Gospel Story Finder

They also enjoy playing music together. Naomi plays the drums, and Natascha plays the fife. They practice playing musical instruments with bands of children, or cliquen, all year long and then perform in February. That’s when Swiss people celebrate carnival for three days, symbolically scaring away winter and welcoming spring. Natascha and Naomi wear costumes and parade through the streets of Basel playing their music.

His father took a deep breath and began to speak: “I knew a boy once who stood up a girl. He was a senior, like you. She was a junior. It was a hayride for a girls’ glee club. She asked him to go, and he accepted—reluctantly.
“First of all he felt quite superior to the girl. He was an athlete and rather popular. She was shy and a little homely. Her complexion wasn’t good. She wore braces and glasses. For two weeks he thought of how he might get out of his commitment. Well, the night of the hayride he had a bit of a cold. Nothing serious. He had gone to school, but he rationalized that he was too sick to go on a hayride.
“Half an hour before the date he called her and cancelled. He tried to sound sick, but she wasn’t fooled, even though she did accept his excuse graciously. He went to bed to at least give his excuse a semblance of truth. But he didn’t sleep. He had lied, and he knew it; he knew that there were some girls who could have asked him and he would have made the date regardless.
“At 11 o’clock that evening he got out of bed and went over and apologized to her. I know for a fact that it was the most difficult thing he had ever done up to that point. I also know for a fact that he never regretted doing it.”
They were both pensively silent for several minutes, each content to be alone with his own thoughts. Finally his father sighed. “You know that boy I told you about earlier?” he asked. Trevor nodded. “Well, he forgot about that girl—for a little while anyway.” He smiled. “After his mission and two years of college, he saw her again. She had changed.” He chuckled, leaned back, and stared up at the ceiling. “She had shed her braces and glasses, and her complexion had improved. She wasn’t the same girl. In fact, he didn’t even recognize her at first. He wanted to ask her out, but he didn’t dare. He was afraid she would remember. She was in demand then. Finally he built up his courage and asked her out, hoping all along that she wouldn’t remember that night five years earlier. She did though, but she accepted anyway. She told him later—after they were engaged to be married—that it was because he had gone to her home that evening and apologized that she accepted his date later. She said she knew how much courage it must have taken and she always respected him for that.”
Trevor smiled and glanced slyly at his father. “I think I know that boy.”
“Which boy?” his father asked with mock surprise.
“The boy you’re talking about.”
His father smiled, pushed himself to his feet, stepped up to his son, and put his arm over his shoulders. “Yes,” he said with a smile, “I think you do know him. I believe he married your mother.”

In his years as a widower my father had suffered financial misfortunes, so at the time of his marriage to my mother he was practically without money. Disabilities from a serious automobile accident made it impossible for him to continue his profession as a printer, so he took several less profitable jobs one after another. Yet he never hesitated to pay his tithes and offerings. Sometimes he wore secondhand suits instead of the finely tailored suits he had worn in earlier years; but eventually, with careful saving and considerable sacrifice, he and my mother were able to purchase a simple home and begin saving for retirement.
Even during this difficult financial period, whenever the bishop asked for budget or building funds, I noticed that my father would often pay a few dollars more than the bishop requested. My father had served as a bishop for several years and knew there was a great need for the money. “You can never give more to the Lord than the Lord gives you,” he would say smiling in a way that showed he knew what he said was true.

Such forgiveness not only brings the promised blessings of peace, but it strengthens our faith in the Savior. And as we feel His healing power in our own lives, we naturally draw closer to Him. In my own case, I have had the blessings of forgiveness again brought into sharp focus just recently. For several years I had a business partner, in what I thought was a successful business with a fixed limit on the financial risk involved. Unbeknown to me, the business was not succeeding and my partner was hiding the losses by inappropriately circumventing the loan limits set by the bank. This all came to light after we returned from our mission, and we found ourselves suddenly having a loan called by the bank that was five times what we understood to be the loan limit.

You can imagine the lack of peace Margaret and I suddenly felt! For a few weeks, we were extremely distraught. It was hard to think about anything else. But through a series of invitations from the Lord, that experience became a wonderful blessing as sadness and frustration were replaced by faith and peace.

