Gospel Story Finder

Scouting also played an important part in Elder Ashton’s life. When he was eleven years old, his family moved to the Parleys area, where there were only six boys of Scout age. “You need twelve boys to create a troop,” he explained, “so we went to the Highland Park Ward and became part of their Scout troop. All six of us used to ride over there on three horses, and we thought of ourselves as the ‘mounted patrol’. I’m grateful that my parents arranged for me to become part of another troop, where I eventually became an Eagle Scout.
“A couple of times when we came out of troop meeting, our horses were gone, and we had to walk all the way home. Some prankish kids had cut our horses loose, and the horses headed on home. After the second time, we let people know that there would be an uprising if it happened again—Scouts or no Scouts.”

Living and growing up in the same coastal town, another teenager named James, 15-year-old James Hankin, is charting his own plans for travel and greatness. James desires to serve a full-time mission and has been preparing for the last six years. James has a lot of support in achieving this goal. His father, Blair, knows about missionary service, having served his mission in Haiti. And Blair returned there to donate service after the recent earthquakes.

When asked about his dad’s service in Haiti, James says, “He served his mission over there, so he can speak Creole. I’m really impressed. Basically, he’s working with an orphanage, taking medical supplies to them. I’m hoping I can actually go this summer.” The toy shop where James works part-time has also donated toys and supplies to be sent to the children of Haiti.

Service and missionary work are serious business for the Hankins. James’s mum started a missionary savings account for him when he was young. “I’m happy that my parents are helping me go on a mission,” James says, but he doesn’t leave all the saving to his parents. James has made considerable contributions to this account. Not only does he work Saturdays on Whitby Pier in a toy shop, but he also helps his sister and dad on a daily paper round (paper route). He delivers leaflets each month, and to top that off, he also offers to deliver leaflets for the local businesses in his area.

Of his missionary fund, James says, “I’ve got about 3,000 pounds [approximately 4,557 U.S. dollars] already saved up. And that’s by going to people I know and asking if they want leaflets delivered.”

Finances are only one aspect to James’s missionary preparation, along with scripture study, praying, and a lot of exercise thanks to many Young Men sport activities. The young men in the Scarborough ward go on regular visits with the missionaries. The Scarborough ward recently had a missionary service night where all the members of the ward went to a neighbouring village and knocked on doors for a few hours.

Along with being involved in the ward missionary efforts, James has enjoyed seminary this year. “I get a lot of support from the students and teachers. I do early morning study via computer rather than going to a house because we are quite spread out,” said James. The use of computers, Web-cameras, and online calling services is essential for the Scarborough/Bridlington seminary class. “If we did it without the computers, some of us would travel 30–45 minutes there and back every morning,” James explained. “We use Web-cam conference calls so we can all talk to and see each other and the teacher can see us. Our area is so big that this helps.” James appreciates the effort the ward goes to for all the youth to have seminary.

Samuel the Lamanite is another inspiration for James to serve a mission for the Church. James cites Helaman 13 as one of his favourite chapters in the Book of Mormon.

“I like Samuel preaching from the wall while the people fired arrows, rocks, and spears.” James said. “He had the bravery and courage to get on the wall and not be hit.” James hopes to emulate that bravery, courage, and faith as he follows in the footsteps of his father and other missionaries who faithfully went to serve the Lord on a full-time mission. Charting that voyage to success is all part of the plan.

President David O. McKay (1873–1970) was the ninth president of the Church. In his boyhood he desired to know, as Joseph Smith had known, of the reality of God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. One day while herding cattle in the foothills near his home, he sought a testimony through prayer. He said:
“I dismounted, threw my reins over my horse’s head, and there under a serviceberry bush I prayed that God would declare to me the truth of his revelation to Joseph Smith.”
He prayed fervently and sincerely with as much faith as he could find within him. When he finished his prayer, he waited for an answer. Nothing seemed to happen. Disappointed, he rode slowly on, saying to himself at the time, “No spiritual manifestation has come to me. If I am true to myself, I must say I am just the same ‘old boy’ that I was before I prayed” (New Era, Jan. 1972, 56).
A direct answer to this prayer was many years in coming. While serving a mission in Scotland, Elder McKay received a powerful spiritual manifestation. He later commented, “Never before had I experienced such an emotion. … It was a manifestation for which as a doubting youth I had secretly prayed most earnestly on hillside and in meadow. It was an assurance to me that sincere prayer is answered ‘sometime, somewhere.’” (David O. McKay, 50).

