Gospel Story Finder

What are you doing?
Changing the air filter.
What does it do?
It’s got an important job. It keeps dirt out of the engine.
You know, you have a filter too.
What do you mean?
It’s the Holy Ghost. It helps you know when what you’re watching or reading isn’t good.
Like that movie we turned off last night?
Right! The Holy Ghost helped us keep bad stuff out of our brains—just like a filter!
Yeah, it’s not like you can throw your old brain away and get a new one at the store!

Years ago as a stake presidency, we felt impressed to call a good man as stake clerk. At the time he was temporarily struggling with regular Church attendance. We knew, however, that if he accepted the calling, he would do a marvelous job.

We extended the call, but he replied, “No, I don’t think I can do it.”

Then an impression came. I said, “Well, I guess the Glendale stake won’t have a stake clerk then.”

Shocked, he responded, “What are you talking about? You have to have a stake clerk.”

I replied, “Do you want us now to call someone else to serve as stake clerk when the Lord impressed us to call you?”

“OK,” he said, “I’ll do it.”

And do it he did. There are not only many men but also many boys who will respond to a call when they know the Lord is calling them and that the Lord needs them.

“We hosted a spa night for the Activity Day girls to help them get excited to move from Primary to Young Women. We served the younger girls by doing their hair and nails. One girl I didn’t know very well was sitting alone. I went and asked if she wanted her nails done. She got this big smile on her face and nodded. She was really excited to have an older girl help her. It was a good lesson for me because sometimes I’m kind of shy about talking to people I don’t know very well. I know she was really happy when I went and talked with her.”
Kara W., 13, Washington, USA

In this school’s earliest, financially desperate days, one of its leaders, Zina Young Williams, a daughter of Brigham Young, visited the Lord’s prophet, President John Taylor, to ask for counsel and support.

He took my hand in a fatherly way [, Dean Williams recalled,] and said, “My dear child, I have something of importance to tell you. . . . I have been visited by your father. He came to me in the silence of the night clothed in brightness and . . . told me . . . that the school being taught by Brother [Karl G.] Maeser was accepted in the heavens and was a part of the great plan of life and salvation; that . . . there was a bright future in store . . . for the children of the covenant . . . ; and that Christ himself was directing and had a care over this school.”

We become more aware of our agency as we come into our adolescent years of life. Whereas we heretofore have been obedient without questioning, now we rebel at compulsion and dislike gentle suggestions. We want our independence. We want to exercise our agency that was given to us by the Lord. This can be a very sensitive period, for ofttimes we exercise our agency without the wisdom of experience. Let me give you an example. When one of our sons was seventeen years of age, he became typically independent. We did not understand the problem and were deeply concerned. He was a good boy but seemed to have become a bit rebellious. Nevertheless, he was always willing to go home teaching with me as he was assigned by the bishop to be my companion. We had arranged an appointment to go home teaching on a particular Thursday evening. I wanted our families to implement in the home the principles of the gospel introduced in church, so I asked Sister Derrick, “What did you study in Relief Society last month?”

She responded, “We studied the principle of independence.”

David and I went into the bedroom, kneeled in prayer, and then sat on the bed; we talked and read from the scriptures about independence.

The second home we visited was that of President Kimball. He answered the door. We sat down in the front room with him and Sister Kimball. Following brief words of greeting, I said to Sister Kimball, “I understand you studied the principle of independence in Relief Society last month.”

“Yes,” she responded.

I turned to David and said, “Would you like to tell us your thoughts on independence?” The response he gave caused my heart to leap for joy.

He said, “Every young man and every young woman wants to be independent. I want to be independent.” I thought that was a great statement, for I believe it is true. He continued, “I always thought that to be independent you had to not do what our parents wanted you to do, but I’ve discovered tonight that, if you want to be independent, you have to keep the commandments of the Lord. The Lord has given us his commandments so that we can remain free. The Lord wants us to be free. But if we do not keep his commandments, we will come under the control of Lucifer. Lucifer wants to take our independence from us. Therefore, we are in jeopardy of losing the very thing we are trying to gain.” You can appreciate how delighted I was to hear those words. He has been a model son since that day.

