Gospel Story Finder

I’m having a blast here at the summer conference of the National Association of Student Councils. Among the 2,000 student delegates from North America, I didn’t expect to find other Mormons, but soon they found me!
Some LDS delegates planned a testimony meeting and spread the word. Dozens of LDS kids from all over North America showed up! As we bore our testimonies, the Spirit let us know the truthfulness of the Gospel.
Here’s a photo of some of the LDS kids. It’s great to know that so many student leaders are also such wonderful examples for the Church!
Love, Jamie

Right before I started high school, our family moved almost 500 miles to Tennessee, USA. My goal was to make new friends as fast as possible. But by the end of the year I had just a few friends.
At lunch, I always sat with a girl I knew, as well as her friends. At first things went great and I enjoyed hanging out and talking with them. Unfortunately, as time went on, their conversations became more and more crude and riddled with profanity. I felt really uncomfortable because I didn’t want to participate in their conversations or hear that much vulgarity.
I decided to pray for an answer to what I should do. Should I stay and just ignore it or should I give up lunch with my friends for my beliefs? I received my answer shortly afterward; I knew I could not put my religious beliefs aside for friends. After lunch, I talked with my friend, and I decided to switch tables the next day. My friend was upset, but I knew the reasons for my decision, and my mind was made up.
Later on, I talked with a few people who were in my English class, and they were happy to make room for me at their table.
I’m now in my senior year, and my entire high school experience has changed because of that decision. After moving to a new table I made several new friends. My friends in this group know my standards and frequently talk to me about them and ask me questions. They respect my religious beliefs and don’t try to change me.
I know that the decisions I make today will affect me for the rest of my life. By acting on faith, I was blessed with what have become my best friends.

“Class, please pass your papers to the front.” Heidi reached behind her to pick up Molly’s paper. She loved to look at Molly’s beautiful writing before she passed it forward. Her letters seemed to flow together perfectly. Heidi looked at her own paper and was embarrassed for anyone to see the poor handwriting. She slid her paper under Molly’s and passed it forward.
“Mom, will you write my homework for me?” Heidi asked as she walked in the door. Her mother had beautiful handwriting too. Maybe if her mother wrote her homework, she wouldn’t feel so embarrassed.
“Why do you want me to write your homework? Are your arms broken?” her mom teased.
Heidi told her mother about Molly’s beautiful writing. “I wish I had practiced my handwriting more last year.” Heidi sat down at the table and plopped her face in her hands.
“You know, Heidi,” her mom said, “if you work hard enough at it, your handwriting can be as good as anyone’s. You just have to put your mind to it.”
Heidi wasn’t so sure. She pictured Molly’s writing and thought there was no way hers would ever look like Molly’s.
“Do you remember the prophet Heber J. Grant?” Mom asked.
Heidi looked up. “Yes. We learned about him in Primary.”
“He had bad handwriting when he was young. He really wanted to improve, so he practiced and practiced until his handwriting was so good that he received an award for his penmanship.”
Heidi was amazed! She looked up to the prophets, but she had never realized they had problems just like hers when they were young. She decided that if Heber J. Grant could work to improve his handwriting, so could she.
The next day at school Heidi worked hard on her handwriting. It was difficult at first. She had to stay late to finish writing her assignments, but the story of President Heber J. Grant motivated her to continue.
It was weeks before Heidi began to notice any improvement. It still took her a long time to do her assignments, but her writing was getting better.
One day Molly noticed. “Heidi, you have really nice handwriting,” she said.
“Thanks.” Heidi blushed. She couldn’t help but let a smile creep across her face.
That night Heidi left a note on the refrigerator for her mother. It was in beautiful handwriting.
Dear Mom,
Thank you for telling me the story of Heber J. Grant. I probably won’t win any awards, but I finally feel like I have nice handwriting. Following the prophet wasn’t as hard as I thought!
Love,
Heidi