When these five deacons heard how President Russell M. Nelson climbs stairs two at a time1, they decided to start jogging stairs at their school’s bleachers. Can you figure out how many stair flights each deacon could do that first Saturday morning?
Clues:
Jian did six more flights of stairs than Mason.
Garret did two more flights than Jian.
Mason did half as many flights as Hector.
No two friends did the same number of flights.
# of Flights of Stairs
2
4
6
8
10
Garret
Hector
Jian
Mason
Sam
Garret, 10; Hector, 4; Jian, 8; Mason, 2; Sam, 6

Third is an Attitude of Courage. I have seen courage in the military. I have witnessed courage in the classrooms of learning and the factories of industry.
Never have I observed its beauty more radiant than reflected from the service of a missionary. Often I am called upon to interview missionary candidates who have physical impairments. In considering the recommendation of one such candidate, the bishop of the ward had written:
“Brother (blank) is badly scarred due to an automobile accident. However, if courage will help, he’ll lead the lot.”
I made an appointment to visit with the lad. My initial reaction upon meeting him was one of overwhelming compassion.
“Son,” I explained, “if you were in the mission field, there would be those who would reject your message and you might feel that they were rejecting you. That would be unbearable.”
“Brother Monson,” he replied, “I have become used to that problem. It doesn’t bother me anymore. I so much want to serve the Lord and to preach the gospel. Please let me be called.”
The courage of his spirit bore witness to me of his faith. He received a call.
After two years of outstanding missionary activity, his president wrote, upon the occasion of his honorable release:
“The bearer of this letter has served in this mission for two years. He has been one of the finest missionaries in our mission over the whole time that he has been here. He has been effective as a leader, as a proselyting missionary, as the liaison between the mission office and the several stakes in which he has served, and in all respects his performance has been without flaw.
“He has handled his personal problem, his severe scarring, in a way that has discouraged or affronted no one. It has been on a basis that ‘this is my problem; don’t worry about it.’
“We love him dearly. We are grateful for his service; and if you have any more just like him, send them along.”

I pored over my patriarchal blessing once more. One part caught my eye: “You may help the needy with your time, effort, and means.” I imagined myself establishing homeless shelters, starting literacy programs, eradicating unemployment, ending starvation. I should have talked to my parents about my plans first, but I was eager to get started. So I headed out the front door determined that the sullen old beggar at the mall would be my first “project.”
I imagined that first we’d have lunch together. He’d tell me his tragic story. I’d weep. We’d eventually become good friends. I’d buy him a suit, find him a job, witness his baptism, change his life forever. It was all so simple.
I spotted the man outside the mall’s entrance, leaning on the rusted shopping cart he pushed around town. I could see his cart was filled with … onions? He picked up an onion, whacked it in half on the cart, then bit into it like it was an apple. I was taken aback but undaunted. “Would you like to join me for lunch?” I asked, wide-eyed and tentative. “I have a few dollars and …”
Suddenly, loud, unintelligible jabber poured out of the man’s mouth. He shook his fist at me and toward the sky. His gestures were wild and frantic. Was he sane? He seemed upset with me and was definitely not interested in lunch, so I turned with an apologetic grimace and went home.

I testify that I know victims of serious abuse who have successfully made the difficult journey to full healing through the power of the Atonement. After her own concerns were resolved by her faith in the healing power of the Atonement, one young woman who had been severely abused by her father requested another interview with me. She returned with an older couple. I could sense that she loved the two very deeply. Her face radiated happiness. She began, “Elder Scott, this is my father. I love him. He’s concerned about some things that happened in my early childhood. They are no longer a problem for me. Could you help him?” What a powerful confirmation of the Savior’s capacity to heal! She no longer suffered from the consequences of abuse, because she had adequate understanding of His Atonement, exercised sufficient faith, and was obedient to His law. As you conscientiously study the Atonement and exercise your faith that Jesus Christ has the power to heal, you can receive the same blessed relief. During your journey of recovery, accept His invitation to let Him share your burden until you have sufficient time and strength to be healed.

One Sunday, years ago, I was sitting in church as an older gentleman offered the closing prayer in sacrament meeting. He said, “We pray that we all might be numbered among the sheep and not the goats.” That prayer has stuck with me for years. I didn’t know much about sheep or goats at that time, and I still am not an expert on the differences between the two, but since then, I have had an experience with goats that has added to my understanding of what dear Brother Webb was praying for.
Fast forward about 15 years from that experience in sacrament meeting to the summer of 2018. Our family needed some way to maintain the acre of pasture out behind our house, so we decided to borrow a couple of goats from my brother-in-law. This seemed like the perfect solution. Strawberry and Hurricane (the second one was appropriately named) would take care of the pasture grass, and our kids would have some fun new pets to care for and enjoy.
I can attest that there is definitely opposition in ALL things. Those two goats escaped from their pen many times, creating all kinds of chaos and trouble. One particular morning, my phone rang as I was arriving on campus. I answered, and my neighbor frantically exclaimed, “Darby, your goats are on my car!” Seriously?! True enough! Right on top... not just on the hood... clear up on top of her car! She got this great picture so we can remember that day forever. Another neighbor came to the rescue and wrangled the goats, helping me get them contained once again, and $400 later we had fixed the neighbor’s damaged car.
Our summer with the goats was quite an adventure. They managed to keep the weeds down in the pasture and our boys had a grand time playing with them, hooking our little red wagon to a goat to have a wild ride... it’s a miracle no one broke an arm! Every time I think of our summer with the goats, I echo Brother Webb’s prayer... that I might be numbered among the sheep and not the goats.