Our ward had enough riding enthusiasts to get the outlaw band more or less mounted. We had purebred stallions, ancient hay burners, a Shetland pony, and one reluctant donkey. He was the only member of the cast who didn’t think it was a good idea. We first noticed this lack of enthusiasm when we had to drag him stiff-legged down the road behind my Volkswagen to load him on a truck. If you’ve got 53 horsepower on one end of the rope and one donkey power on the other, you’ve got a toss-up contest that could go either way. But we finally won.
We loaded him and the rest of the horses and outlaws and headed for the hills.
The train route winds through Provo Canyon, then hugs the hillside around Deer Creek reservoir, and cuts through the fields and pastures of Heber Valley. We set up near a grove of trees and waited.
“Here she comes!” shouted the lookout.
I hollered, “Lights! Action! Roll ’em!” (Whatever that means.)
Lights and roll ’em we didn’t get, but action we did. One blast of the engine whistle and every horse sponsored his own Kentucky Derby in his own direction. Only the donkey was left. He was too ornery to be scared. He just stood stiff-legged by the tracks and sang two-part harmony with the train as it thundered by.
The Creeper was a white puff of smoke in the distance by the time we rounded up the last of the horses, so we dubbed in the train scene later. Speaking of dubbing in, try as much as possible to shoot the scenes in order. Rehearse them while looking through the camera; then try to get it right the first take. It will save film costs and editing time later.
Our script called for a brawl scene climaxed by a pie in the face. For this scene we got the bishop’s permission, because he got the pie in the face. Blueberry cream. It was a beautiful scene and performed with excellent taste, the bishop said.
Close-ups and reaction-to-the-action shots help pace the action. And also try to frame your characters as large as practical in the shot unless it’s a deliberate long shot or scenery shot. Mount your camera on a tripod whenever possible. Even though your cameraman lives the Word of Wisdom, he’s got shaky hands.
You can get synchronized sound with some super-8 movie cameras, but this was more trouble and expense than we wanted. We used a silent screen format with printed titles to show the dialogue and credits. You can type these and photograph them with a close-up attachment on the movie camera. Here, especially, use the tripod, We recorded a rinky-tink piano background (put thumbtacks in the piano hammers to get the “tink”). We play the tape whenever we show the movie.
Showing the movie is, of course, the climax, particularly the premiere showing. We staged a variety show titled “Salute to the Silver Screen.” The whole ward was invited (and came), and the kids did songs, dances, and skits based on great movies of the past. (Unfortunately most of the great movies are in the past.) Then we honored the cast and showed the movie. “The Great Train Robbery” will never get an Oscar, but it was a “ward winning” movie.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus tells us to pray for our enemies. Our Church leaders today have often counseled us to do the same when we harbor ill feelings. While growing up, I used to think this was an old cliché used because no one could think up a better answer. There came a time in my life, though, when the only thing I could do was pray for those I so despised. I learned the wisdom in that counsel from an experience with prayer and forgiveness that changed my life.
It started when I entered the Young Women program in our small ward. I had always had fairly healthy self-esteem, mostly a result of accomplishing my goals. Involved in many activities, I always tried to do the best I could in each area. I was excited about being in Young Women, and I began trying to develop a relationship with the four girls I would be in constant association with. My excitement soon turned to bitterness as these four girls became one of the biggest trials in my life.
Being jealous of my accomplishments, they started doing anything they could to bring me down. At first it was just cutting remarks behind my back. Then they would band together and make fun of me in Sunday School. One day in Young Women class I sat next to one of the girls, and she stood up and moved across the room. Whenever I suggested an activity or was in charge, they failed to show up or carry through with their responsibilities.
I tried hard to uphold my standards, and was sometimes recognized for doing so. This did not improve my social standing with them. Everyone’s favorite section of the school newspaper was the song dedications. One week I was horrified to read that these girls had dedicated “Goody Two Shoes” to me. I felt this was an attempt to embarrass me in front of the whole school.
A person can endure this sort of treatment for a few months, or even a couple of years, but it went on for four years at an age when it is very important to feel a sense of belonging. I felt I was a failure because I had no friends. It was a terribly lonely time.
When I was 16, our family moved. I thought all my problems would be solved, but they were just beginning. In a new environment, I felt like a social worm. With little confidence left, I believed no one could ever like me. I hated the girls back in my hometown for making me feel this way. How could I “start over” with my past haunting me?
Feeling horribly alone, unloved, and bitter, I questioned what I should do. There was that old cliché, “Pray for your enemies.”
Pray for the girls who have destroyed my self-esteem, my social life, and hope? Be real, I thought.
But I felt the Spirit nudging me to pray.
I knew I had to forgive if I was ever going to progress and regain my confidence. I knelt and said my usual prayer. Then I stopped. I couldn’t pray for them. I just couldn’t. I stayed on my knees for about a half hour weeping. Praying for strength, I then said, “Dear Father, please bless Kathy, Ann, Sherri, and Julie.” That’s all I said. I didn’t feel any different, and it was the hardest prayer I had ever offered. The next night I said the same thing.
After a few months of praying every night for them, an amazing thing started to happen. The words came more easily, and I started feeling better about myself. Soon I prayed specific things for each girl: “Bless Ann to do well in her dance lessons. Bless Julie to get along with her parents. Bless Kathy to have the courage to stand up for the right, and bless Sherri with the strength to accomplish her goals.”
After an entire year of praying, the thing that I thought impossible happened. I loved them, and the bitterness and bad memories were erased. We have now become good friends.
It has been three years since that move and prayer, yet I still take time out in my prayers to remember them. The night I decided to pray and forgive them was probably the most important decision I ever made. You see, I could have spent my whole life being angry and hurt. In the end, I would have only destroyed myself.
Through those prayers I was able to improve my self-esteem. I learned faith, the power of prayer, and the truthfulness of the scriptures. I have been blessed with many friends who love me. I have not carried around a guilty, heavy conscience. It has become a habit for me to fall to my knees and pray for anyone who offends me. I have learned the sweetness of forgiveness.

