the bed. “You can’t learn everything at once. Learning takes time. And the more you learn now, the more you’ll be able to learn later.”
“What do you mean?” Russell asked.
“Well, you need to learn the alphabet before you can learn to read. And you need to learn to read before you can read about the things you’re interested in,” she said.
Russell thought about it. Maybe there were other things to learn about than only dinosaurs and trains. “Well, I guess I’ll try school again tomorrow,” he said.
Mom smiled at him.
“But, Mom, do you think we could get a book from the library about dinosaurs?”
“I definitely think we can do that.”

When I was a young man, my home was on Long Island about 30 miles from New York City. My father had a large yard with hedges, rock gardens, a fish pool, a vegetable garden, lawns, and trees. They all required regular care. There were always chores, like cutting the lawn in the summer and raking leaves in the autumn.
I thought we worked pretty hard taking care of our yard, but one day my father said to me, “You’re never going to learn how to work until you go out and work on the ranch with your Uncle Frank.” So I spent that summer in Skull Valley near Tooele, Utah, learning how to work.
I had grown up near a large city. Ranch life was an education for me. I was impressed to see the cattle and the horses and the hard work necessary to bring about the harvest. I can remember the feelings when I first realized that an enormous amount of preparation was necessary before the crops were brought in. We had to plow, harrow, plant, cultivate, weed, irrigate, and then continue to cultivate, weed, and irrigate, endlessly it seemed. That summer is a cherished part of my heritage because it was there, in this almost desolate, remote corner of the world, that I learned the law of the harvest.

I’m a Swedish reader of the New Era. It’s a super magazine, and I love to read every word of it. I got it from a friend in Provo, Utah, as a Christmas present, and now I can’t be without it for a single month. The Church has made me happier I’m feeling free. My life is much richer now. Even my mom says I’m always glad now and always help her when she needs help. Now I do my homework properly too. My English is getting much better now so I can write to my friends in Provo and read the New Era more easily! Right now I’m waiting for the August issue. I liked “There Is a Law” in the July issue. The message, “John and Mary, Beginning Life Together,” in the June issue has gone right into my heart, and I’ve read it over and over again! I’m still a nonmember, but I think I’ll soon be ready for baptism. May God bless you.
Marie JonssonSundbyberg, Sweden

It’s November, but in Nevada it’s still hot. Hot enough that most teenage boys would rather be inside than sweating out a Saturday morning service project.
Why are these young men braving the burning desert sun? It’s not for the free can of soda pop. What began as a project to fill a Duty to God requirement, became a lesson in the joy of service.
For one of their activities, the young men in the Desert Breeze Ward, Las Vegas Nevada Lakes Stake, came to the aid of recent convert, Kyoko Fuller, an 82-year-old widow who speaks mostly Japanese.
The young men cut dried-out fronds from three neglected palm trees behind her house, stripped away the overgrown bark, and hauled off the piles of dead growth.
“How much I pay?” she asked when the young men told her they’d clean up her yard and take care of the palm trees. “Oh no,” she said when they told her it was free. “I pay how much?” They didn’t take any money, but they enjoyed the drinks she offered after they had worked under the desert sun for two hours.
“This was fun,” says Matt Erickson, a teacher. “Kyoko’s great, and it was fun to help her out. The work was kind of hard, but it went fast.”

As a mission president I emphasized to the missionaries the necessity of developing faith, determination, and courage. How successful I was is illustrated in the case of Elder Smith. Sister Richards and I met Elder Smith six years after he was released from his mission, and he told us the following story. He was seeking employment in a stock brokerage firm in Salt Lake and, after being interviewed in Salt Lake, was sent to the company’s headquarters in San Francisco. In San Francisco there were two persons interviewing him, a young man and an older man with a big cigar in his mouth. The older man, who seemed to be the one with the authority, told Elder Smith he understood that he had been on a mission for his church. Elder Smith said he had. The man then asked, “What kind of a missionary were you?”
Elder Smith answered, “The best missionary in the mission.”
The man was so startled by this forthright answer he almost dropped his cigar. He said, “If you were the best missionary in the mission, you’re hired right now.” Elder Smith had learned to apply the principles of faith, courage, and determination in his life.