When you meet Chris Jones, the first thing you’ll notice is how quick he is to smile.
And the second thing—which follows almost immediately—is how quickly he begins to treat you like a good friend.
As Chris’s new friend, you’ll be talking football—because Chris has been a football player since the age of seven—but you can’t help noticing that his conversation is full of references to the gospel. It soon becomes clear that he loves the Lord and the Church with all his heart.
Even though Chris has been home from serving in the Oregon Portland Mission for a couple of years, he still has the sure handshake of a missionary. A mission is something he had been planning for his whole life. And his missionary spirit certainly did not get left in the mission field when he returned.
Chris is from St. Mary’s, Georgia. His parents, Artie and Carolyn Jones, met the missionaries in 1978, when Chris was only two. Chris said, “The first time my dad went to church, he saw a lot of people that he recognized in the community that respected him. That was one thing he really noticed.”
The Jones family was baptized and, as Chris has been told, they received a lot of ridicule for joining the Church. When Chris looks back, he is so appreciative of the fact that his parents were able to raise him and his two brothers and one sister in a way consistent with the principles of the gospel. And Chris grew up knowing that someday he would serve a mission. “If it is part of the Church and the Church is true, then I’ll do it.”
In fact, Chris says his mother helped him keep that in mind. “My mom was the one that pulled us out of bed at 5:15 in the morning to go to seminary for four years. It was a struggle. I hated getting up at 5:15. But it was through a combination of my mother and going to seminary that I gained a testimony of the gospel. Up until then, I always knew the gospel was right. I just didn’t know why it was right.”
As Chris gained a testimony, he found that living the gospel principles helped him learn about prayer. “I can’t recall a prayer that I’ve never received an answer to. Receiving an answer is a matter of allowing the Lord to answer you and give you His answer. A lot of times if you pray with your own answer in mind, you look for that answer. If another answer comes, then you’re not ready to receive it.”
Chris loved playing football in grade school and junior high. He started at linebacker all during high school. And, as Chris points out, football in Georgia is serious business. His high school would have 10,000 fans attend its Friday night games. During his junior year, he began getting attention from college scouts. It was exciting, but his mom would remind him not to get too interested because he was going on a mission.
When the scouts showed up, that was the time Chris had to face the possibilities of playing football at the college level. His high school coach told the scouts that he was a hard-working player and was an honor student. Finally concrete offers started to come—full-ride scholarships through four years of college, worth thousands of dollars.
“I asked,” said Chris, “if they would hold a scholarship for two years. One coach was shocked. I told him I was going to go on a mission for my church. He just stared at me and said, ‘You’re going to give up 80 thousand dollars to serve a mission for two years?’ He got mad at me. But I didn’t get offended.” After that, his coach started turning away college recruiters interested in Chris.
Eventually, State University of West Georgia called. The school offered him a scholarship. It turned out that Chris would be able to play a year and a quarter, essentially two seasons, before turning 19 and receiving a mission call. “I knew that all things were possible with the Lord. There were people saying that I couldn’t serve a mission and play ball, yet the Lord provided a way to do both.”
Chris struggled at West Georgia, not on the field where he started as a true freshman but in the permissive atmosphere in the dorms. He didn’t like what was going on around him. He was more determined than ever to go on a mission. And it was on his mission that Chris put football behind him completely. He told his coaches that if they needed to talk to him, to go through his parents. He didn’t keep up on what the team was doing. He says that the only way to serve on a mission is completely and with total focus.
At the conclusion of his mission, Chris decided that he could not return to the atmosphere at his former college. He thought that was also a decision to give up football, and he was willing to do it.
Just as Chris was completing his mission, his mission president contacted BYU about Chris. At first, becoming a BYU football team member didn’t seem like a possibility, but he was invited to try out. He received a full-ride scholarship but was redshirted a year. Once Chris thought sitting out a year would be horrible, but now it was a blessing. He was able to concentrate on his major, a difficult one, in manufacturing engineering and technology. He feels that the Lord has guided his life because at BYU he has had the opportunity to continue missionary work as a ward mission leader. Football will fall by the wayside. That’s fine with Chris. It no longer has his heart.
There is, however, one thing Chris has always wanted—a championship ring. He just missed taking state in high school. And his college team won the conference the year he left on his mission. Knowing this, some friends on his mission got together and bought Chris a ring—a CTR ring that he wears continually. It’s become his championship ring.
Whenever Chris looks at it he is reminded of what he believes deep inside. “Right makes you happy. If you do what is right, everything will fall into place.”