Michael Duffy related: “I didn’t catch their names or pay much attention to what they were saying, except they were from the Mormon Church. Somehow they had found out I was a Mormon and asked if I wanted home teachers. I hadn’t been to Church for sixteen years!
“I don’t know exactly why I said yes. It seemed that many events had fallen into place to convince me that there was a missing link in my life. Previously, we had lived next door to a Mormon family. We did not go to Church, but I was reminded that our two sons had never been blessed and had never attended Church.
“My wife was not a Mormon, not even a Christian. Yet she agreed that something was missing.
“Home teachers soon contacted us and began regular visits. This started a process that would take many months, and change my family forever.
“I began attending priesthood meeting—infrequently at first, then regularly. I was finally able to overcome my Word of Wisdom problem. Our oldest son, now five, started attending Sunday School. We even began paying a little tithing. My wife supported me, but was not interested in the Church.
“Then one day two missionaries knocked at our door. After many months, having just been ordained an elder, I baptized and confirmed my wife a member of the Church. We were later sealed as a family in the Washington Temple.”
He continued, “As I look back on the many circumstances that took place, I fondly remember the love, prayers, and fellowship of the bishopric, elders quorum presidency, and others.
“We were truly blessed to be living in a ward that actively worked with less active members, that the elders quorum president (the position I now hold),” he said, “placed special emphasis on reactivation, and even a member of the stake presidency took a personal interest in us.”

I believe the concept of involvement encompasses even more than merely going through the motions. I think this is the concept that my dad was trying to teach me and my brothers when we were growing up in a small farming community in southeastern Arizona. At the time the Church in Duncan owned a large cotton farm. Because the weeds always seemed to grow faster than the cotton, the priesthood brethren were often called to hoe out the weeds. For a young boy, in the hot Arizona sun, that was no small task. Every time the request came, Dad would work shoulder-to-shoulder with his sons as we moved slowly up and down the rows of cotton.

When I got older I asked Dad why he just didn’t hire someone to fulfill his obligation. After all, his personal time was much more valuable than what it would have cost to hire a farmhand. Dad simply smiled and replied, “Son, it is because the welfare farm needs us, and we need the welfare farm.” I learned that service rendered with personal involvement becomes much more beneficial, both to the recipient and to the giver. When we render service with the proper attitude and for the right reasons, we benefit from being involved because we are expanding and developing our love and charity for others.