Young Matthew Kelsay stared gloomily out the window at the drifts of deepening snow, and listened to the icy wind moan like an ill-bearing minstrel. “Can’t go out and play,” he grumbled to himself. “Maybe I should have gone with Mom and Dad to the genealogy library like they wanted me to.” But he thought there wouldn’t have been anything to do at the library except thumb through a bunch of old dusty books, trying to find the name of someone who was born one year and died another. Uuchhh! How boring, he thought with disgust.
Turning away from the misted glass, Matthew stared bleakly across the room at the stairway. “Nothing to do inside, either,” he murmured. Then his eyes suddenly brightened. Jumping off the sofa, he sprinted up the steep stairs.
The boy hadn’t explored the attic for a long time. The last time he had been up there, he had played an innocent prank on Methuselah, their old tomcat, who sometimes slept there on a dusty featherbed. Now to a very bored eleven-year-old who had nothing better to do, it seemed like a good place to escape a humdrum afternoon.
Matthew squeezed inside, waded through the piles of clutter, and posed clownishly before a cracked mirror with one of his father’s old hats piled on his head. Then he saw something reflected in the mirror that distracted him—an old chest caught in a shaft of wintry light that slivered through a tattered curtain covering the single attic window.
Plopping himself down beside the big box, Matthew creaked open the lid. A warm, musty-sweet smell floated out like a trapped ghost set free. He reached in and pulled out a pair of old boots—boots Matthew was sure must have walked a thousand miles! Next he discovered a faded photograph of a white-haired man with a Moses-like beard and a dusty smile. On the lower corner was written—Josiah Kelsay 1905.
“It’s Great-Grandpa,” whispered the boy. Tucked next to the photograph was a little worn red book. Matthew picked it up and opened it carefully so as not to tear the pages, and the scent that emanated from it tingled him. “Must be Great Grandpa’s diary,” breathed Matthew with awe and reverence. He turned to the inside cover and read: “The diary of ten-year-old Josiah Kelsay, recorded as he crossed the plains with a party of wagons on their way to the Great Salt Lake Valley in the spring of eighteen hundred and forty-nine.” Matthew looked up, his eyes big and round. “Wow! Methuselah, 1849!”
Matthew gingerly fingered a few pages into the little book, stopped, and began to read aloud: “March 18. Our Conestoga left without Ma’s piano. There just wasn’t any room, and the oxen were put upon enough as it was. Baby Jess nearly took a joyful fit when a butterfly lit on her cradle in the back of the wagon.”
The boy turned a few more pages. “March 29. Saw some Indians not too far from our camp today. Brother Ezekiel said they were Crows. They didn’t look as though they meant us any harm, but Ma took on fearful and then became prayerful. Pa tried to comfort Ma and told her not to worry because God would see to it that all of us got to the valley in one piece.”
Digging into the diary a little deeper, Matthew read: “April 3. It rained some today. Old Sister Weber died this morning. Found me a real arrowhead in the skull of a dead coyote. Brother Beacon’s boy said he’d give me his gold watch for it but I’d rather keep the arrowhead. Baby Jess has taken to coughing something fierce.”
More pages were turned. “April 19. We only made about a mile today. Pa took time out to bury Baby Jess. Didn’t see Pa cry but he put his arms round Ma in the holdingest kind of way. Then he walked off somewhere by himself for the rest of the day. Once I thought I heard someone crying off aways. Maybe it was just the wind coming down off the butte.”
“April 20. Brother Ezekiel shot a wild pig that came into a place where Sister Gunnerson was digging some Indian Soapweed. The pig was acting crazy and bubbling at the jaws like he had a devil in him. And before it was killed it horned a place across Ma’s leg—just a scratch but there’s some folks looking unusually mournful. Pa and Nephi Cole administered to Ma. Flora Clanton found some berries and said she’s going to work up something special for the one that sings the loudest tonight at the camp sing.”
Matthew fingered ahead. “May 2. They had to tie Ma down in the wagon today.”
“May 3. Ma died this morning. Just before the end she told us good-bye. I think I heard her tell me to be strong and to praise God.”
On another page Matthew read: “May 4. Cold all day—colder than ever before. We found some little wild flowers to put on Ma’s grave.”
Matthew rubbed his arms, looked up at the snow falling against the little attic window, then he flipped the page. “May 6. We’ve been trying to catch up with the rest of the wagons. Pa told me to try to stop looking so stretchy-faced over Ma being gone. He says we’ll all get to the valley, only we’ll have to take Ma and Baby Jess with us in our hearts. He said they’ll live forever because things eternal never die. And maybe it’s so.”
Matthew turned one more page. “May 7. The wind is most howly and wild today, guess that’s why Pa’s been holding me tighter than I can ever remember.”
Matthew closed the book respectfully, wiped a tear from his cheek, and stared at the diary a long, proud moment. Looking at old books isn’t so boring after all, he decided. And it certainly isn’t dumb.
“You know what, Methuselah?” he said to his sleeping cat. “The next time Mom and Dad ask me to go to the genealogy library, maybe I’ll go with them to see if there are some other diaries that will be as interesting as Great-Grandpa’s.” The old tom’s paws twitched in undisturbed sleep. Matthew laughed. He was thinking that if Methusalah ever tried to find out about his ancestors, he would have to rely on dreams!