“Congratulations, José,” Bishop García said. He handed me my new temple recommend.
“Thank you!” I said. I shook his hand and walked out of the office, staring down at the white paper. I could go to the temple to do baptisms!
My abuelos (grandparents) were waiting in the hall. My parents didn’t come to church very often, so I usually went to church with Abuela and Abuelo. They both gave me a hug.
“Are you excited for your first temple trip next week?” Abuelo asked as we walked out of the building. “We’ll take a bus to the Santo Domingo Temple.”
“Yes!” I said. But I couldn’t help noticing a funny, fluttery feeling in my stomach.
“It will be so nice to go together as a family,” Abuela said with a big smile.
I smiled back, but the funny feeling didn’t go away.
As the day of the temple trip got closer, I got more nervous. I finally talked to Abuela about it.
She was chopping vegetables in the kitchen, but she stopped when I came in. “What’s wrong?” she asked, wiping her hands on a towel. “You look worried.”
I sighed and sat down at the table. “I’m really excited to go to the temple. But I’m also nervous.”
Abuela nodded, like she understood how I felt. “You don’t need to worry. People will be there to help you the whole time.”
As she spoke, I felt a warm, comforting feeling from my head to my toes. I knew the temple would be special.
Soon the day of our temple trip came. I put on my Sunday clothes and combed my hair. Abuela came into my room.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Excited! I can’t wait to go to the temple.”
Abuela sat on the end of my bed and pulled a piece of paper from her pocket.
“This is a temple ordinance card,” she said. “It’s for my brother. He was very special to me. He died before he could be baptized. Would you like to be baptized for him in the temple today?”
Abuela held out the paper to me. I read the name: Ramon Rodriguez. I could tell Abuela loved her brother, and I was glad she trusted me to get baptized for him.
“Of course, Abuela. Thanks!” I carefully put the card in my pocket.
While riding the bus to the temple, Abuela told about when she went to the temple for the first time with Abuelo. Back then, they had to go all the way to Peru because there wasn’t a temple in the Dominican Republic.
When we got to the temple, Bishop García was already there. My eyes widened as we walked up to the building. It was so beautiful! I paused to read the words above the doors: Holiness to the Lord: The House of the Lord.
As I walked through the doors, I knew I was entering a special space. All my worries seemed to melt away. Everything was quiet and calm. I felt peace.
After changing into white clothes, I stood in the baptismal font with Bishop García. I listened carefully as he said the words of the baptismal prayer. When he said Ramon’s name, a peaceful feeling filled me.
Bishop García lowered me into the water. When I came up, I was smiling. I couldn’t wait to come to the temple again!

Fast forward several years and thousands of miles to a chapel in the mountains of central Guatemala. As a missionary, I was attending a district conference. I had arrived early and found a piano there, so I sat down and started playing hymns. Most of the wards and branches had small electric keyboards that were hard to play, so I was very excited to play a real piano. I ended up being asked to accompany the congregation for the conference.
What changed my attitude between my younger years and my time as a missionary? I felt the power of the Spirit through music.

After I was asked to give this devotional, I thought back to when I was a university student. I didn’t go to BYU. I attended the rival university up north near where I grew up, and I was studying to be a teacher. I was living at home and commuting to campus, which meant that sometimes I rode the bus. At the time, I was not going to church regularly. My parents didn’t attend. My mother, who grew up in Norway, wasn’t a member, and my father had not gone to church since he had returned from World War II. But I had gone to Primary as a child, and those Primary songs had made a lasting impression. As I grew into adulthood, I returned to church.

One particular day as I was sitting in the back of an almost empty bus, something very unusual happened. I felt as if someone tapped me on the shoulder and forcefully said, “Go on a mission!”

My first thought was “What?” and then, “I can’t go on a mission!”

The thought had never entered my mind. Back then, young women did not often serve missions, and taking time off from my education had not occurred to me. My nonmember mother was not happy about the idea. There were four children in our family, and when most of us eventually served missions, she would grumble to her friends, “I tell them not to go, but they rebel.”

I did follow that prompting, and I was called to serve in Taiwan, which meant that I needed to learn Mandarin Chinese. I had heard that missionaries were able to miraculously learn languages because they received the gift of tongues, so I wasn’t very worried, but I had no idea how much time and effort would be required to make that gift of tongues manifest.

After I arrived in Taiwan, I felt that I was in a strange, foreign place where I couldn’t understand anyone and they couldn’t understand me. I wondered if I would ever become an effective missionary. How would I communicate with the people of Taiwan if I couldn’t learn the language?

Over time I became despondent and depressed. To keep my spirits up, I remember singing Primary songs and hymns to myself whenever I rode my bike to appointments. I worked hard, kept the commandments, and tried my best, but not much happened. As time went on, I became more and more disheartened. I thought about my experience on the bus and wondered if someone had made a mistake sending me to Taiwan.

After I had been serving for about six months, the mission was split, and I was called to be a senior companion. I couldn’t believe that this had happened! Up to that point, my senior companion was doing almost all the talking and teaching. I was too afraid to say much, even after I had memorized many discussions, which was what missionaries did back then.

After I became a senior companion, I had to speak up and actually use my language to communicate, and this meant that I made many mistakes. But as I actively used the language to talk with people, it slowly began to stick. Little by little, as I did my part and Heavenly Father did His part, I began to understand people, and they began to understand me. I felt God working through me despite my weaknesses and mistakes because the work needed to get done and my junior companion and I were all He had at that moment in that small town in Taiwan.

Elder Neal A. Maxwell has said, “‘Mighty’ changing . . . is mighty hard work”2—and I could add that it can take a mighty long time. I didn’t expect my mission experience to be so hard. I didn’t expect the discouragement. I didn’t expect the feelings of incompetence. I expected a pillar of light and an instant gift of tongues; instead, I got many small rays over time.

My mother ended up becoming my greatest supporter, despite her opposition to my mission. She wrote every week and shared her experiences of moving to America as a young woman and eventually learning English in spite of being very homesick and discouraged. She told me that my consistent efforts to use Chinese would eventually pay off. I don’t know what I would have done without my mother’s encouragement.

