Gospel Story Finder

On my block there is a lady who is about to die. Mrs. Gettman is 86 years old and one of my best friends. Our friendship started a few years ago when my mom made banana bread and asked me to deliver small loaves to the four older single ladies on our block. All four of them were really happy to have company and a treat. Mrs. Gettman felt good about the visit so I kept going back. I sometimes took my cousin and other friends with me to visit. We would play games or watch TV or just talk. I really grew to love those visits.
One day, Mrs. Gettman gave me a croaking frog and said it would be something to remember her by. Two weeks later my dad got a call saying that Mrs. Gettman wasn’t doing well and that her family wanted me to come see her one more time. I was sick that day, but I decided to go visit my friend anyway. I held her hand and told her I loved her. As I got ready to leave, her children told me how special my visits were to their mom. She had told them how glad she was that I would visit her even though she wasn’t a Latter-day Saint. My testimony is that Heavenly Father loves everyone. I know that people will be resurrected and live again because Jesus gave us that gift.

A few years ago, the Campbells lived on Chestnut Street in town. Their home was spacious and it had a swimming pool. The Campbells had two sons, but were told by doctors that because of medical complications it was unlikely Sister Campbell would have any more children. So the parents decided to continue their family anyway—by adopting.

“We feel as though we’ve always been a family,” Phil said. “Some of us just took a little longer to get here. First came Mike (who is 19 and currently serving in the Washington Seattle Mission), then myself. Then we adopted Lynn. Then we decided Lynn needed a sister, and Julie was adopted. Then the agency called and asked if we would like another girl, and Christine joined us. Then we wanted Jabez (“J.J.”) to even up the boy-girl ratio.

“Dad and mom prayed and prayed about having another child of their own but had nearly abandoned hope, even though they felt the Lord would bless them. Then miraculously Sam was born without any problems. It surprised everyone, since we had figured J. J. was the caboose! Then when Joe (“Little Bear”) was adopted, he filled in the space between Christine and Lynn. Then we wanted another girl, but Monty Jr. (“June Bug”) needed a home, and we all fell in love with him.

“We thought that was it, but then the agency called and asked mom and dad if they wanted two more!” So Nicholas and Doug joined the family. Now the roll call at the dinner table reads like this: Mike (he’s always remembered, and sometimes his letters are read aloud), Phillip, Christine, Joe, Lynn, Julie, Jabez, Nicholas, Sammy (5), Doug (4), and Monty Jr. (2). “That makes 11,” Sister Campbell said, smiling. “And now we figure one more would be perfect.”

Sister Campbell explained that she and her husband are the only Indians listed with the adoption agency, and that because they have such a positive record, the local magistrate (himself one of 11 children) is eager to help. “It’s our experience in family court that we don’t find too many happy occasions such as this,” Judge Victor E. Manz said. “At a time when people say the family is falling apart, this family is a true inspiration.” Although the children come from various tribes, they are all adopted into the Cayuga tribe when they join the family.

On Thursday, a group from the Mormon Battalion who had been released in New Mexico entered the valley and joined the Saints, increasing their number to about 400. These men from the battalion went to work immediately on the construction of a bowery on the southeast corner of the place designated as the Temple Block to serve as a place of assembly—a predecessor to this tabernacle. Poles were cut and brought from the mountains and planted in the ground to support a roof of leafy boughs. This first structure to be built in the valley was finished on Saturday, one week from the day of arrival. On the following day, Sunday, they were able to hold religious services under the shade of this bowery.