I have known a modern-day Nephi: Daniel Choc, a Cakchiquel Indian of Guatemala. When I first met him, Daniel was serving as a missionary in the Guatemala City Mission, the first Cakchiquel missionary, as far as I could learn. He served only 48 kilometers from his home, the small city of Patzicia where his father was a farmer and president of the branch. The distance from home was small, but for Daniel and his family the financial sacrifice for his mission was great. His father earns approximately $100 to $200 each year, but as Daniel approached the age of nineteen and his call to serve a mission for the Lord he loved, the family prayerfully committed $90 for the two-year period—approximately one-fourth of the family’s income.
Having taken that step, Daniel then began to conquer other challenges such as collars and ties and shoes, and foods other than beans, tortillas, and rice. But he adjusted to his new environment rapidly, for his only interest was in teaching and blessing his people, and in helping the missionaries to learn the difficult Mayan dialect.
Elder Choc was a gifted teacher, and he worked with an urgency that amazed me. He taught with power, love, faith, and testimony, always leaving his contacts happy and satisfied. He made the gospel easy to understand. I never saw him angry or upset, even in the midst of opposition. He loved his people, and they loved him.
Before my mission came to an end in 1976, I was destined to meet Elder Choc one last time. In this experience I would learn what faith in the Lord really means, and what life is all about. I would gain an even deeper insight into the devotion of this amazing native elder to his people.
On the morning of 4 February 1976, in the central Guatemal highlands, one of the most devastating natural disasters ever to hit Central America occurred: a killer earthquake, responsible for more than 24,000 deaths.
After it was over, my companion and I were assigned to secure information concerning the welfare of our elders and Church members in the central highlands in order to make a preliminary report to Salt Lake City. We stopped in several small towns, and finally encountered Elder Choc and his companion making their way to Daniel’s home. They had worked all morning helping the wounded and taking care of the dead, and then, having done all they could in their assigned area of labor, they started for Patzicia. My companion and I went with them.
When we came upon what used to be Daniel’s home, we saw his father, looking lost, uncertain, and afraid, stumbling through the rubble. Daniel rushed over and embraced him. After a moment of silence, they both broke into tears as Daniel’s father whispered that his wife, then carrying their unborn eighth child, and two young sons had been crushed to death by the heavy adobe walls of their home when the quake began.
President Choc was deeply hurt, and the stress was almost more than he could bear. But after a long time of weeping, Daniel composed himself, looked into his father’s eyes, and said: “Can you remember the sacrifices we made for almost twenty years to go to the temple of God, and how special it was to know that we had been sealed for time and all eternity? We will all be together again. I know it! Father, the Lord has blessed you. You are his servant in this part of his vineyard. Take this bruised and broken people by the hand and comfort them. Organize them and lead them in prayer, will you?”
And then, as Nephi of old had turned to Lehi in the desert to encourage him as a leader, Elder Choc said, “Help us, Father, to exercise our faith.”
President Choc did organize the members of his branch and began the massive task of salvaging and rebuilding. He was a pillar of strength from that day on to all those associated with him.
After doing what he could for his family and friends, Daniel’s first words to me were, “Come on, let’s go. We’ve got a lot to do if we are going to report back to Salt Lake by tonight.”
Somewhat shocked by his remark, I explained to him that we could get to the remainder of the cities by ourselves and that he was needed at home.
“My father can take over now,” he said. “My calling is to help the Saints and elders elsewhere. Can I please go?” After such a plea, we consented.
The day was going by quickly and we still had three cities to get to, two of them inaccessible by road because of quake damage. So we decided to split up. Elder Choc and I drew the assignment of going to Comalapa. He was so anxious to reach the city that he suggested we run all the way—17.7 kilometers!
I was sure he was joking. After all, we had to go through a deep canyon that was sure to be dangerously steep because of quake-caused landslides. I was willing to walk around the canyon, but Daniel, already familiar with the terrain, insisted that we would never make it unless we ran through it. He reminded me that with the Lord’s help, we could do it. He asked me if I would pray for physical strength and endurance, and plead with the Lord for a special blessing on the canyon because there were many in Comalapa who needed help but were trapped there because of the dangerous condition of the canyon. Humbled, I did so.
And we ran every step of those 17.7 kilometers! As we did so, he rehearsed with me the words of the Savior to the people of ancient America. Daniel said he had pondered them deeply in his heart and was anxious to know more.
When we got to the canyon, we found it calm and quiet, and it stayed that way the rest of the day. After helping and securing the information we needed in Comalapa, we made our way back to Patzicia, and I left Elder Choc there with his father and surviving family.
I never saw him again. But I pondered continually the greatness of this young Cakchiquel Indian. He affected my life in such a drastic way that I have never been the same since. My vision of the gospel has been amplified a hundredfold since my association with Daniel. Truly, “he did keep the commandments of God, and did walk in the ways of his father.” (Hel. 3:37.)
On 30 March 1976, while working with sixty other missionaries to clear away rubble in the devastated town of Patzun, Daniel was killed as an adobe wall was collapsed by one of the earthquake’s many after-shocks.
His death was hard to accept. But as a fellow missionary, Elder Julio Salazar, said at his funeral: “I could picture Elder Choc as a great leader in Patzicia. For this reason, I could not accept his death. As I pondered why he died, I realized that it was probably because of his preparation that the Lord called him to aid with the work in the spirit world, especially among the thousands of Cakchiquel people who were taken during the earthquake.”