I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when I was in boarding school. A brother in the Church invited me to attend, and I was very eager to know what the Church was all about. The sister missionaries started teaching me, and after a few months I decided to be baptized. I called home to talk to my family about my decision to change my faith but did not give them much more information about the Church; I knew that the holiday would be the best time for me to share more.
I started preparing for my holiday by buying Church magazines, DVDs, the Doctrine and Covenants, and hymns in order help my family understand the reason why I decided to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
When I went home, I talked to my family about my new faith and how I knew it was the only true Church. To help them understand, I held family home evenings with them every night. We covered the topics of obedience, scriptures, Church history, family responsibility, faith, and prayer.
My mum was very happy to hear about the Church, and she even told me she would love to come to church one day and hear for herself what I shared with her.
When I returned to school, I left them with magazines, DVDs, CDs, and hymns, because my father really enjoyed the hymns I played every morning when sweeping the house. Today I am a very happy person because I have shared with my family about the true Church.

“In order to be admitted to the Taipei City Junior Business College (which, despite its name, is equivalent to a U.S. high school), I had to take an entrance exam. The number of people taking the exam amounted to 10,000. The number of people admitted to the school is just over 1,000. So you can see the competition is tough.”

But Mei Ling made it—on the second try. “Before I was admitted here, I was a student at Ta-lin Junior High School, which is known for its emphasis on music. After I graduated from that school I took an entrance exam for the junior business college and failed. So I went to a tutoring class for a year, then I took the entrance examination again this year and was accepted.

When I was serving as president of the Philippines Quezon City Mission, one day Elder Jones* arrived at the mission home wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes and carrying his suitcases. “I want to go home, President,” he told me.

After listening to his concerns, I told him: “Leaving your mission is a reactive response, which will diminish the control you have over your life. And if you continue to be reactive, you will have problems dealing with difficulties you encounter after you return home.” I also advised him to talk with other missionaries about his concerns.

After further discussion Elder Jones changed into his missionary clothing and returned to his area. He talked with other missionaries, and he prayed for strength to overcome his challenges. The next time I met with him, he expressed gratitude that he had persisted through his difficulties.

“Get your coat. He’ll be waiting for us.” That’s all Dad said. I’d seen him mad and sad and disappointed and a whole bunch of other things, but not all at the same time.

“I’ll take it back to Brother Gordon’s store,” I said, pushing the shaving cream across the table. “I’ll pay for it too. It only costs a dollar and thirty-nine cents.” I swallowed hard. “I’ve got that much in my drawer.”

Dad didn’t say anything more. He just looked at me. He looked at me so hard that I felt real funny inside, and finally I had to stare at the floor or start bawling.

“I can pay for it,” I said again. “You can have the money right now.”

“Get your coat.” He almost whispered it. “And while you’re at it, bring the dollar and thirty-nine cents.”

There was nothing more to say. I guess no kid can win in a fight against his dad. There’s something about being a dad that gives him a head start. When your dad says that David killed Goliath or that Joseph was sold into Egypt, then that’s what happened. When he says that you need to go to church every Sunday, then a guy knows where he’d better be on Sunday. And when a dad says, “Get your coat and bring your dollar and thirty-nine cents with you,” then there isn’t much a person can do but get his coat and money.

I went to my room and counted out three dollars. I figured that paying more than double would make things easier on me when I got to the sheriff’s.

On the way over to Brother Gordon’s store, I got to thinking about Harry and Carl. This was all their fault, not mine. I hadn’t even wanted to take the shaving cream, but they’d said I wouldn’t be stealing. All I was supposed to do was talk to Brother Gordon while they did the stealing.

I explained all that to Dad, but he said that helping someone else to steal is still stealing and that this was even more my fault because I’d taken advantage of Brother Gordon’s trust in me. I guess he was right, but I sure didn’t think it was fair that I was getting blamed for everything. I only brought the shaving cream home with me because Harry and Carl didn’t want it after they got out of the store.

The more I thought about Harry and Carl, the madder I got. Before I knew it, I could feel tears in my eyes, and I started to sniffle. By then we were in front of Brother Gordon’s store, so I hurried and dried my eyes with my coat sleeve and got out of the car.

As soon as we walked into the store, Brother Gordon saw Dad and came over. Dad had called the sheriff already, but Brother Gordon still didn’t know anything about my stealing. Dad said I would have to tell him.

“Hello, Dick,” Dad said. “Robert has some business with you to take care of.”

“What can I do for you, Bobby?” Brother Gordon asked.

I looked at his belt buckle and held out the shaving cream. “I stole it.” That was all I could say. Brother Gordon didn’t say anything, and Dad wouldn’t help me either.

“I stole it,” I said louder. “I stole it and I’m sorry. You always said you could trust me, but I guess you couldn’t, because I’m just an old robber. But I won’t ever do it again.”

I was bawling real good by then, and I just wished I had never seen that shaving cream. I set it on the counter and dug into my pocket for my money. “The shaving cream only costs a dollar and thirty-nine cents, but I’ll pay three dollars.”

Brother Gordon didn’t know what to do. He told me to keep the money, but Dad said no. I didn’t care because I didn’t want the money, and most of all I didn’t want that old shaving cream.