I have great respect for referees because they make many tough decisions which must be made in a split second and which are open to public view. But there are decisions in life that are much more important than those made by referees—decisions made in a slow, deliberate, prayerful, private manner. One such decision is whether or not to go on a mission. While I was growing up I had a desire to serve a mission. But when it finally came time to send in the papers, I was hesitant. The decision became filled with pressures. I didn’t know whether to leave after my freshman year, after my sophomore year, or after I had completed my college education. I fought with a multitude of inward thoughts and feelings. I also wondered if I had enough knowledge to go out there and give what was so precious to me to somebody else. I talked to a lot of people, and most of them willingly shared their opinions with me. Some said that I should go immediately, others said later, and some said I shouldn’t go at all. I wonder, if I had asked you, should I go now or later or not at all, what would you have told me?
Perhaps you would have been like one of our great priesthood leaders. I went to him, and we talked about my situation. He listened with patience and concern. After I expressed my feelings about being able to play basketball when I returned, he said, with words that sank deep into me, “Devin, if you serve a mission and serve faithfully, when you return you will be a better basketball player than you are now.”
I had great confidence in that man, and I felt that he was moved by the Spirit to say what he did. I felt he was talking to me personally and not to all athletes who serve missions, because each case is different. He could advise me, my parents could advise me, my friends could advise me, but they couldn’t serve for me. I was the one who was going, and no one else could make my decision. I had to make that myself.
In April of 1980 I entered the Missionary Training Center and began to learn Spanish to prepare to serve in Madrid, Spain. While in the MTC, I knew that I was doing the right thing. In my heart I wanted to someday return to play basketball. Yet at the same time I decided that even if I never played another game of collegiate ball I wouldn’t regret the decision that I had made.

I have been reading almost every word of all the issues of the New Era since I have come on my mission, and I think it’s great. I especially enjoy the fiction stories. The photography and art are fantastic too. My mission work would be greatly hindered without the New Era because when we run out of copies of the Book of Mormon, we tract with New Eras. The English people love them. I remember one lady who read a whole stack of old issues of the New Era and the Ensign. She was baptized two weeks ago!
Some of the creative ideas in the New Era are very useful in my mission work. We use them when we share family home evenings with people we teach. One particularly good idea was making personalized envelopes. For a missionary on a strict budget, it comes in handy.
Mormonisms—wow! I almost died laughing when I read the one about the two years supply being eaten by a returned missionary. You want to know what I think would improve the magazine? Make it bigger. These English people are starving for the gospel, and the New Era feeds them the gospel with a spoonful of sugar.
Elder Danny T. EvansEngland Central Mission

Recently during a special women’s conference, a speaker told about how he’d been quite successful in land development and how everything he’d touched had turned to gold. He’d also tried to live a faithful life and had been a very active servant in the gospel. Then he’d been called as a mission president. He had apparently been a very effective mission president and had subsequently returned to his home state. Throughout his life he’d experienced one success after another—he was a recognized leader in his community, had built a prosperous business. Being called as a mission president had sort of cemented in his mind that he’d “made it”—that he was an all-around success.
When he returned from his mission, a combination of changing interest rates and other business factors caused his once-prosperous business to plummet. In fact, he’d lost nearly everything. Telling the story, this man said, “I realized that I’d become quite boastful—that while I felt I had a testimony of Jesus Christ, in my mind I had brought about all of these wonderful things through my hard work, intelligence, and so forth. But when hard times hit, I began to realize how offensive I must have been to others and to my Heavenly Father to assume that I had brought all of these good things on my own. I felt like I’d lived a life of arrogance and boasting.”

Dances weren’t easy for Randa either. One night, at a church dance, one of the brighter guys made a proposition. You could show real courage by asking the “ugliest” girl there for a dance. Better yet, you could stay for a second dance just to prove your courage had staying power. That was followed by a lot of laughter, and a lot of “I will if you will” promises.
Suddenly one of the guys broke away from the group and asked Randa for a dance. Then he stayed for a second. When he returned to our group, he said, “Okay guys, you promised.” One by one, they asked Randa to dance, and stayed for a second. Randa danced 16 times that night. She had the time of her life—only to learn later that she was the object of a cruel joke.