Let me finish telling you about the missionaries in Mongolia. Because all the elders were expected to teach English, I became something of a teaching supervisor to help them provide the best classes possible. I would visit them in class, observe their teaching, and then give suggestions.
I never expected to have to supervise teachers on a mission. But the Lord needed someone who could help these elders do the job they needed to do in order to introduce the gospel to Mongolia. From one class I had taken in college, I knew enough to talk about the positive things they had done instead of focusing on the negative. I knew I had to build their confidence. Having these young men do a good job was so important to introducing the gospel to the Mongolian people.
Much later, when we had returned from the mission field and the missionaries I helped were pursuing their own educations, one elder e-mailed me and thanked me for the day I came to their class to watch him and his companion. The first thing I had asked them that day was to list all the things they had done right. They made their list, but what he remembers is that I came up with a long list of things they had done well. It changed his attitude. It gave him confidence. He had not done well in school before his mission, but now, because he felt he was a good teacher of English, he thought he could return to school and succeed. It wasn’t until he had graduated from college that he wrote the e-mail to thank me. I had no idea that I was helping him. But the Lord knew how to use that bit of knowledge I had learned in college to help one of His missionaries while on his mission and afterwards in his own education.

We so often read about the widow who placed into the treasury her mite (see Mark 12:41–42), I suppose bitterly embarrassed as she did it for fear that it was such a little bit to be given. Well, I saw a widow come before the bishop at tithing settlement and say, “That is my full tithing, $55.00.” Her income then would have been $550. When you subtract the $55, you’re down to $495. With a sweet, humble attitude she said, “That’s all there was, bishop, but it is a full tithing.” And we talk about poverty at the $4,500 level and now $7,500! I’m not certain we understand. There are those who have poverty of the soul, those who have poverty of the spirit—and then there are those who are rich with the spirit, as this sweet sister.