At the time, I was not thinking of forgiveness. I was thinking of survival. But I'm grateful that the Lord knew and loved us and was willing to guide us. First He inspired faithful friends to offer special Priesthood blessings. Second, He helped me find a lawyer, an accountant, and an operating manager who could represent us until we could sell the business. Third, He made it possible for us to quickly sell a long term investment and pay the partnership debt without losing our home or retirement. Fourth and finally, at the meeting where we settled our debt to the bank, the Lord revealed to me what would happen to my partner and his family if I did not take full responsibility for the debt and allow my former partner to continue fulfilling his duties as a husband and father.

With so many blessings from the Lord, I felt my heart softening and could see myself offering to fully forgive my former partner without delay, and experience even greater peace. That all happened three years ago. Since then we have periodically heard from the wonderful wife of this former partner, and each time have felt that special peace of knowing we have done what the Savior would have us do. In a recent letter from this dear mother, devoted wife, and daughter of God, we were again reminded of how grateful we were for the promptings of the Lord in that situation and that we acted on those. And it was indeed acting on them that brought such a sense of peace.

Unfortunately, there was a time in my life when I was motivated by titles and authority. It really began innocently. As I was preparing to serve a full-time mission, my older brother was made a zone leader in his mission. I heard so many positive things said about him that I couldn’t help but want those things said about me. I hoped for and may have even prayed for a similar position.
Thankfully, as I served my mission, I learned a powerful lesson. Last conference I was reminded of that lesson.
Perhaps my first lesson about truly good Saints without guile was learned when I was a young missionary. I moved into an area with an elder I didn’t know. I had heard other missionaries talk about how he had never received any leadership assignments and how he struggled with the Korean language despite having been in the country a long time. But as I got to know this elder, I found he was one of the most obedient and faithful missionaries I had known. He studied when it was time to study; he worked when it was time to work. He left the apartment on time and returned on time. He was diligent in studying Korean even though the language was especially difficult for him.
When I realized the comments I had heard were untrue, I felt like this missionary was being misjudged as unsuccessful. I wanted to tell the whole mission what I had discovered about this elder. I shared with my mission president my desire to correct this misunderstanding. His response was, “Heavenly Father knows this young man is a successful missionary, and so do I.” He added, “And now you know too, so who else really matters?” This wise mission president taught me what was important in service, and it wasn’t praise, position, power, honor, or authority. This was a great lesson for a young missionary who was too focused on titles.

Several years ago, President Gordon B. Hinckley attended a college football game. He was there to announce that the stadium would be named after the team’s longtime, beloved coach, who was about to retire. The team desperately wanted to win the game to honor their coach. President Hinckley was invited to visit the locker room and share some encouraging words. Inspired by his words, that team on that day went on to win that game and ended the season with a winning record.

Three months after we returned from our missions, a man killed my twin brother. My father and another brother were badly wounded in the same attack. We knew who did it, but he was never arrested. I learned what it was like to feel hate and want revenge. I even had dreams of hurting the man who had done this terrible thing. But the Lord had made clear what He expected of me:
“Ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin.
“I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men” (D&C 64:9–10).
With time and prayer, I did forgive that man. We all did.