I figured that since I’d bawled good and paid the money and told Brother Gordon I was sorry that Dad wouldn’t take me to the sheriff, but I was wrong.

When we walked into the sheriff’s office, the first thing I saw was his gun. He wore it down on his leg like cowboys in the movies do. Dad had told me once that the sheriff could shoot a gun better than anyone around and that he had ribbons and trophies to prove it.

The sheriff showed me into another room and told me to wait for him while he talked to Dad. I wasn’t too scared until I noticed four rifles chained to a rack on one of the walls. There was a desk in one corner with two chairs in front of it. I sat down on one of the chairs and looked at the guns on the wall and wondered if those rifles were still used to shoot robbers.

The sheriff came into the room without Dad and shut the door. Then he walked over to the desk and straightened some papers. After a second he sat down and leaned back in his chair.

“I hear you got into a little trouble. Is that so?”

I just nodded.

“I guess you know that stealing’s wrong?”

“Yeah,” I whispered.

“I guess you know that it doesn’t matter how many people do it. It’s still wrong.”

“Yes, sir.”

“A person can get thrown into jail for stealing.” He didn’t smile. He just stared at me. Now when Dad’s upset, his eyes can make you feel funny and kind of twitchy inside, but when the sheriff looked at me, it hurt. I looked at the floor a couple of times and dusted off my pants, even though they didn’t need it.

All of a sudden the sheriff stood up and took off his gun holster. “There’s no sense in my telling you that you’ve done something wrong,” he growled. “You know that. You broke the law, and your dad wants me to do something about it.”

He stopped talking while he slowly pulled his gun out of the holster. I had thought he might throw me in jail, but I hadn’t figured he’d shoot me, not for a stolen tube of shaving cream. My spit dried up, and I grabbed the chair real tight, then held my breath, closed my eyes, and waited for the BANG! There was just a quiet thud, though, when the sheriff put his gun into his desk drawer.

Well, my spit came back, and I started to breathe again. It was pretty jumpy breathing for a while, but it was real good to know I could still do it.

The sheriff coughed and sat down. “Most dads don’t bring their boys to the sheriff. But your dad isn’t like most dads.” He leaned forward. “You’re going to grow up to be a good man, Bobby, but you won’t grow up that way because you came in here and talked to me. You’ll be a good man because you have a good dad. Right now it might seem that you’re getting all the blame for what Harry and Carl did. But some day you’ll realize that your dad isn’t being hard on you. It’s Carl’s and Harry’s dads who are being hard on them.”

The sheriff leaned back in his chair and just stared at me for a while. Finally he opened his desk drawer and pulled out five paper cups. He carried the other chair across the room and set the cups on it. Then he pulled a long black horsewhip from his desk.

All of a sudden he jerked the fat end of that whip, and the skinny end shot out of his hand with a loud bang and hit one of those paper cups and tore it to pieces. It happened so fast that I jumped out of my chair. My eyes bulged, and I felt my heart beating so hard up in my throat that I thought I’d choke. He snapped that whip three more times, and then there was just one cup left on the chair.

The sheriff started talking again. “It used to be that when someone stole something, he was given a good thrashing with a whip like this.” He looked straight at me. He didn’t smile, and I knew he wasn’t playing a game. Before I could blink my eyes, that horsewhip shot out and ripped the last cup off the chair.

“I don’t whip people for stealing.” He cleared his throat and added, “But there is one thing I might whip a boy for.”

The sheriff began to roll up his whip while he talked. “You know, Bobby, dads are pretty good fellows. They take you on camp-outs, teach you how to play ball, fix your bike tires when they’re flat, tell you stories, and somehow are always around when you need a friend. Most of all, they’re there to set you straight when you get off the right track. If the world’s a good place to live in, it’s because there are lots of good dads.”

The sheriff stopped talking, and I figured he was done. But he wasn’t. He took a deep breath and started tapping his fingers on the desk. “Do you know why your dad and I are such good friends?”

I shook my head.

“My dad died before I was even born. When I was growing up, your dad was the one who fixed my bike, showed me how to play ball, and was around when I needed a friend. He was a dad to me.”

I looked up at the sheriff, and I could see that his eyes were moist and shining. He wasn’t bawling or anything, but shoot, the sheriff’s about the toughest guy around!

He was real quiet for a long time. Then he looked at me, picked up his coiled whip, pointed it at me, and said quietly, “Now, I’m going to tell you how you can get a horsewhipping. I won’t give it to you for stealing things from Mr. Gordon’s store or for fighting or breaking windows or anything like that. Those things are bad, but they won’t get you a horsewhipping. There’s something worse than doing those things. If you hurt your dad … if you ever do anything that makes him feel real bad, or if I hear you calling him ‘old man’ like some of the other boys call their dads, I’ll come looking for you. And believe you me, I’ll horsewhip you, because you have the best dad in the world, and any boy who would do those things to a dad like yours needs a good horsewhipping. Do you understand me?”

I nodded my head. I sure did understand.

Finally he smiled. I was glad to see that he remembered how.

When he told me I could go, Dad was waiting for me. I was sure glad to see him. When we walked out to the car, he put his arm around me like he does lots of times. He told me he loved me and just wanted me to be a good boy. I knew he meant what he said, and I remembered what the sheriff had said about him.