Born on September 8, 1873, in Huntsville, Utah, David Oman McKay was the first son of David McKay and Jennette Evans McKay. When the younger David was just seven years old, his father accepted a mission call to serve in Scotland—even though at the time Sister McKay was expecting a baby and had only her young son to help on the farm. Her encouragement was undoubtedly a key factor. As soon as she read the missionary call letter, she said: “Of course you must accept; you need not worry about me. David O. and I will manage things nicely.”2
Under Jennette’s direction the farm did well. Strong spiritual growth paralleled the temporal prosperity the family experienced during David Sr.’s mission. “Family prayer was an established procedure in the McKay home, and when Jennette was left alone with her small family it seemed an ever more important part of the day’s events. David [O.] was taught to take his turn at morning and evening prayers and learned the importance of the blessings of heaven in the home.”3
In a general conference address many years later, President McKay related the following childhood experience with prayer:
“I remember lying [in bed] one night, trembling with fear. As a child I was naturally, or unnaturally afraid of the darkness, and would frequently lie wondering about burglars, ‘bug-a-boos,’ and unseen influences. So I lay this night completely unnerved; but I had been taught that God would answer prayer. Summoning strength I arose from the bed, knelt down in the darkness, and prayed to God to remove that feeling of fear; and I heard as plainly as you hear my voice this afternoon, ‘Don’t be afraid; nothing will hurt you.’ Oh, yes, some may say—‘simply the imagination.’ Say what you will, I know that to my soul came the sweet peace of a child’s prayer answered.”4
His father’s teachings and example were as powerful as his mother’s. On one occasion David O. McKay, his brothers, and his father were harvesting hay. When the time arrived to gather the tenth load, which was to be given to the Church as tithing, David McKay Sr. told the boys to move to a better spot than where they had gathered the previous nine loads. When young David O. questioned this instruction, his father said, “That is the tenth load, and the best is none too good for God.” Years later David O. McKay referred to this experience as the “most effective sermon on tithing I have ever heard in my life.”5
President McKay’s understanding of his parents’ influence deepened as he grew older. When he taught Church members about the importance of family and home, personal experience framed his teachings:
“[The] realization of mother’s love, with a loyalty to the precepts of an exemplary father, … more than once during youth, turned my steps from the precipice of temptation.
“If I were asked to name the world’s greatest need, I should say unhesitatingly wise mothers; and the second, exemplary fathers.”6