When I was only about eight years old, I wondered about the nature of God. One day my father read the scripture from the book of James that promises that if we lack wisdom, we can “ask of God, that giveth … liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given” (James 1:5). Those words filled my heart and were imprinted on my mind.
When I was alone in my bedroom, I prayed to God, asking Him to tell me if the church I was attending was the right one. I wanted Him to answer me immediately. But that didn’t happen. God didn’t do what I wanted, and I was sad that He hadn’t answered my prayer immediately. I wanted to know! I had done what I thought was sufficient.
Growing up, I had the opportunity to search for the answer in many churches. As I did, I got more and more confused. Everybody contradicted each other, and they would just gloss over my questions about the nature of God.
Years later, tired of searching, I said, “There is no answer.”
I began to do things that some modern youth do, such as partying and participating in a lot of worldly diversions. Each week I sank further and further into darkness because my decisions weren’t the best. The bad habits were also distancing me from my family, who had always supported me.
But once again the desire came to me to ask God. I prayed, “Father, I am here waiting. I have searched, and I have not found. The scriptures promise answers, but nothing is coming. Look at me. I am alone. I want to know, but I don’t know how to find You.”
At that time only—not before and not after, but just when I needed it—I felt that my chest burned as strong as if a volcano were inside of me. I couldn’t control the tears. I knew it was an answer to my question.
In the afternoon, when I was at school, I was thinking about my answer when my best friend asked me, “What are you thinking about, Ismael?” I didn’t give him a truthful answer then, telling him that I was thinking about the beach and that I wanted to go see the sunrise in the morning. I invited him to go.
“I can’t,” he told me, smiling.
“Why not?” I asked him. “What are you doing so early in the morning?”
“Seminary,” he said.
“Seminary? What is seminary?” I asked him. He explained to me that it was classes that his church held.
“How long have you been going to a church?” I asked him, surprised.
“As long as I can remember. I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
I told him I wanted to go and see. I knew inside that it was an answer to my long years of prayer.
The next day I woke up at 5:30 a.m. and went to seminary. The greatest surprise was that they were studying the Bible. I can say that I have never felt such a strong feeling of peace as I did when I entered the branch’s building in Matancita, the Dominican Republic, where pure doctrine was shared, delicious to a soul that had sought so anxiously. The hymns sung filled my mind and my heart with a thought: “This is the truth.”
“Wow,” I thought, “I want to feel this every day.” I asked when I could come back, and the teacher, my friend’s mother, gave me the class schedule and invited me to come to the branch’s Sunday services also.
From then on, every Monday through Friday, I got up at 5:30 to go to seminary and every Sunday to church. I couldn’t miss. I had found what I had always been looking for.
Sadly, there were no missionaries to teach me and baptize me. After a year and a half and much prayer, missionaries arrived and taught me all of the missionary lessons in a week. I remember the moment when I was submerged in the blue waters on my village’s beautiful beach.
I now enjoy the privilege of being not a stranger or foreigner (see Ephesians 2:19) but a brother of all those who have entered in the path of the Lord, the strait and narrow path.

One day at school, Matthew sat doodling on the cast on his leg while his classmate Andrea was giving her report about penguins. His cast was blue and was pretty much covered with messages from friends. He had broken his leg at a soccer game—the very first game of the season! Now he was going to miss the entire season, and he had to use crutches to get around. At least he didn’t have to be pushed in a wheelchair anymore, as he had the first few weeks. Matthew was thinking about how long it would be before he could walk normally again when he heard Andrea say, “And here’s my very own penguin!”
That caught his attention. Andrea was holding a model penguin, and it looked pretty good. She must have spent a long time making it.
“What did you make it out of?” Rebecca asked.
“I used papier-mâché, chicken wire, and tissue paper.”
“What did you use for its eyes?” John wanted to know.