World population: six billion. Population of Duchesne, Utah: 1,500.
If you looked at a map of the world, you would need a strong magnifying glass to see this tiny mountain town tucked into the southern end of the Uintah Basin. Despite its high-desert beauty, most people just drive through Duchesne on their way to somewhere else.
But this small Utah town is important—so important it could change the world. And if those people driving through stopped for a while and really looked, they would see what’s so special about what they thought was just a dot on their map.
The young men, 16 and older, in the Duchesne Utah Stake have had a tantalizing taste of what it feels like to be a missionary. They held a stake missionary conference, planned by their leaders and two youth cochairs, that attempted to include some aspects of a two-year mission experience into two days. Of course, the young men only got a sampling of what it will really be like to be on a mission, but the experience is one they won’t soon forget.
Nearly 50 would-be missionaries arrived on a Friday afternoon at the Duchesne missionary training center—a.k.a. the Duchesne stake center—in their suits, toting their luggage, with their parents in tow. After a short devotional the young men went through one door into the cultural hall and their parents exited another to head back home (a la MTC fashion).
In the cultural hall, the young men were greeted with dinner, missionary packets, and an assigned companion. Outfitted with name tags that read “Brother_______,” the companionships headed to their first training classes. The classes covered a whole range of topics from learning the first missionary discussion and mission rules, to how to sort laundry and pack a suitcase.
Going to the conference was easier for some than for others. “I thought I had better things to do,” said Jeff Foster of the First ward. But he decided to go anyway. By Saturday afternoon he had changed his tune. “My parents are going to say, ‘I told you so!’” Jeff says. “There are people who don’t want to go on missions because they don’t want to leave their stuff behind—like their jobs and their music or whatever—but it’s worth it!”
“Those are all things you have to give up if you want to go on a mission,” agrees Eric Peatross, who was just called to the England Leeds Mission. Eric has many scholarship offers that won’t wait for him to come back in two years. He’s also leaving behind a job he loves, as well as his band. He says, “It involves a lot of prayer. You really have to know the gospel is true before you can turn all of those things down.” A testimony won’t come all at once, Eric says. His didn’t. He says his testimony, and his determination to go on a mission, came to him bit by bit as he did the things he knew he should be doing to be obedient. In other words, he prepared.
The conference was added preparation for Eric. “These two days have been like spiritual boot camp,” he says.
The levels of preparation at the conference varied from young man to young man. In one class, only one of eight knew how to sort laundry.
Housekeeping details aside, these young men know spiritual preparation is the most important aspect of getting ready for missionary work. Brian Bleazard says, “If I’ve learned anything at this conference it’s that I’m not the greatest teacher. You need the Spirit. It’s the Spirit that teaches.”
“It all comes down to your personal worthiness,” says Eric. Being worthy and obedient means you qualify for the companionship of the Spirit. All the young men were interviewed by their bishops before they went to the conference. The interview gave them a good idea of the things they need to be doing to be worthy to go to the temple and ready to go on a mission.
Their Saturday classes were not only preparing the young men for their missions but also for their teaching appointments later in the day. The companionships were assigned to teach the first discussion to families in their stake, some of which were part-member and less-active families.
“When we went to teach the first discussion I was really nervous, but it was fun,” says Roy Poulsen of the Fourth ward.
Courtney Moon, who was just called to the Mississippi Jackson Mission says, “I’ve always known the gospel is true in my mind, but trying to explain it to someone else really opens your eyes.”
“You’re nervous,” says Cris Hoopes, “but it is a good experience. It’s hard to teach investigators. You have to rely on the Spirit.”
Besides teaching the first discussion, the young men also did what every missionary spends a good deal of time doing: service. They spent all morning landscaping around a chapel, cleaning a section of highway, and beautifying the Duchesne River boardwalk. It was so hot many of the young men were tempted to jump into the river, but a quick check of their missionary handbooks told them swimming was against the rules.
They chose to obey mission rules, just as they are choosing to prepare themselves to go on full-time missions when they turn 19. They are working on their faith and obedience to the gospel. As future missionaries, they know that’s a top priority. Delaney Mecham of the First ward says, “We should all go on missions to bring people to the gospel and to help ourselves. When we’re on our missions our testimonies will grow even more than they have at this conference.”
So what exactly is so important about Duchesne? For one thing, it is the future missionaries preparing to serve the Lord. Their faith and missionary service will change the world one person at a time. And the person each missionary is planning to start with is himself.
“I throw out a challenge to every young man. … Prepare yourself now to be worthy to serve the Lord as a full-time missionary. He has said, ‘If ye are prepared ye shall not fear’ (D&C 38:30). Prepare to consecrate two years of your lives to this sacred service. That will in effect constitute a tithe on the first twenty years of your lives. Think of all that you have that is good—life itself, health, strength, food to eat and clothing to wear, parents, brothers and sisters, and friends. All are gifts from the Lord.
“Of course your time is precious, and you may feel you cannot afford two years. But I promise you that the time you spend in the mission field, if those years are spent in dedicated service, will yield a greater return on investment than any other two years of your lives. …
“And above and beyond all of this will come that sweet peace in your heart that you have served your Lord faithfully and well. …
“And so, my dear young brethren, resolve within your hearts today to include in the program of your lives service in the harvest field of the Lord as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” (Ensign, Nov. 1995, 52).—President Gordon B. Hinckley
“Young men and women who serve missions are never the same. They return home with qualities and strengths that seem to come from no other experience. They know, as they never knew before, that this work is true and that it is the most important work on the face of the earth” (Ensign, Dec. 1986, 4).—President Gordon B. Hinckley

Hi! My name is Breana Johnson, and I am a Merrie Miss. I have been working on my Gospel in Action program. I had a hard time thinking up a goal for the family area. I wanted to do something different, but I also wanted to do something my whole family could learn from. Most important, I wanted it to be fun for my seven sisters and my mom and dad.
When my mother came home from a women’s conference in our stake, she told me about the different classes she had attended and the many things she had learned. I could tell without even asking that it had been fun, so I decided that for my family goal I would organize the Johnson Family Conference.
I wrote a note to everyone in the family who could read, asking them to prepare a five-minute class on “How Our Family Can Be Happier.” The note also told them that the conference would be the following Sunday at four o’clock and that the theme would be “The Secret Is Love.” My sisters got excited and asked me all about what we were going to do.
All week our house was buzzing like a beehive. Everyone was getting his or her class ready but keeping it a secret from everyone else. I decided to do my class on sharing with others.
I made a program for every member of my family by folding sheets of paper in half. On the front I wrote, “Johnson’s Conference.” Below that, in red letters, I wrote, “The Secret Is Love.” On the inside I wrote the program:
Opening prayer: Mariah
Opening Song: “As I Have Loved You”
4:10 Den—Mom’s lesson
4:15 Living room—Dad’s lesson
4:20 Laresa’s room—Laresa’s lesson
4:25 Talena’s room—Talena’s lesson
4:30 Nursery—Breana’s lesson
4:35 Family room—Anissa’s lesson
4:40 Mariah’s room—Mariah’s lesson
4:45 Dining room
Closing prayer: Mom
REFRESHMENTS IN THE KITCHEN!
When my littlest sisters discovered what was going on, they wanted to do a class, too, even though they couldn’t read. So I helped Kirsha and Meleah learn a flannel board story, which they gave in the family room after Anissa’s lesson.
When Sunday finally came, everyone was ready and excited. We started in the dining room, then traveled around the house to each class. It was fun to go into the different rooms and find posters and pictures waiting. And in each room we were given handouts with a scripture or a picture or a poem that would help us remember what had been taught there. By the time we finished, I had a whole bunch of cute things to hang on the bulletin board in my bedroom.
After all the lessons, we met back in the dining room and had a special family testimony meeting. Testimonies were borne by each person in our family. It was a very special time. I felt a lot of love for my family, and I could tell that the rest of my family felt the same way.
After the testimony meeting, we had a closing prayer. Then I served the fudge pudding cake I had made. We lingered at the table, talking and laughing. We were having such a great time that no one wanted our family conference to end.
Finally some of my sisters started to leave. But before they went, they all said that they wanted to have another Johnson Family Conference sometime. I felt very happy. Maybe I’ve even started a new Johnson family tradition!