My last two years of high school were hard. I had grand plans of preparing to attend a prestigious college. But that screeched to a halt when I started waking up every day and crying at the thought of going to school. I was soon diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety and encouraged to finish school online at home.
Adjusting to this new reality of remote education and depression felt isolating and soul crushing. While my friends seemed to be thriving and moving forward, I felt like I was being left behind.
So, I coped and escaped from my negative thoughts, emotions, and reality with media use.
Every spare moment, and even moments that weren’t spare, I would watch TV, scroll social media, or play video games—hoping for a never-ending distraction.
For me, behind all these behaviors was escapism—the desire to escape an unpleasant feeling or situation.
As Elder Kelly R. Johnson of the Seventy taught: “Discouragement often leads to distraction, or a lack of focus. Various distractions may lead to a lack of diligence. In our day, there are many distractions, including Twitter, TikTok, Instagram, and busy school and work schedules. Distractions can often be good things. The reality is that a distraction doesn’t have to be evil to be effective.”1
I was definitely trying to distract myself from my reality through media. But over time, after I had seemingly streamed every show—once, twice, even five times—all this media seemed to be losing its luster. My difficult feelings were suddenly catching up with me after I had avoided them for so long.
I had to decide—was this going to be my life? Constantly glued to screens? I didn’t want it to be.
But these habits were so ingrained in me that I felt like it was impossible to change, and I lacked a lot of motivation to do so. However, as I pleaded for help from Heavenly Father, the Spirit reminded me:
The Lord has the power to create lasting change in you.
Sister Rebecca L. Craven, Second Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency, has taught: “Through Jesus Christ, we are given the strength to make lasting changes. As we humbly turn to Him, He will increase our capacity to change.”2
I started making small efforts toward building better habits. Before turning to streaming, I would read the Book of Mormon and ponder a few chapters each day. I worked to magnify my calling. I served others, and I attended every social and Church activity I could. I also found help for my mental health with spiritual and temporal tools. My bishop referred me to a licensed therapist who understood my faith and my struggles; I followed social media accounts that posted about depression, anxiety, and self-care; and I painted my room brighter colors and opened my window more often.
I turned toward Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ through small means every day, praying that They could help me take charge of my circumstances. I felt Their power working through my actions over time. Every day it became easier to step away from my desires to escape through media. I was gaining more optimism for life.
Over time I graduated, moved out, got married, graduated college, and had two kids. New habits replaced my old ones and brought me closer to the Spirit and to the people I loved. I felt like “a new creature” (2 Corinthians 5:17).
However, I still need renewal through Christ. At times, I’m still tempted to lose myself in media. Who isn’t, when there is access to endless amounts of it in our pockets?
However, I now ask myself a few questions before indulging in media as I try to make my media usage more meaningful:
Do I have a purpose for watching or playing right now?
Can I use this media to connect with someone?
If I am trying to escape my feelings, what else can I do to work through my difficult feelings in a healthier way?
All in all, media use is not inherently bad. But we are counseled to be “temperate in all things” (Doctrine and Covenants 12:8). And Christ can help us use media intentionally to grow, to connect with loved ones, to access spiritual materials, to come closer to Him, and to help us tackle our challenges and become better—not just to escape.
I often remind myself of what He has done for me and what He can do again (and again) as I rely on His grace to build better habits. Through Him, we can face our challenges, be refined, and build a better and more meaningful reality.

My great-great-aunt Laura Clark Phelps was the first member of the Clark family who joined the Church. She was a woman who uniquely demonstrated a faith in the Lord that stands fast, nothing wavering.
Laura’s legacy teaches much about the doctrine of faith as “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” She received her patriarchal blessing from Joseph Smith Sr. In it she was counseled to be faithful and she would have an inheritance in Zion. She was further told to “call upon God in faith, and if thou wilt thou shall have all of the desires of thine heart.”
Laura and her husband knew the Prophet Joseph Smith. On one occasion, the Prophet and his brother Hyrum came running to their farm outside Far West, Missouri, where Laura hid them behind the clothes curtain. She calmly faced the mob leaders who rushed in shortly afterwards in search of the Prophet.
Laura experienced the joys and privations of the early Church members in this dispensation. Her faith deepened as she was driven from her homes and separated from her husband on various occasions. As an efficient midwife, she worked and traveled day and night in all kinds of weather to help provide for her family. This overexertion and exposure took their toll. She died at the young age of 34, leaving behind her husband and five children. She did not live to see her children, her grandchildren, or her great-grandchildren following her in faith. She did not experience the blessings of receiving her own temple endowment in this earth life, blessings I believe she would have cherished.
Laura’s faithful life bears witness of this verse from Hebrews: “These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off, and were persuaded of them, and embraced them, and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth.” Faith lived in Laura, and Laura lived her faith.

I would like to tell you the stories of three groups who really went forth to serve. The first story I want to share occurred in the fall of 2001. On September 11, I, like you, had a full schedule. When the World Trade Center and the Pentagon were attacked, I was on a leave of absence from Brigham Young University for the block, ready to return to Amman, Jordan, as cochair of a Middle Eastern international nursing conference and to complete a research project. Since I obviously could not go to Jordan, and I had no classes to teach, I was able to go to Washington, D.C., as a Red Cross disaster nurse.

Working there with other relief workers and the community at large was a Zion experience for me. I witnessed the selflessness of many people. Spontaneous acts of kindness abounded all around us. When we went shopping for items for our clients, store owners would not take our money, parking lot attendants refused to let us pay, and people approached us on the street to offer money or blood. Obviously we could take neither, but we gave them the addresses of local Red Cross chapters.