Andrea was still answering questions when the lunch bell rang.
Mrs. Smith, Matthew’s fourth-grade teacher, smiled at Andrea. “Thank you for an excellent report. You were very thorough, and your project shows a lot of hard work.”
Then she turned to Matthew. “Who would you like to have stay with you today, Matthew?” Since the classroom was outside in a trailer, and it was hard to go up and down the stairs on crutches, Mrs. Smith let Matthew stay in the classroom to eat his lunch each day. He also got to choose a friend to stay and eat with him.
All of his friends raised their hands. “Me! Me! Let me!”
Matthew looked around. “Evan, I guess,” he said.
Evan cheered and pulled out his sack lunch while the rest of the class filed out to the lunchroom.
“What is your report about?” Matthew asked as he munched his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“Lions,” Evan replied. “What about yours?”
“Cheetahs. They’re my favorite animal.”
“What are you doing for your project?” Evan asked. “I drew a picture of some lions.”
Matthew nodded. “You’re really good at drawing. I’m going to put a plastic cheetah next to a car to show that a cheetah can run faster than a car for a little while. But my project isn’t very good compared to Andrea’s. Did you see her penguin?”
“Not very well,” Evan said. “My seat was too far away.”
“You should take a look. She must have spent hours on it.”
Evan shrugged. “She gets so crazy about things. You’d think penguins were the only animals on the planet.” He walked over to the side cabinets where Andrea’s penguin was on display. “She did do a good job,” he said. Suddenly he picked up the model penguin. “Hey, didn’t she say penguins can’t fly? Let’s see if she’s right!” He tossed the penguin across the room toward Matthew.
“Hey, watch it!” Matthew lunged for the flying bird and grabbed it by the feet. A few pieces of orange tissue paper fell off. “Flying back at you,” he yelled, flinging the bird toward Evan. It landed with a thud on the top of the overhead projector.
“She was right,” Evan said, laughing. “They don’t fly very well at all.”
When Evan picked the penguin up, several pieces of black and white tissue paper fell to the floor. “I think he’s shedding,” he said. “Oh, no! He has a bald spot on his wing! And it’s dented!”
Matthew hobbled over and studied the tattered project with dismay. “What are we going to do?” he asked. “Andrea’s going to be really mad.”
“Why don’t you pick up all the pieces of tissue paper and throw them away? I’ll just put the penguin back with the bad wing toward the wall. Maybe no one will notice.”
“I don’t know …” Matthew said. But he leaned over, balancing on one foot, picked the pieces up, then stuffed them in his pocket. He felt awful. “Do you think we ought to tell her?”
“No way!” Evan said. “We’ll get in big trouble.”
The bell rang, and soon the rest of the class returned. All during math and science, Matthew avoided looking at Andrea or the teacher. And he especially avoided looking at the penguin. What should he do? How would he feel if he had worked that hard on a project and someone ruined it?
But what would happen if he told? Matthew didn’t like calling attention to himself. And any punishment he received was sure to be something people would notice. Maybe he would have to sit in the principal’s office during lunch. Maybe he would have to pay Andrea for the penguin. Maybe they would call his mother from the office. None of those things sounded good.
But he knew that Andrea had to pick up the penguin sometime, and she would definitely notice the big bald spot and dent on the wing. She would know that someone in the class had ruined her bird—someone without enough courage or respect to tell her about it.
Matthew knew that the twisted knot in his stomach wouldn’t go away until he had done the right thing. He got up and went to the teacher. Pulling the crumpled tissue paper out of his pocket, he told Mrs. Smith what he had done.
Matthew could see from her face that she was really disappointed. “Thank you for letting me know,” she said. “Andrea, can you come here, please?”
Telling Andrea what he had done was very difficult, but Matthew felt a great sense of relief afterward. “I’m really sorry,” he added.
“How bad is it?” Andrea asked, going to look at the penguin. “Oh,” she said. She didn’t look very happy. But she took the tissue paper from Mrs. Smith. “I guess I could probably fix it,” she said.
“May I help you?” Matthew asked.
“Sure,” Andrea said. “Thanks.”
Matthew wished he had never thrown the penguin with Evan. But he was glad he had decided to confess, apologize, and do what he could to make it right.