“Jerome Mooney!” his mom scolded from the back porch. “Stop spitting at your sister!”
“It’s OK, Mom,” said Mary Beth as she put the last spoon on the picnic table. “Jerome is showing me how he’s going to win a blue ribbon at the 4-H fair.”
“By spitting?”
“No,” Mary Beth explained with a grin, “by whistling. Jerome is entering the whistling competition. Talented, isn’t he? Last place is in the bag.”
“Oh, yeah, smartie?” Jerome retorted. “Just listen to this.”
But for all of Jerome’s effort, his whistle was no louder than a whisper.
“Jerome,” said Dad, handing him a hamburger, it takes a lot of practice to be able to win a blue ribbon, and the fair is only two weeks away.”
“That’s right,” said Mary Beth. “Practice in your room or when I’m not around,” she teased, “and I’ll call you when the two weeks are up.”
Jerome practiced and practiced. Every morning he played records and whistled along with them. Every afternoon he watched TV and whistled along with his favorite commercial jingles. And every time Grandpa called, Jerome whistled his best tunes into the telephone. Even while he got ready for bed, he whistled the songs he heard on his radio.
The more Jerome practiced, the better he became. By the end of the first week he was sure he could win first prize at the fair. Even Grandpa said he’d never heard anything like Jerome’s whistling. Just to be sure, though, Jerome chose “Yankee Doodle” as the tune he would whistle at the fair. He was positive that everyone loved it.
“A blue-ribbon tune if ever I heard one,” agreed Grandpa.
Mom made Jerome a red, white, and blue Uncle Sam costume out of a pair of Grandpa’s old pajamas. Dad gave Jerome a haircut and shined his Sunday shoes. “I don’t see how you can lose,” he said proudly.
“Jerome will find a way,” said Mary Beth.
But Jerome was determined to win. He had one more week to polish up his act. So, for six days straight, he whistled nothing but “Yankee Doodle.” Around and around through the house he marched, whistling the tune in time to the beat.
Mary Beth went around with cotton in her ears. Mom and Dad went to the store a lot, and everyone wished fair day would hurry and arrive.
On the night before the fair, Dad insisted that Jerome would do better if he didn’t whistle again until just before the competition. So Jerome put on his pajamas, kissed Mom and Dad goodnight, and went to bed early.
At breakfast Mary Beth rolled a penny across the table. “It’s for luck,” she said, “because you’re really going to need it. Just don’t forget to give it back to me after the contest.”
“I won’t need it,” said Jerome, but he took the penny and slipped it into his pocket—just in case.
Mom carefully packed Jerome’s costume into a bag. Then they all got into the van and headed for the fair.
At the fair they went to see all the exhibits of homegrown fruits and vegetables, handmade clothes and quilts, baked goods, and livestock. Jerome and Mary Beth pretended to drive some brand-new tractors while Mom and Dad set out their lunch of sausage-and-pepper sandwiches, ice-cold lemonade, and chocolate cake. After lunch they watched race cars roar around the track, and they munched on hot roasted peanuts.
At two o’clock the whistling competition was announced over the main loudspeaker. Jerome ran to the van to put on his costume. When he got to the grandstand, it was already filled with spectators. The contestants were divided into age groups, and each competitor was given a badge with his name and number on it. Jerome was number thirteen. Mom pinned the badge onto his costume and wished him luck.
After a short speech the emcee announced, “Number one, Abigail Potter, will whistle ‘You Are My Sunshine.’”
Jerome listened as the whistlers performed. Some were very good, but Jerome knew that he had the winning tune and a wonderful costume and that he wouldn’t make a single mistake because he had practiced so hard.
When the emcee called, “Number twelve,” from a far corner of the tent a boy appeared in a red, white, and blue Uncle Sam costume! Jerome could not believe his eyes.
The emcee announced, “Theodore Buzby will now whistle ‘Yankee Doodle.’”
“Hey, you can’t do that!” yelled Mary Beth.
“Shhh,” chided someone in the audience.
Jerome felt his palms get clammy. Perspiration ran down his face. He couldn’t do “Yankee Doodle” now, and he didn’t have a second-best tune.
“You’re up next,” the emcee said to Jerome when Theodore Buzby finished his performance. “What’s the name of your song?”
“I want to go home,” whispered Jerome.
As Theodore Buzby bowed, the audience clapped and cheered. There goes my blue ribbon, thought Jerome.
“Number thirteen, Jerome Mooney,” the emcee informed the crowd, “will whistle ‘I Want to Go Home.’”
Jerome found himself at the podium staring at the faces staring back at him. His costume felt like it was glued to his skin. His throat ached, and he searched frantically in his pocket for Mary Beth’s lucky penny and rubbed it. But he needed more than luck.
The audience was still waiting for him to begin. He stared desperately at his family in the stands. Mom looked worried, but she managed a comforting smile. Dad looked nervous, but he held up his fingers in a victory sign. Mary Beth was making ugly faces at Theodore Buzby.
The tent grew hotter by the minute. Jerome’s throat was parched—too dry, maybe, to whistle anything. He spotted a grape Popsicle in the front row and watched as it dripped down the arm of the small girl holding it. One by one the cool drops plopped onto the dusty ground.
Suddenly, from somewhere, came a familiar little tune. Jerome couldn’t remember its name or where he had heard it, but it was sort of catchy. He took a deep breath and whistled softly into the microphone. He’d give it his best even if it wasn’t a blue-ribbon tune.
Soon Jerome noticed smiles throughout the audience. Everyone loved his tune! And more and more fairgoers were coming into the grandstand to listen. He whistled louder and faster. Children clapped their hands in time to the music. He whistled the mystery song better than he had ever whistled before, and when he had finished, the audience stood and applauded. Even Theodore Buzby.
The judges’ decision was unanimous. Jerome Mooney was the best seven-to-twelve-year-old whistler at the fair. The blue ribbon was his. Jerome gazed at it happily.
“I knew you could do it,” said Mary Beth, closing the van door. “Now can I have my penny back?”
“I’m proud of you, Jerome,” said Mom. “I didn’t know what you were going to do. What was that little song? I know I’ve heard it somewhere.”
“It certainly was popular with the crowd,” said Dad.
“Listen,” said Mary Beth, and in the distance Jerome’s blue-ribbon tune was playing softly. It got louder and louder as it came closer and closer. The catchy tune brought dozens of kids running to the curb as an ice-cream vendor turned the corner.
“Oh, no,” said Jerome. “I didn’t win at all. The ice-cream truck did.”
“You silly,” said Mary Beth. “The ice-cream truck wasn’t even at the fair. Besides, it was a blue-ribbon tune only because you were a blue-ribbon whistler. Now please hand over my penny.”
And Jerome did. Whistling happily, he could hardly wait to get home to call Grandpa.