One of my roles was to work with burn patients and their families at Arlington Hospital, at Walter Reed Army Medical Center, and at Washington General. As I interviewed patients from the Pentagon and families connected to the events, I heard the heroic stories of dramatic rescues—some of which you saw on television. I watched as a small, dainty woman with two fractured legs was reunited with the young man who caught her when she jumped out of a two-story window. He received the greater of the injuries. I saw an uninjured survivor hug her rescuer, who had burns from the tips of her fingers to the tops of her shoulders. I watched survivors’ families support the families of those who had died. All the time I was there I thought of the scripture from Moses 7:18: “And the Lord called his people Zion, because they were of one heart and one mind, and dwelt in righteousness; and there was no poor among them.” When I looked up that scripture recently, I found a footnote that referred the reader to “unity” in the Topical Guide. Interestingly enough, the name of our operation at the Pentagon was Camp Unity.

As you know, people all over the United States pulled together during that terrible time. Schoolchildren sent thousands of cards and letters that we delivered to families and survivors. We shared the cards with them, and as tears welled up in their eyes, they remarked, “I can’t believe so many people care.” A feeling of unity pervaded the atmosphere as everyone worked together, relentlessly. As one seasoned firefighter put it, “We think we’re the ones who ‘make it all right.’ It didn’t take us many minutes to realize we couldn’t make this one all right.”

We held nightly nondenominational prayer meetings to help us make it better. Local Afghan Muslims organized an interfaith service at the Lincoln Memorial, where beautiful unifying messages were given by Muslim, Jewish, Christian, Hindu, and other religious leaders. As the darkness deepened, everyone sang “God Bless America” while group members carried a giant U.S. flag down to the reflecting pool and we held lighted candles aloft. In the shadow of the monument to a remarkable president who wanted to ensure freedom for all, the symbolism of this event did not escape us. No one wanted to leave when the service was over. We walked around chatting with people we had never met, hugging perfect strangers, and sharing our rich ethnic and cultural diversity. It was truly one moment in time when we felt a healing unity. Of such is Zion made.

One day I joined my siblings at the table to do our family scripture study. My mom started our Come, Follow Me lesson, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I was thinking about something else: Is Jesus really real?
In church and in Primary we learned that He is real, but I didn’t know for myself. I thought and thought, but I couldn’t find the answer.
After scripture study, I asked my mom, “Is Jesus real?”
“Good question,” she said. “How about you pray about it?”
“OK,” I said.
That night I said a prayer and asked, “Heavenly Father, is Your Son real?” Then I felt a really warm feeling inside. I knew God had answered my prayer. After that, I said a thank-you prayer to Heavenly Father for answering me. I know He listens to my prayers and that He will also listen to yours.

Later that summer, Nate attended a large scout camp. The final event of the camp was an obstacle course several miles long.

I was so excited to watch him run because now he was fast. I kept watching and watching, but I never saw him, and another boy won. The winner happened to be a good friend of my son. His friend was fast, but my son was really fast.

When I caught up with Nate, he said, "Sorry pops, I got so stressed before the race that I simply chose NOT to run." I told him, "It's alright. It happens."

Does this sound like any of us? Perhaps we hear about a great professor, but they are a hard grader, so we choose not to take their class. The only one that really loses is us.

My son's lack of participation was a great learning experience for both of us. We have had many discussions about that moment. We concluded to never let fear influence our decisions. You never know until you try, and if you don't try, you will never know.

Here's my boy gearing up to jump off a cliff in Africa. His mom was NOT happy. Perhaps, we had taken the fear discussion a little too far.

In 1938, during the middle of the Great Depression in the United States, my mother had just turned nineteen years old. She was the oldest of six children, with her youngest sibling having recently turned five. Her father, Leslie, was a sheepherder in the deserts of eastern Utah. The weather was hot and dry. One summer day in June, while Leslie was out tending the sheep, he became dehydrated and suffered from heat stroke. At age 41, he died suddenly, leaving his wife and six children with no husband and father and very little financial means. My mother did not understand why God would take her father when she felt the family needed him so desperately. She prayed and asked God why her father would die at that particular time.
My mother sought to learn from God why her father died when he was young and had a family that needed him so much during a time of great economic difficulty. The answer she received did not come quickly, but it did come. After studying the scriptures and praying for many days, her answer came in a dream. The answer was clear and brought peace and understanding to her soul.
I witness that Jesus Christ lives. He is the all-powerful Son of God. He knows us personally. He can guide and comfort us during times of uncertainty, pain, or fear if we listen to His words and seek to hearken and to heed what He tells us to do. I also witness that Jesus Christ directs His ordained servants and speaks through them. I have personally felt His clear direction in preparing messages for general conference.
As we listen to the messages during general conference—and seek to hearken and heed the words of Jesus Christ—He will speak to our hearts. He can and will help us to deal with temptation, struggles, and weakness. We can experience miracles in our marriages, family relationships, and daily work. Jesus Christ seeks to help us feel increased joy even if turbulence surrounds us. May we turn to Him and hearken and heed His words.