I tried that once when I was riding my horse. I grabbed the limb of a tree, and my horse kept going. But then the limb broke and I fell to the ground. I suffered the consequence of that decision with a broken arm. It was very painful.
I gained a little wisdom from that experience. Even though we see other people do something, especially if it is wrong, it doesn’t mean that we should do it. We all have friends, and sometimes they do not always follow the teachings of the gospel.
Despite what our friends are doing, it is important that we always follow the teachings of the gospel. “Follow the prophet; he knows the way” (Children’s Songbook, 110–11). He will always teach us the things we need to do to make right decisions. As we follow those principles, they will become a very important part of us.

A man of wisdom often offered this simple piece of advice: “David, stand tall.” My dad did not expect that I would add inches to my stature or rise up on my tiptoes. He meant that I should be courageous in my decision, not compromising principles, not violating spiritual values, and not shrinking from responsibility. When I have followed his advice, life has been very good. When I have failed to stand tall, life has usually been unpleasant. I recently asked my two young grandsons what it would mean to them if Heavenly Father asked them to stand tall. I noticed one inadvertently raised himself to his tippy-toes so as to seem a little taller. And then they quickly said in unison, “He wants us to do what is right.”

Quietly the ten-year-old girl tiptoed toward the big oak tree. Her bare feet stepped lightly on freshly fallen leaves. A twig snapped. The girl stopped a moment, hoping the boy on the other side of the tree had not heard. There was no sound.
The girl moved closer. Soon she stood beside the boy and, without warning, grabbed the slate shingle he held in his lap.
“Hey, what—”
Before the boy could say another word, Sarah Lincoln waved the shingle high in the air. “Look at this, everyone,” she teased. “This is my worthy brother and his shingle for writing. You ask what my worthy brother is worth? Why, look at his shingle. He has written his name again and again. Surely he must fancy he is worth a giant treasure.”
Eight-year-old Abe jumped up and grabbed his shingle board. “You are always teasing!” he scolded. “You might do well to practice your own writing.”
Sarah laughed. “If I did, I’d write something better than my name—or yours. Vanity brings pain, dear brother.”
Still smiling, she ran off into the Kentucky woods. Abe sat down again, looking at his name on the shingle board.
“That Sarah,” he said to himself. “She’ll always be a tease.”
Sarah Lincoln was born on February 10, 1807. Two years and two days later, on February 12, 1809, her brother Abraham was born.
There was always much to do around the Lincoln cabin at Knob Creek. Thomas Lincoln was a farmer and carpenter. His wife Nancy Hanks Lincoln took care of the duties of the home and raising the children. As a young girl, Sarah soon learned to cook, clean, and sew. She helped gather berries in the woods and washed the family’s clothing.
At the Knob Creek School, Sarah was an eager pupil. As in most schools of that time, pupils spoke their lessons aloud while the schoolmaster carefully listened to them. Often Sarah shared her pride in young Abe. “He’s the brightest pupil in the class,” she told her parents. “I’m sure the schoolmaster thinks so too.”
Sarah was ten when her father moved the family west to Indiana. Once again the Lincoln cabin was near a creek. It offered a place to fish and swim, and the nearby woods were a perfect spot for hide-and-seek and other games.
When their mother became ill, Sarah took over most of the home chores and provided loving comfort and care for her mother until she died. She was buried on an Indiana hillside near their cabin where Sarah, Abe, and their father knelt quietly in prayer.
It was no easy task keeping a clean cabin for a grown man and a boy of ten. Although Sarah did her best, it was too much for a twelve-year-old girl.
Thomas Lincoln went to Kentucky once more, and when he returned he brought a new wife. Sarah Bush Johnston Lincoln was a widow with three children. Quickly she accepted Sarah and Abe as her own. Again there was laughter in the Lincoln cabin.
One night after supper, seventeen-year-old Sarah stood up at the table. “Aaron Grigsby has asked me to become his wife,” she said softly.
The announcement was happily received. Aaron Grigsby was a hard-working farmer known for his good character. The marriage took place in the Pigeon Creek Church that Sarah’s father had helped build.
A year later Sarah was expecting a baby. “So I shall be Uncle Abraham,” her younger brother boasted. “What a fine sound that title has!”
Then tragedy struck. Sarah and her baby both died during childbirth. Stunned by the loss, Abe could not bring himself to talk about his sister for a long time.
After he became president, Abraham Lincoln was asked about his childhood. “What happy memories do you have of your early years?” asked one newspaper reporter.
President Lincoln sat back in his chair. “We had little money in our home,” he answered, “but there was much joy and love. My kind and loving sister Sarah and I shared many wonderful adventures. Her years upon this earth were few. Yet my happiest memories are of the little time we had together. She was truly a loving sister and a very special friend.”