I will mention just part of one such account. Two weeks ago I received a touching letter from a father of seven who wrote about his family and, in particular, his son Jason, who had become ill when 11 years of age. Over the next few years, Jason’s illness recurred several times. This father told of Jason’s positive attitude and sunny disposition, despite his health challenges. Jason received the Aaronic Priesthood at age 12 and “always willingly magnified his responsibilities with excellence, whether he felt well or not.” He received his Eagle Scout Award when he was 14 years old.
Last summer, not long after Jason’s 15th birthday, he was once again admitted to the hospital. On one of his visits to see Jason, his father found him with his eyes closed. Not knowing whether Jason was asleep or awake, he began talking softly to him. “Jason,” he said, “I know you have been through a lot in your short life and that your current condition is difficult. Even though you have a giant battle ahead, I don’t ever want you to lose your faith in Jesus Christ.” He said he was startled as Jason immediately opened his eyes and said, “Never!” in a clear, resolute voice. Jason then closed his eyes and said no more.
His father wrote: “In this simple declaration, Jason expressed one of the most powerful, pure testimonies of Jesus Christ that I have ever heard. … As his declaration of ‘Never!’ became imprinted on my soul that day, my heart filled with joy that my Heavenly Father had blessed me to be the father of such a tremendous and noble boy. … [It] was the last time I heard him declare his testimony of Christ.”
Although his family was expecting this to be just another routine hospitalization, Jason passed away less than two weeks later. An older brother and sister were serving missions at the time. Another brother, Kyle, had just received his mission call. In fact, the call had come earlier than expected, and on August 5, just a week before Jason’s passing, the family gathered in his hospital room so that Kyle’s mission call could be opened there and shared with the entire family.
In his letter to me, this father included a photograph of Jason in his hospital bed, with his big brother Kyle standing beside the bed, holding his mission call. This caption was written beneath the photograph: “Called to serve their missions together—on both sides of the veil.”
Jason’s brother and sister already serving missions sent beautiful, comforting letters home to be shared at Jason’s funeral. His sister, serving in the Argentina Buenos Aires West Mission, as part of her letter, wrote: “I know that Jesus Christ lives, and because He lives, all of us, including our beloved Jason, will live again too. … We can take comfort in the sure knowledge we have that we have been sealed together as an eternal family. … If we do our very best to obey and do better in this life, we will see [him again].” She continued: “[A] scripture that I have long loved now takes on new significance and importance at this time. … [From] Revelation chapter 21, verse 4: ‘And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.’”

Then the unthinkable happened. I received a gut-wrenching, life-shattering phone call.
“Call 911!” my distressed husband yelled. “I’m pinned under the tractor!”
I called for help and then made it in record time to the land he had been clearing, passing a long line of emergency vehicles on the gravel road to our property in Pea Ridge, Arkansas, USA. Barry was alive, but he was indeed pinned beneath the engine of a tractor that had flipped.
Using hydraulic rescue tools, emergency workers lifted the tractor and pulled Barry free. His legs, soaked in diesel fuel, looked broken in several places. He was rushed to a trauma center, where he received a priesthood blessing before having his legs X-rayed.
We were surprised that not one bone was broken, but the back of one of Barry’s legs had been severely burned by diesel fuel. The crush injury had also led to toxification of his kidneys. His life was in jeopardy.
After Barry spent five tense days in the hospital, his toxin levels finally began to drop. Months of dressing changes, skin grafts, surgeries, and hyperbaric oxygen therapy followed. Once he felt well enough, Barry resumed his sales job from home.