It’s been a while since I went with Dad to see the sheriff. I haven’t stolen anything else from Brother Gordon, and he still trusts me and says I’m a good boy.

The sheriff always waves to me when he passes in his truck, and whenever he talks to me, he asks me about my dad. I haven’t ever asked him if he still has his whip. He probably does, but I’m not afraid of it—or him—because there’s no reason for him to come looking for me. You see, I’ve got the best dad in the whole world, and I know it.

During summer vacation, this group participated in a not-so-typical youth conference: five days of hard work. And many of them even knew in advance that it would be hard work, because they had done the same thing last year.

“Sure it’s lots of work,” said 16-year-old Shirley Frazier. “But it’s also lots of fun. We play when we work. It’s not every day you get to work side by side with members of your ward. A bond is established, and I feel closer to the members of my ward and to the Lord.”

How much work can 47 youth do on a ranch in five days? Plenty. For example, they built fences with wooden posts and barbed wire, and they built a small bridge across a creek. They tilled and weeded a garden. They even finished constructing a barn (where they would perform plays and skits). As if that weren’t enough, they also cleaned up an old farmhouse once inhabited by barn swallows and mice, built a retaining wall with rocks they had gathered in a field nearby, and planted flowers.

You’d think that would be enough to tire them out. But there was also time for the fun usually associated with youth conferences. They boated, they fished, they swam. They played baseball in a pasture, organized and participated in a lip-synch contest where they imitated singers from the ’50s to the ’80s, and enjoyed a hayride on a wagon pulled by a team of Clydesdale horses.

Like the unique focus of the conference, The Ranch is also unique in its character. The young men and women are quick to point out some reasons why. For example, there is an outdoor eating place known as the “Chuckwagon,” located where cattle used to roam the fields. The building that is now the kitchen was a place of shelter where the cattle sought refuge from the hot, blistering sun, or the hard, cold Idaho winters. Sister Hamnett still laughs as she explains how they had to borrow a tractor and clean two feet of manure off the ground when the transformation from cattle lounge to Chuckwagon began. But the youth don’t mind the Chuckwagon’s past. In fact, as soon as they arrived Monday afternoon, they were scrubbing down tables, and sweeping and mopping the floor in preparation for some “good fixin’s.”

And if you take a walk up the hill above the lake to look at The Ranch, you’ll get a bird’s-eye view of the six sheep wagons. Built by Carlisle himself, they provide cozy sleeping quarters for some of the guests. The six wagons are arranged in a tight circle in a small meadow, as if part of an old western movie set. You’d almost expect a few cowboys in chaps to come walking out of one of them.

And the garden. Well, that’s where an 80-year-old barn stood, until the weight of winter snow on the roof caused the structure to buckle. Youth from the ward helped weed and till the ground where the barn used to be in preparation for planting flowers and vegetables.

“Here, weeding is fun,” said 17-year-old Lisa Patterson. “I think working together seems to make it more fun, especially because we’re giving service.”

Corey Wride, 17, agreed, and added, “I was surprised at how the adults passed responsibilities on to us.” Even with all that good food at the Chuckwagon ready to be eaten by hungry, hardworking teenagers, Corey’s favorite expression seemed to be, “Well, I’m ready to get back to work.”

The missionaries taught me the plan of salvation, which answered the questions I had about my uncle and about my own purpose in life. The elders also introduced me to the Book of Mormon. I remember reading in Alma 32 about the seed of faith developing and tasting good (see verse 28). That description was exactly how the Book of Mormon seemed to me. What I was reading and what the missionaries were teaching me rang true, felt right, and tasted good.
My mom teased me about what she called my “hermit crab stage” because I would retreat to my bedroom and spend several hours reading the Book of Mormon. Although I didn’t recognize my feelings as the Holy Ghost at that time, I felt that this path was right.