Some years ago a young Primary boy was on a train going to California in the days when we traveled on trains. He was all alone. He sat near the window watching the telephone poles go by. Across the aisle from him was a gentleman who also was going to California. The attention of the gentleman was called to this very young boy traveling all alone without friends or relatives. He was neatly dressed and well-behaved. And this gentleman was quite impressed with him.
Finally, after some time, the gentleman crossed the aisle and sat down by the young man and said to him, “Hello, young man, where are you going?”
He said, “I am going to Los Angeles.”
“Do you have relatives there?”
The boy said, “I have some relatives there. I am going to visit my grandparents. They will meet me at the station, and I will stay with them a few days during the school vacation.”
The next questions were “Where did you come from?” and “Where do you live?”
And the boy said, “Salt Lake City, Utah.”
“Oh, then,” said the gentleman, “you must be a Mormon.”
And the boy said, “Yes, I am.” There was pride in his voice.
The gentleman said, “Well, that’s interesting. I’ve wondered about the Mormons and what they believe. I’ve been through their beautiful city; I’ve noticed the beautiful buildings, the treelined streets, the lovely homes, the beautiful rose and flower gardens, but I’ve never stopped to find out what makes them as they are. I wish I knew what they believe.”
And the boy said to him, “Well, sir, I can tell you what they believe. ‘We believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost’” (A of F 1:1).
The businessman was a bit surprised but listened intently, and the boy continued,
“‘We believe that men will be punished for their own sins, and not for Adam’s transgression’” (A of F 1:2).
And the traveling companion thought, “This is rather unusual for a mere boy to know these important things.”
The boy went on: “‘We believe that through the Atonement of Christ, all mankind may be saved, by obedience to the laws and ordinances of the Gospel’” (A of F 1:3). And the gentleman was amazed at the knowledge and understanding of a mere boy—he was yet to be a Scout. But he continued and gave the fourth article of faith and said, “‘We believe that the first principles and ordinances of the Gospel are: first, Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ; second, Repentance; third, Baptism by immersion for the remission of sins; fourth, Laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost.’”
“That is wonderful,” said the gentleman. “I am amazed that you know so well the doctrines of your church. I commend you.”
With a good start and with encouragement, Johnny continued. “‘We believe that a man must be called of God, by prophecy, and by the laying on of hands, by those who are in authority, to preach the Gospel and administer in the ordinances thereof’” (A of F 1:5).
“That’s very solid doctrine, my boy,” the gentleman said. “I am curious now to know how they get called of God. I can understand how they would receive the call and be established with the laying on of hands, but I wonder who has the authority to preach the gospel and administer in the ordinances thereof.”
They discussed the matter of calling and sustaining and laying on of hands. Then the lad said, “Would you like to know more?”
The gentleman thought that was very unusual for a boy in these tender years to know what the Church taught, and he said, “Yes, go on.”
So Johnny quoted, “‘We believe in the same organization that existed in the Primitive Church, namely, apostles, prophets, pastors, teachers, evangelists, and so forth’” (A of F 1:6).
That brought some other discussion. “You mean that your church has Apostles such as James and John and Peter and Paul, and prophets such as Moses, Abraham, Isaac, and Daniel, and also evangelists?”
And the boy responded quickly, “Yes, even evangelists. We call them patriarchs, and they are appointed in all parts of the Church where there are stakes. And by inspiration they give to all the members of the Church, as required, what is called a patriarchal blessing. I have already had my patriarchal blessing, and I read it frequently. Now we have 12 Apostles who have the same calling and the same authority as given to the Apostles in the days of old.”
The gentleman came back with these questions: “Do you speak in tongues? Do you believe in revelations and prophecies?”
And the boy brightened up as he quoted, “‘We believe in the gift of tongues, prophecy, revelation, visions, healing, interpretation of tongues, and so forth’” (A of F 1:7).
The gentleman gasped. “This sounds like you believe in the Bible!”
And the boy repeated again, “We do. ‘We believe the Bible to be the word of God as far as it is translated correctly; we also believe the Book of Mormon to be the word of God’” (A of F 1:8).
The gentleman discerned that we believe both in the scriptures and in revelation. And the boy quoted, “‘We believe all that God has revealed, all that He does now reveal, and we believe that He will yet reveal many great and important things pertaining to the Kingdom of God’” (A of F 1:9). And then he continued, “‘We believe [also] in the literal gathering of Israel and in the restoration of the Ten Tribes; that Zion (the New Jerusalem) will be built upon the American continent; that Christ will reign personally upon the earth; and, that the earth will be renewed and receive its paradisiacal glory’” (A of F 1:10).
The gentleman was listening intently. He showed no interest in crossing the aisle back to his own seat. Then Johnny came in again. He said, “‘We claim the privilege of worshiping Almighty God according to the dictates of our own conscience, and allow all men the same privilege, let them worship how, where, or what they may’” (A of F 1:11). He then continued, “‘We believe in being subject to kings, presidents, rulers, and magistrates, in obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law’” (A of F 1:12).
And then as a final contribution, the boy repeated the thirteenth article of faith: “‘We believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, and in doing good to all men; indeed, we may say that we follow the admonition of Paul—We believe all things, we hope all things, we have endured many things, and hope to be able to endure all things. If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.’”
This youngster relaxed now as he finished the Articles of Faith. The gentleman was clearly excited, not only at the ability of this young boy to outline the whole program of the Church, but at the very completeness of its doctrine.
He said, “You know, after I have been to Los Angeles a couple of days, I expect to go back to New York where my office is. I am going to wire my company that I will be a day or two late and that I am going to stop in Salt Lake City en route home and go to the information bureau there and hear all the things, in more detail, about what you have told me.”
I am wondering how many of you know the Articles of Faith. … Have you repeated them? You are always prepared with a sermon when you know the Articles of Faith.
Joseph Smith did, two years before his death, in a letter to a newspaper editor, John Wentworth. Mr. Wentworth had asked for information about the Church. The Prophet Joseph wrote to him about the First Vision, the coming forth of the Book of Mormon, the organization of the Church, and the persecution Church members faced. The Prophet finished the letter by listing 13 of our key beliefs, which are now called the Articles of Faith.
To read the Prophet Joseph’s entire letter, see “Gospel Classics: The Wentworth Letter” (Ensign, July 2002) in the Gospel Library at www.lds.org.

When Young Women in the Cedar Mill Stake (Portland, Oregon) hear a bell, it reminds them that they’re not alone—that Heavenly Father is always there, eager to help. Mia Maid Erin Bowman explained it like this:
“I like to think of life on earth as a big soccer tournament. We’re all players, and every time we score a goal or achieve something, we feel really good inside and know Heavenly Father and Jesus are rooting for us. Even when we miss a goal and fail to score, they are still cheering for us and telling us to try again. When we win the game and go on to another team, or another aspect of life, we always know that there are those who love us and are there supporting us.”