Pierre Anthian, son of a French army officer, was born in Algeria during that country’s war for independence. When he was four years old, his family moved back to Pau, a city in southwest France. A short time later his parents divorced, leaving his mother, Michka, with custody of their four children. When Pierre was nine years old, the missionaries found them. The children were baptized first, followed by their mother.
Sister Anthian taught gospel lessons, including Christlike love and service, the best way they can be taught: through personal application. She and her children served both in the Church and in the community. Sometimes the family would invite homeless people to share a meal. Pierre’s volunteer efforts included hospitals and rest homes, homeless shelters and hostels.
After graduating from dental school, Pierre served a full-time mission in Switzerland. Upon returning home, he began making dentures, first in the French Riviera and later in Paris. By then, helping others had become a way of life, and he volunteered to serve meals at the largest homeless shelter in Paris. It was here he became troubled over merely giving handouts. “It’s good to give food,” he says, “but what do we teach in the Church? We teach people to be self-reliant. So I began looking for an idea, a special tool, to give these people dignity and autonomy.”
Eventually, it occurred to him that music might be just the tool he needed. Not only was music part of Pierre’s religious culture, it was a personal passion for him. He had studied music, particularly choral music, in conservatories of Pau, Cannes, and Paris, and he had once directed a Church choir. He determined to start a choir among society’s outcasts.

We were swimming in the pool at a hotel and found a pocket watch at the bottom of the pool. We asked a lot of people if the watch belonged to them. They all said no. At the end of the day, we felt like we should go to the pool one more time with the watch. There was a family in the pool. We asked if the watch was theirs. They said it was, and they had been looking for it all week. It belonged to their dad, and it cost a lot of money. I’m glad we listened to the Holy Ghost so the watch could be returned.

Using the two dollars, Geoff has done everything from leaving quarters on a bubblegum machine to buying dollar-movie tickets for the people behind him in line. One time, Geoff saw some homeless men outside of a fast-food restaurant. “I went through the drive-through, and by the time I got my food, the men were leaving. I got out of my car and chased them half a block before I had the chance to give some food to them.”

It is inspiring to learn how Parley Pratt came to know of the book about which he wrote the words of this hymn. In August of 1830, as a lay preacher, he was traveling from Ohio to eastern New York. At Newark, along the Erie Canal, he left the boat and walked 10 miles (16 km) into the country where he met a Baptist deacon by the name of Hamlin, who told him “of a book, a strange book, a VERY STRANGE BOOK! … This book, he said, purported to have been originally written on plates either of gold or brass, by a branch of the tribes of Israel; and to have been discovered and translated by a young man near Palmyra, in the State of New York, by the aid of visions, or the ministry of angels. I inquired of him how or where the book was to be obtained. He promised me the perusal of it, at his house the next day. … Next morning I called at his house, where, for the first time, my eyes beheld the ‘BOOK OF MORMON’—that book of books … which was the principal means, in the hands of God, of directing the entire course of my future life.

“I opened it with eagerness, and read its title page. I then read the testimony of several witnesses in relation to the manner of its being found and translated. After this I commenced its contents by course. I read all day; eating was a burden, I had no desire for food; sleep was a burden when the night came, for I preferred reading to sleep.

“As I read, the spirit of the Lord was upon me, and I knew and comprehended that the book was true, as plainly and manifestly as a man comprehends and knows that he exists.”

Parley Pratt was then 23 years of age. The reading of the Book of Mormon affected him so profoundly that he was soon baptized into the Church and became one of its most effective and powerful advocates.

When I was about six or seven, I wanted to know if the scriptures were true. My mom said I needed to pray and find out for myself. I did, and I felt really warm inside. I know that the scriptures are true. I have a testimony that Jesus Christ suffered for our sins and that He helped many people. I also have a testimony of Joseph Smith. I know that the Church is true. I will always be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Nate is hanging out with his friends one evening when one of his buddies brings out some cans of beer and passes them around. When Nate refuses at first, saying, “I can’t,” his friends begin to laugh and tease him. Nate doesn’t want his friends to think he’s not cool, so he considers taking a few sips of beer just to get his friends to stop laughing.

It seems as though no matter where we go in life, whether in person or online, there will be an open window from the great and spacious building nearby with someone ready to point a finger and laugh at the things we value. We have probably all experienced this mockery at different times, and it can be very painful. We know we should react in a Christlike manner, but it’s not always easy. Nobody likes to be laughed at or have deeply held beliefs belittled. Like Nate, we might sometimes respond with a phrase like “I can’t—I’m Mormon,” only to hear others laugh even harder.

Have you ever noticed how mockers always tend to focus on the word can’t? As in, “Why can’t you drink that?” “Why can’t you go shopping with me on Sunday?” or “Why can’t you have sex before you’re married?”