It’s game point, and the pressure is on. The volleyball soars over the net in a perfect serve, beginning what could be the final play of the regional championship game. Each team hustles for every return, prolonging the play and anticipation. Athletic battle rages on the court, every team member playing her heart out, desperate to end the game and win the championship.
One player places herself in position to hit a tricky shot—and misses. Game over. One team celebrates; the other is angry at their teammate who missed. They shoot nasty words to her and yell disparaging comments across the court to the other team. The victorious team retaliates, gloating and returning harsh comments.
As horrible as it sounds, some volleyball teams unfortunately play that way. But the Western Hills Eighth Ward (Kearns Utah Western Hills Stake) and Jordan First Ward (Salt Lake Jordan Stake) know better. They realize that having a good attitude, both on and off the court, is what sports—and sportsmanship—are really about.
For the second year running, the Western Hills and Jordan teams were about to face each other in the finals of a multistake volleyball tournament. Despite negative feelings that had developed between the two teams during the previous year’s tournament, the Western Hills team invited the Jordan girls to a joint practice to take place before the final match. Jordan’s coach, Kathy Holmes, said that at first she didn’t want her girls to lose their competitive edge, but after praying about it, she realized, “Heavenly Father would want us to get to know each other as friends and not as enemies. He wants us to have fun.”
The Jordan team responded enthusiastically to the invitation. “We were excited!” says Jordan First Ward’s Kim Lolani about the joint practice. “We wanted to get rid of any negativity.”
Her teammate Marie Aini explains, “When we practiced together we bonded and got to know each other. Last year we didn’t hit it off because we judged too quickly.”
The Western Hills young women said they enjoyed playing with the Jordan girls because their attitudes were positive. “I really liked playing with the Jordan team because they wouldn’t get mad at each other,” says Western Hills’ Jessica Ramirez. “Regardless of who won or lost, it wasn’t a big deal, because we had fun.”
Another Western Hills young woman, Martha Rojas, noticed the Jordan girls’ example of good sportsmanship. “Even though they lost sometimes, they were still really happy. They had fun the whole time. When we lost a game, we didn’t look as happy as the Jordan girls. I learned from them.”
The positive example the teams set for each other resonated with everyone. Jessica says, “A lot of the time there have been problems with other teams we’ve played, and people get angry with each other. Attitudes aren’t always great.” But when these two teams got together, they focused on the positive and fostered an environment of healthy and encouraging competition.
The girls learned that competition doesn’t have to be negative and that with good sportsmanship, competition can motivate them to play better. Sara Pena, the Western Hills coach, has noticed that healthy competition can bring out the best in the players. “Playing your best can help athletes grow in their own talent and achieve something,” she says. “Competition isn’t about seeing if you’re better than someone else. It’s about seeing where your diligence and strength will take you.”
The Jordan team agrees that attitude makes the difference between healthy and negative competitiveness. Marie says, “Together as a group, we decided that being too competitive isn’t fun.”
Kim agrees. “We shouldn’t take the game too seriously. We like to make each other laugh instead.”
The girls helped each other improve by teaching each other new skills. When Jael Blanco first started playing with the Western Hills team, she didn’t know how to play volleyball very well, but Coach Pena taught her the rules and encouraged her to keep trying. “Sometimes when I play a new sport, I feel like people care only about winning,” says Jael. “It’s not as much fun, because really I just want to learn. Sara taught me how to play volleyball, but she also taught me how to have fun with it.”
After the joint practice, the two teams faced each other in the championship match. Kathy says, “The Western Hills girls weren’t the enemy anymore. They were just people—friends—and it wasn’t intimidating. It was a completely different feeling playing that last game.”
The girls were cheering for their own teams, but the game wasn’t laced with tension like the previous year’s had been. The Jordan team won in a reversal from last year’s championship, but a more significant reversal took place. More than caring about which team won, this year the girls celebrated athletic skill and a good game.
After Jordan’s win, the Western Hills ward approached the Jordan ward and suggested a joint Mutual activity. The Western Hills ward is a Spanish-speaking ward, and many of the young women from Jordan have Polynesian heritage, so they decided to organize a cultural exchange night, where they could share aspects of their different cultures.
The Jordan First Ward hosted the activity, and each ward brought food from their cultures. Once the activity started, it was hard to tell which girl was in which ward. “We didn’t sit with our own wards. We all spread out and were meeting new people. I ended up hanging out with the Jordan girls at the cultural exchange night more than the girls from my own ward,” Martha says.
Jessica adds, “We mingled with everyone and also got along with all the leaders. Everyone was laughing and busy making new friends.”
These volleyball players know that attitude is integral in sportsmanship. Marie says, “Whatever attitude you choose to have before a game you take out with you onto the court.” She also says that it’s important to have a positive attitude not only with your own teammates but also with your opponents.
For these two volleyball teams, winning doesn’t depend on the score. These girls know that they score the most points when they step outside of themselves, make friends, and radiate a positive attitude.

1. Truman was racing around the dining room table when he saw Mom place an empty box on the kitchen counter and start to fill it with food.
What are you doing, Mom?
Thanksgiving is coming. I thought we could do service for another family by giving them food for a Thanksgiving dinner. Do you want to help?
Sure.
2. Truman ran to the pantry and found a box of stuffing mix.
Do you think they would want this?
Yes, I think they would be thankful for it. Go ahead and put it in.
3. Truman raced to the box and put the stuffing mix inside. Then he ran back to the pantry.
I’m going to be your super-fast helper, Mom.
That sounds great. Can you find some corn?
4. Truman quickly looked through the pantry and grabbed two cans of corn. He rushed back to the box and placed them inside. He was having fun helping as fast as he could. He put a lot of food in the box. Later, he even helped put a frozen turkey inside.
5. Now what are we going to do?
When it gets dark, Dad will take you to deliver the box.
Can we do it super fast?
Yes. Super fast.
6. When it got dark, Dad, Truman, and his older brother, Ethan, carried the box to the car. They drove for a couple of minutes until Dad parked down the street from the family’s house.
OK, guys. We’re going to put the box on the doorstep, knock on the door, and run.
Truman was excited about the running part.
7. Dad carried the box as Truman and Ethan walked quietly behind him. When Dad put the box down on the doorstep and knocked on the door, all three of them ran back to the car as fast as they could. Truman ran faster than ever.
8. As they drove away, Truman looked out the back window. He saw someone open the door, look around, and smile. He felt good about helping a family have a Thanksgiving dinner.
Do you think anybody saw us?
No way, Dad! We were super fast!