This story took place in the USA.
Nina grinned as she finished taping the sign to her lemonade stand. “Lemonade! 25 cents,” it read. She stacked the plastic cups next to the pitcher of lemonade.
It was a hot summer day. Nina hoped lots of her neighbors would want a nice, cool drink.
Mr. Burleigh walked by pulling his toddler in a wagon. “I’ll have some.” He put a coin in Nina’s jar. Nina poured him a cup of lemonade.
Next Nina’s friends Bethany and Livvy rode by on their bikes. They stopped and bought some lemonade too. “Thanks!” Bethany said.
Nina shook her jar, jingling the coins inside. She’d already earned a little money!
Then Nina’s favorite neighbor came outside to take out the trash. “Hi, Nina,” Máté said. “I’d love some lemonade.”
Máté and his wife, Tanya, had helped Nina’s family a lot. After Nina’s dad died, Máté helped them with projects around the house. One time he fixed their leaky hose. He trimmed the tall trees in their backyard. And he helped fix Mom’s car when the battery stopped working.
“Here you go.” Nina handed him a cup.
Máté started to put a coin in her jar, but Nina stopped him.
“You don’t have to pay!” she said. “This lemonade is a thank-you for all you’ve done to help us.”
“But the sign says 25 cents!” Máté said. “And this lemonade tastes too good to not pay for it.”
Nina pulled the jar away and laughed. “Nope. It’s free for you!”
The next day, when Nina went outside to get the mail, she stopped. A silver coin was shining in the sun on the porch step. She looked over at Máté’s house. He must have put the quarter there! He was still trying to pay for his lemonade.
Nina smiled. Máté isn’t the only one who can be sneaky, she thought. She ran next door and put the quarter on Máté’s doormat.
The day after that, Nina went outside to ride her scooter. And there was Máté’s quarter, sitting next to the flowerpot by the front door.
Nina rode her scooter to Máté’s house again. This time she put the quarter on a rock by the porch.
Weeks passed. The quarter went back and forth. Each day Nina found the coin on their porch in a new spot. And every day, she hid it in a new place on Máté’s porch.
Then one day, Nina went outside to find a surprise. It was the quarter—made into a pretty necklace. She held it up and smiled. The sun hit the coin and made it shine.
Next door Máté was working in his wood shop.
“Thank you!” Nina yelled over the sound of the saw.
Máté looked up. Nina held up the necklace.
“Tanya helped me make it,” Máté said. “It’s a gift from both of us for being so kind.”
“I guess you win.” Nina laughed and put on the necklace. “I love it so much I’m going to keep it forever.”
She was grateful to have such kind, caring neighbors.
Follow the paths to see where the coin was hidden next!
Illustrations by Mitch Miller

Years ago when our youngest son, Clark, was attending a religion class at Brigham Young University, the instructor, during a lecture, asked Clark, “What is an example of life with your father that you best remember?”
The instructor later wrote to me and told me of the reply which Clark had given to the class. Said Clark: “When I was a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood, my dad and I went pheasant hunting near Malad, Idaho. The day was Monday—the last day of the season. We walked through countless fields in search of pheasants but only saw a few, and these we missed. Dad then said to me, ‘Clark, let’s unload our guns, and we’ll place them in this ditch. Then we’ll kneel down to pray.’ I thought Dad would pray for more pheasants, but I was wrong. He explained to me that Elder Richard L. Evans was gravely ill and that at 12 noon on that particular Monday the members of the Quorum of the Twelve—wherever they may be at the time—were to kneel and, in a way, together unite in a fervent prayer of faith for Elder Evans. Removing our caps, we knelt, we prayed.”
I well remember the occasion, but I never dreamed a son was watching, was learning, was building his own testimony.