I have personally experienced, though only once, the exhilaration of a real balloon flight. It was during the exciting time immediately following World War II when in Holland, my native country, many public festivities were held to celebrate the regained liberty after five years of war. There were big parades, neighborhood dance festivals, and in some cities manned balloon flights to attract large crowds for yet other festive events.
A friend taught me a lot about ballooning in preparation for a flight that I was promised to be able to make as a guest, when at some future date the weather conditions would be suitable.
I learned that we would go up in a class A gas balloon filled with coal gas and that it would ascend until its weight would be in equilibrium with the air around it.
I also learned that in the wicker basket under the balloon there were navigational instruments, maps, and ballast sandbags, which could be emptied overboard to make the balloon rise higher.
Furthermore, I discovered that if gas is released from a balloon through a valve, it descends. But this was not all! I also heard from my friend many delightful stories about previous balloon flights. On one occasion, as the story goes, clouds developed unexpectedly during a flight, and the two men in the wicker basket had not the faintest idea over which part of the country they were sailing.
They decided to lower the balloon, and all of a sudden they saw a Dutchman walking on a lonely country road. When they were able to draw his attention, one of the men in the basket shouted: “Where are we?” And the lonely walker looked up, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted back, “You are in a balloon.”
To make their urgent request for direction more clear, the man in the balloon cried vigorously, “Where are you?” And the man called back at the top of his voice, “I am on the ground!”
Discouraged, the balloonists unloaded some ballast and sailed again into the clouds, while one of them remarked: “The man down there must be a bureaucrat.” The statements he made were perfectly true, but totally useless!
After what I have shared with you thus far, I have come to the conclusion that a strong parallel can be drawn between the steady rise of a balloon and our spiritual upward mobility.
Just as gas is necessary to fill a balloon to push it upward, so must the individual be filled with inner motivation in order to move upward. Just as the balloon can rise higher by throwing ballast overboard, so must a person be willing to rid himself of unnecessary ballast that limits his rise in spirituality.
When I made my balloon flight, strangely enough, I did not have the feeling that I was going up. I had the impression that I remained stationary, as it were, and the world floated silently away from me.
Later, when through the missionary effort I joined the Church, I gained as a new member that peaceful feeling of being safely placed in the environment of true gospel living and that Babylon had floated away from me. As it was expressed by an early European balloonist: “I felt as though I had left behind me, all the cares and passions that molest mankind.”
I testify that we all can have that peace of mind if we are willing to rid ourselves of the ballast that prevents us from rising to greater spiritual heights. It will facilitate our ascent to a loving Father in Heaven, who will, in his due time, await our return after our journey through life.
Let us, therefore, get rid of our sandbag of impatience and learn to be more patient with our spouses and children, our friends and neighbors, because the Lord has counseled us to “continue in patience until ye are perfected”! (D&C 67:13.)
And for those of you who do not know what the word patience really means, I offer a simple definition: Patience is learning to hide your impatience.
And how many of us still go through life with a ballast bag called criticism? We should, instead, give more praise wherever and whenever possible because we have been told and retold, “Cease to find fault one with another.” (D&C 88:124.) And let us in this respect also remember that the faults and shortcomings we see in the members of our own ward or branch are of less consequence to us than one of the smallest in ourselves.
Furthermore, do we still have a sandbag with unfriendliness in our basket, even though the Savior asks us to be friendly and loving? As he said: “Ye are they whom my Father hath given me; ye are my friends.” (D&C 84:63.)
While on our spiritual flight, let us totally empty our ballast bag of pride and be more humble in all things, always remembering the Savior’s glorious promise to all: “And inasmuch as you have humbled yourselves before me, the blessings of the kingdom are yours.” (D&C 61:37.)
And will we really ascend in our spiritual balloon if we are not prepared to dispose of our sandbag of greed? Living prophets have counseled us to pay an honest tithing and to give a generous fast offering; and, moreover, the scriptures reveal in a very candid way: “Wo unto [them] that [do] not give [of their] substance to the poor.” (D&C 56:16.) And, unfortunately, some people think they are being generous because they give so much free advice!
Finally, we must get rid of the heavy ballast of frustrations. All of us must discover in the wicker basket of our personal spiritual balloon those frustrations against which we continually have to be on guard. It was revealed unto us, and we have already heard it twice from this pulpit in this conference: “The works, and the designs, and the purposes of God cannot be frustrated, neither can they come to naught. … Remember that it is not the work of God that is frustrated, but the work of men.” (D&C 3:1, 3.)