This focus on the word can’t may cause us to feel powerless. It may feel as though we’re weak and spineless. It may feel as though we’re helpless victims of an impersonal God who has locked us up so that we don’t have any fun.

This tactic is very, very old. In fact, Satan has been using it from the very beginning. When God placed Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, He told them, “Of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat” (Moses 3:16). Do the words “every tree” sound like a restriction to you? While God told Adam and Eve that there were specific consequences for eating of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, He never physically restricted them. They had the whole garden to themselves and were told, “Thou mayest choose for thyself, for it is given unto thee” (Moses 3:17). That sounds like freedom to me!

So it’s interesting that when Satan comes along later he says, “Yea, hath God said—Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden?” (Moses 4:7). Essentially, Satan was asking, “Why can’t you eat the fruit of that tree?” in the same mocking tone that comes from the windows of the great and spacious building. Satan focused on the one thing that God had attached consequences to, and he made it sound as though God wanted to deprive Adam and Eve. Satan twisted God’s words, adding lies in the effort to convince them to follow him instead of God. In the end, partaking of the fruit had been part of the plan all along. And God provided a Savior to give Adam and Eve and all their children the chance to grow and return home.

And what is it we’re really saying when we say, “I can’t—I’m Mormon”? Are we really saying, “I wish I could, and if I weren’t Mormon, I totally would”? I once had a friend who used to joke about all the things he’d like to do if he weren’t a member of the Church. The problem was, I couldn’t always tell if he was joking.

Rather than focusing on can’t and don’t, we would be much better off if we used the word won’t. As in, “I won’t—I’m Mormon.” Using won’t instead of can’t changes the focus of the phrase and shows that we are empowered to choose for ourselves. By saying, “I won’t,” we’re saying, “I’m choosing not to do that, not because I’m a blind follower or because I’m restricted but because I believe in agency and accountability and I want to do what’s right. I am choosing to act and not be acted upon” (see 2 Nephi 2:14, 26).

Using “I won’t” instead of “I can’t” is also a monumental act of courage. It doesn’t take any courage to follow the crowds down the various paths of the world. Anyone can do that. Standing up for the truth shows real faith. Standing out from the world takes real courage. It shows that we are truly using our agency and really thinking for ourselves. The people in the great and spacious building are always referred to as a nameless crowd, a faceless mob. In the end, their words are hollow and meaningless. By faithfully exercising our agency, we can find the courage to say, as did Lehi and the brave and faithful members of his family, “We heeded them not” (1 Nephi 8:33).

Amid an increasingly wicked world, those who stand up and walk the gospel path truly do stand out. But they are not alone. As President Thomas S. Monson has invited us, “May we ever be courageous and prepared to stand for what we believe, and if we must stand alone in the process, may we do so courageously, strengthened by the knowledge that in reality we are never alone when we stand with our Father in Heaven.”3

11-year-old Riley Quigley has a few challenges that normally would stop him being able to attend an event where there are crowds and a lot of noise.
On 11 November 2020, during the lockdown, Riley went with his aunt to the Poole Park War Memorial and, on behalf of Poole Ward of the Poole Stake, very thoughtfully laid a Royal British Legion poppy wreath.
After laying the wreath, Riley said that it made him feel very proud to have been able to do something as special as that.
He then went around and helped tidy up some of the other wreaths that had previously been laid but had been blown about by the wind because “they needed to look nice and tidy for the soldiers who died”.
His bishop, Ben Silsby, said, “He looked so smart and respectful. I am very proud of him.”

I was called to a home in a little village in New Zealand one day. There the Relief Society sisters were preparing the body of one of our saints. They had placed his body in front of the big house, as they call it, the house where the people come to wail and weep and mourn over the dead, when in rushed the dead man’s brother. He said, “Administer to him.” And the young natives said, “Why, you shouldn’t do that. He’s dead.” “You do it!”

This same old man that I had with me when his niece was so ill was there. The younger native got down on his knees and he anointed this man. Then this great old sage got down and blessed him and commanded him to rise. You should have seen the Relief Society sisters scatter. He sat up and said, “Send for the elders; I don’t feel very well.” Of course, all of that was just psychological effect on that dead man. Wonderful, isn’t it—this psychological effect business? We told him he had just been administered to, and he said, “Oh, that was it.” He said, “I was dead. I could feel life coming back into me just like a blanket unrolling.” He outlived the brother that came in and told us to administer to him.

I was very disappointed when I found out that my first baseball game of the season was on a Sunday. I wanted to keep the Sabbath day holy, so my parents told my coach I would miss the first game. Although I was sad about missing the game, I felt good that I was following Jesus. A few days before the game, my coach called to say they had rescheduled the game for Saturday. I was very glad! Not only did I get to go to my first game of the season, but I also got to be the pitcher.