And a woman also can be a multitude. How many is one if that one is a Mary Fielding Smith? Let me tell you just a little bit about this woman. Mary Fielding Smith became the second wife of Hyrum Smith after his first wife died and left him a widower with five little children. Within seven years, when Hyrum was killed with the Prophet, she herself was left a widow with a small family of her own, including the earlier family of Hyrum’s, which had become her own. A few years later, when the Saints fled from Nauvoo, Mary Fielding Smith was faced with the same problem as was her sister-in-law, Emma Hale Smith, the widow of the Prophet. What should they do? Should they stay in their relatively fine homes in Nauvoo and let the main body of the Church leave them? Or should they leave their homes and endure the hardships of the long trek westward?

Emma Smith decided to stay; Mary Fielding Smith decided to leave with the Saints. The trip was not easy, and the young widow and her family endured many hardships, but these hardships helped to forge some strong men and women. After they were finally settled in the Great Basin, the hardships did not stop. It was a difficult thing for eleven-year-old Joseph F. Smith to divide the family’s meager potato crop into two piles and then follow the directions of his widow mother to take the pile of the better potatoes to the bishop as tithing—but he did. At fifteen this young man was sent on a mission; in his early twenties he was ordained an apostle; and later he became president of the Council of the Twelve Apostles. Finally, he became the sixth president of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in this dispensation.

Because of the decision of Mary Fielding Smith to remain faithful to the gospel and to leave Nauvoo and to endure the hardships of the trip west, I understand there are now over 400 descendants of Hyrum Smith in the Church, including the present president of the Council of the Twelve Apostles, Joseph Fielding Smith. Mary Fielding Smith’s decision—as do many of our decisions—affected not only herself but also her family, her friends, and generations yet unborn. How many is one if that one is a Mary Fielding Smith?

As a qualified therapist-counsellor, Elder Robert Durkin had a custom-made mission. He was called as a pre-mission assessment coordinator. He also coordinated all the addiction recovery programme coordinators throughout the Europe areas where the addiction recovery programme is being used. He trained the coordinators and made sure records were kept up to date.

He and his wife served a full-time mission at the MTC in Chorley where he was in the MTC presidency. After her passing, he decided to serve another mission. He wanted to serve and live in Germany, so he was planning to move from the UK to Frankfurt, where he would have paid his own expenses as a service missionary rather than paying the monthly missionary fees. Due to COVID, he stayed in the UK and completed his mission from his own home. He says he was able to do everything he needed to do while living at home. He encourages others to serve a mission. He says, “Don’t miss the opportunity. A mission is a great way to get closer to the Lord.”

I can remember my dad trying to teach me this principle when I was a kid. He would say that if I was going to do a job, I should do it right, and do it right the first time. Growing up, one of my jobs was to mow the lawn. And as a kid, I always had much more important things to do than mow our lawn. So on several occasions, I would hurry though the task and not do a very good job. I would miss small sections of the grass, or I would not mow close enough to the fence, or whatever. I would just not do a very good job. When my dad got home, he would see the quality of what my work and he would always get after me. Now my dad was a stern taskmaster and when he had me redo the job the second time, he absolutely made sure that it was a much more unpleasant experience than it would have been if I had just done it right the first time. Now I'll tell you brothers and sisters, I am not an idiot, I might be a nerd, but I am not an idiot. And so with those very unpleasant redo's, I learned how to do a job right the first time. And I will tell you, I am so, so, so, so, so thankful to my dad for that. My dad taught me a lot of things in my life, but that one principle of doing things right the first time, has opened more doors for me and created more opportunities for me than I can count. It has absolutely helped me in my career and life.

I’d like to begin by sharing a story that touches my heart.
One evening a man called his five sheep to come into the shelter for the night. His family watched with great interest as he simply called, “Come on,” and immediately all five heads lifted and turned in his direction. Four sheep broke into a run toward him. With loving-kindness he gently patted each of the four on the head. The sheep knew his voice and loved him.
But the fifth sheep didn’t come running. She was a large ewe that a few weeks earlier had been given away by her owner, who reported that she was wild, wayward, and always leading the other sheep astray. The new owner accepted the sheep and staked her in his own field for a few days so she would learn to stay put. He patiently taught her to love him and the other sheep until eventually she had only a short rope around her neck but was no longer staked down.
That evening as his family watched, the man approached the ewe, which stood at the edge of the field, and again he gently said, “Come on. You aren’t tied down anymore. You are free.” Then lovingly he reached out, placed his hand on her head, and walked back with her and the other sheep toward the shelter.