The only way we can move upward from our present level of spirituality and performance to a higher level is by doing away with the ballast that holds us back. We have to learn to live the commandments, not only for our own good, but also for the good of other people because we reform others unconsciously when we keep the commandments of God and live the teachings of the Church. That’s another way of doing missionary work and lifting the spirituality of those around us.
Therefore, let’s start our flight today. If we are still at ground level, let’s cut the cords; and our rise will start immediately! However, even that will not ensure our continuous spiritual mobility. Our balloon will rise only so high and then will begin to stall. At that time we have to investigate what ballast we need to get rid of in order to rise even higher. If you find it hard to cut the cords, you will find it even harder to do away with the sandbags to lighten your load.
The balloon trip of our spiritual upward mobility is a demanding and sometimes difficult adventure, and only the person with true perseverance will make it to the highest realm!
In closing, after talking about flying, sailing, and rising, I would like to give some down-to-earth guidelines.
To those who are within the sound of my voice this day and who have already entered the wicker basket of their spiritual balloon through baptism into the kingdom of God but who are just sitting there, waiting inactively for things to happen, cut the cords that hold you back from lift-off.
To those who are quietly drifting at the same elevation with little upward mobility, take a close look at the ballast that prevents you from going to a higher level of performance. Make a decision and remove the restraining weight from your spiritual flight.
I give you a solemn promise that if you do this, you will enjoy a feeling of spiritual euphoria because you will elevate yourself.
I testify—as one who twenty-three years ago was baptized into the kingdom of God in Toronto, Canada—that my flight since my baptism has been a magnificent one, with breathtaking scenes and spiritual panoramas and with the never-failing knowledge that my day-to-day flight plan is made available to me by an understanding, loving, forgiving Heavenly Father.
The same is true for all of us! How do I know this? Because I know with all my heart that God lives and that Jesus is the Christ. He is the Savior of mankind, the great mediator for the salvation and exaltation of all of our Heavenly Father’s children, if they are willing to follow his outlined flight plan. Of which I testify this day, gratefully and happily, and in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The winter that year was the coldest it had been in that part of the country for many years. The snow fell and the thermometer dropped lower as the days went on. Soon the ground froze hard, and ice began to form in the river.
I was a missionary in southern France and had come to this area expecting to find warm winters and pleasant summers. My expectations were realistic and were consistent with those of the native residents of the country. Like many of the apartments in that area, ours was built for warm weather. The walls were not insulated, and neither were the water pipes that were attached to the outer walls of the building. It was economical and suited the region.
As the days went on and the weather grew colder, the people grew colder also. Their attitudes became closed and narrow, which made our contacts with them more rare and difficult. We soon found that in the center of the city the water pipes were freezing, leaving people without water. The freeze spread like a plague, and we hoped that it would not reach our part of town. Anxiously we watched and waited, but it wasn’t long until we woke up one morning to a freezing cold apartment and no water. Many of the residents had family or friends in neighboring cities or a well in their backyard. We, of course, had no such resources.
We did the best we could to survive this difficult time by buying the expensive bottled water sold at the stores. We walked the 20-minute walk every morning to the chapel to wash up and cook. As time went on, we felt that we should get a bucket of water in our apartment that we could wash with and use in an emergency. We decided to take some time out of our Preparation Day to find someone who still had running water and would give us a bucketful.
We soon found that the cold attitudes that had met us during our regular tracting were repeated when it came to our earnest pleas for one bucket of water. The people responded to us with a coldness that equaled the bitter wind. The typical response we received was, “If I give you my water, then what will I drink? The more I give away, the less I will have.” It was hard for us not to become discouraged. The time wore on with no success, so we decided we would try one more door and then start back for home.
We approached the door with what energy we could and knocked. It was interesting to compare this day’s work with the work we usually did. The people didn’t understand the significance of what we were trying to say to them. They didn’t really care about what we presented. They just knew that they were busy and didn’t want to be disturbed by two sister missionaries, strangers in a foreign land, wearing long overcoats and black name tags.
A woman opened the door and looked at us with sympathy as we made our approach and explained our problem. Soon the answer came, which sounded at first like all of the rest, “One bucket of water?” And then she added, “One bucket of water—is that all? I will give you two, or three, or ten, or more. Keep coming back, because if I give my water away my pipes will never freeze. When the water is flowing, it doesn’t ice up. In a way, it is almost like in giving I am receiving.”
This one woman, in a country far from our homes, was living the way the Savior taught us when he said, “For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in” (Matt. 25:35).

Phillis stood on her tiptoes and took a book from the shelf. She sat down in a chair by the window. The pages were very thin, so she turned them carefully.
“Phillis, what are you doing?” asked Miss Mary Wheatley from the doorway.
The little black girl looked up. She hadn’t asked to use the book. Is my mistress angry? she wondered.
But Mary was smiling. “You like books, don’t you, Phillis?” she asked kindly.
The little girl nodded.
Her mistress came over and looked at what Phillis had on her lap. “That’s a book of poems.”
“What are poems?” asked Phillis.
“Words that are put together in a lovely way,” the girl told her.
Just then Nat, Mary’s twin brother, came into the library through another door. “Well, what have we here?” He smiled at the little black girl.
Phillis didn’t say anything. Nathaniel Wheatley wasn’t home very often, and she didn’t know him well.
“We were just talking about books,” his sister told him. “Phillis likes to look at them.”
“Really?” he asked. “Well, Mary, why don’t you teach her to read?”
Mary had hoped her brother would suggest that. He had taught her to read. Not many girls in the 1770s could boast that! She turned to her young servant and asked, “Would you like to learn to read, Phillis?”
The little girl nodded as hard as she could. She looked like a tiny excited bird.
Nat laughed. “You certainly have an eager pupil.” Then he kissed his sister good-bye and set off for downtown Boston to see his father.
“Phillis,” asked her mistress, “would you like to begin today?” Mary was excited too.
“Yes,” answered the little girl in her soft musical voice. “I can hardly wait.”
“Fine,” said Mary. “Some of Mother’s friends are coming to visit in the early afternoon. When they leave, we’ll have our first lesson.”
Phillis closed the book and put it back on the shelf. She knew that it was her job to serve refreshments to the guests.
Soon three ladies were seated in the parlor with Mrs. Wheatley and Mary. Phillis carried a tray into the room. She walked slowly and carefully and didn’t spill anything. She offered the plate of cakes to each woman. Then she poured lemonade into dainty cups. When she left the room, she sat down on a chair outside the door so that she could hear her mistress if she called.
“That girl always seems so cheerful,” she heard one of the ladies say. “My Bertha isn’t like that at all. She never wants to do any work. And when I make her, she grumbles.”
“Phillis is special,” Mrs. Wheatley told the woman. “She’s smart too. A few months ago she had never been away from her African village. And now she speaks good English!”
Phillis felt important when she heard people talk about her that way.
“Today she looks even happier than usual,” another lady said.
Mary smiled. “That’s because we start our lessons this afternoon. I’m going to teach her to read.”
One of the women gasped. “Teach a slave to read? That’s ridiculous! Servants don’t need to read.”
That made Phillis angry. She knew that Mary would tell the woman how wrong she was.
“Well,” said Phillis’s young mistress. “I suppose you’re right.”
The little girl couldn’t believe her ears. She ran up the stairs to her room in the attic, crawled under a dilapidated chair, and hid.
Soon the guests were gone.
“Phillis!” Mary called. “Phillis, you can clear away the dishes now.”
There was no answer. Phillis always came when she was called. Mary began to look for the little girl.
Up in the attic, Phillis heard her mistress. She knew that she might be punished for hiding, but she was so sad that she didn’t care what happened to her.
Finally Mary opened the door to the attic and stepped inside. She saw the edge of Phillis’s dress sticking out from under the chair. Mary pretended not to see her.
“Where could Phillis be?” she said out loud. “I hope she isn’t lost. I’d miss her if she were gone.”
Phillis felt guilty. “Here I am,” she said, crawling out.
“Aha!” cried her mistress. “You aren’t lost after all. You certainly fooled me.” She saw that Phillis wasn’t smiling back at her. “What’s the matter?”
“You told me you’d teach me to read,” she said. “Then that lady said that I didn’t need to learn. And you told her she was right.”
“Goodness!” Mary stooped down and put her hands on Phillis’s shoulders. “I said that she was right that you don’t need to read. But you must have run away before I finished. I told her that a person who wants to read should be able to, even if he doesn’t need to. After all, a lot of people say that girls don’t need to study. But I learn, right along with my brother.”
Phillis opened her eyes wide. “Does that mean you’ll still teach me? You’ll even teach me to read poems?”
“Of course. We’ll start as soon as the dishes are cleared away,” she told the little black girl. “And when you know a few words, I’ll teach you to write them too. Maybe someday you’ll write your very own poems.”
“My very own poems,” said Phillis slowly. She ran out of the attic to finish her work.
Mary smiled as she watched her go. She’s special, she thought. She may be a great woman one day, even if she did come to this country on a slave ship.
Mary Wheatley was right. In the next few years, Phillis learned to read and write English very well. She also studied Latin, ancient history, and mythology. When she was about thirteen, she wrote some poems that were published a few years later. Phillis Wheatley became the first famous black woman writer in America.

The group recently participated in a service project they called a “heart attack.” The group chose three people at their school, including the principal, to “attack” with large paper hearts, a Book of Mormon, and a plate of cookies. One evening after they had eaten dinner, the students tiptoed out of their dorms to the homes of the people they had chosen. Although it was cold and the ground was icy, the group was able to tape several red paper hearts to the outside of their “victims’” homes, set the cookies and the Book of Mormon on the doorstep, and leave undetected.
“It was during the winter and it was hard because there was snow on the ground which made it slippery, so most of us fell, but it was fun,” says Jill Henderson.
“All of us tried to come quietly out of the dorms, but we couldn’t hear ourselves, so we couldn’t tell if we were quiet or not,” says Jennifer.

Screams of terrified Laurels echoed through the Santa Cruz Mountains. A big, black, hairy “gorilla” had just come charging out of the darkness! The surprise appearance of this unusual creature was just part of the excitement at the San Jose 14th Ward’s first annual Laurel and priest high school graduation party.
The party was planned by the first-year Laurels and priests, and the only information they gave to the “guests of honor” was that they should be at their homes in their Sunday best at 5:30 P.M. on Friday, June 16.
Chauffeurs picked up the graduates and escorted them to a mountain retreat in the heavily forested Santa Cruz Mountains. As they arrived, many wondered what they were doing at a Boy Scout camp in suits and long dresses! Their curiosity was soon satisfied, however, when they were escorted into the beautifully decorated A-frame building. Pictures of the graduates at various ages had been hung on the walls, and classical music created a pleasant atmosphere for the delicious lasagne dinner that was served.
Then came more surprises. The parents of each of the graduates had furnished stories, home movies, and slides of their children, and this provided the first portion of the evening’s entertainment. Afterwards, funny awards were presented to each of the graduates by the above-mentioned “gorilla,” Mr. Chimpchump. (Mr. Chimpchump was a great scientist, explained the emcee, but had somehow been turned into an ape.) Following this, the final event of the evening was an elegant dance.
Everyone seemed to have a great time and to feel the joy that comes from participating in good, wholesome activities. Without a question, a tradition had been starred in San Jose!

Heidi Harris of Salt Lake City wanted to study the Book of Mormon but felt she had time only for schoolwork. Then one night, frustrated by a math problem, she exercised her faith and prayed for help. When she finished, the first thing she saw was the Book of Mormon. “I picked it up,” she says, “and began to read. … I finished a chapter in 1 Nephi, then went back to my treacherous math problem. I found I could solve it.”
After several weeks of reading the Book of Mormon, Heidi found herself achieving more academically. “I still had to do the work, but the reading gave me an extra push. … I was able to understand what I studied, and I had the patience to stick with my work. Not only did my grades improve, but I was easier to get along with and happier than I had ever been” (Liahona, February 1996, 13).

Over ten years ago a teenage boy requested a blessing from President Ezra Taft Benson. Even though the boy’s father was not an active elder, President Benson asked, “How would you like to talk to him at an opportune time and ask him if he would be willing to give you a father’s blessing?” Though doubtful, the young man agreed to try. He later reported:
“Brother Benson, that’s the sweetest thing that has happened in our family. … He gave me one of the most beautiful blessings you could ever ask for. … When he got through there was a bond of appreciation and gratitude and love between us that we have never had in our home” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1977, pp. 45–46; or Ensign, Nov. 1977, p. 32).