In our own family, we have had such an experience with wonderful, watchful priesthood leaders. When I was first called to the Seventy some years ago, we were assigned to move to Solihull, England, to serve in the Area Presidency. Sister Rasband and I took our two youngest children with us on this assignment. Our daughter was a young single adult and our son a 17-year-old who liked American-style football and played it very well. We were very concerned about them. No friends, no extended family, and no American football! I wondered, would this exciting new experience prove to be a serious trial for our family?

The answer came in an early assignment I received. I had been asked to speak to the missionaries at the Missionary Training Center in Preston, England. I called President White of the center and was pleased to hear that he knew of my family situation. He suggested we include our children on our visit to Preston. Once we were there, he even invited our daughter and son to speak to the missionaries! What a thrill for them to be and feel included and share their testimonies of the Lord’s work!

When finished and after tender good-byes to those missionaries, we visited the beautiful Preston England Temple, which was close to the Missionary Training Center. As we walked near the front door, there stood President and Sister Swanney, the temple president and matron. They greeted us and welcomed us into the temple with, “Elder Rasband, how would you and your family like to perform baptisms for the dead?” What a wonderful idea! We looked at each other and gratefully accepted. After performing the ordinances and while my son and I were still in the font with tears of joy in our eyes, he put his hand on my shoulder and asked, “Dad, why haven’t we ever done this before?”

I thought of all the football games, all the movies we had attended together, all of the good times we had shared—certainly happy memories and traditions that are so important to build.

However, I realized we had an opportunity to add more meaningful spiritual experiences with our children like what we had experienced in Preston that day. Thanks to those caring and observant priesthood leaders, I knew then that our family was going to do fine in Europe. How grateful we are for the many priesthood and Young Women leaders who have always been watchful and loving to our children and yours.

At three in the morning, Beverly and Amber Williams, of McCammon, Idaho, are usually asleep. But July 1, 1996, wasn’t a typical morning for these teenage sisters. Instead of sleeping, they were rushing their mom, Effie, to the hospital in nearby Soda Springs. About four hours later, their mom delivered a healthy baby boy. She named him David, after her husband and the girls’ father, who was killed not long before in an industrial accident.
“We wanted to be there with my mom,” says 16-year-old Beverly, “and to be with a brand-new baby who just came from where my dad is.”
The girls stayed by their mom’s side through the delivery and probably would have stayed at the hospital much longer if it weren’t for one small problem: most of the baby clothes Effie had purchased were pink, for a girl. So Beverly and Amber hopped in the car and drove more than an hour to Pocatello to exchange the clothes. They also used their personal savings to buy a dresser for their new baby brother. They put the clothes and dresser in his room at home before returning to the hospital. Oh, and Beverly mowed the lawn first too. After all, Monday had always been the day that Effie mowed the lawn. Beverly knew her mom wouldn’t be up to it.

But the need for mutual understanding also applies to Church members. For Brother Gerard Giraud-Carrier, getting to know others outside the Church was a primary reason for serving in his community. As a Regional Representative for the Brussels, Nice, and Paris regions, Brother Giraud-Carrier already had plenty to do. Then four years ago, he was elected to the city council in Lagny, France. His experience is teaching him to better appreciate his nonmember neighbors. “It gives me an opportunity to expand my understanding of others,” he explains.
Brother Giraud-Carrier makes no secret of his religious commitment. “Everyone on the council knows I am a Latter-day Saint, and they know I am in church every Sunday.” He also finds that principles of the gospel make him more effective in his work, which includes being a member of the public works and schools commission. “Before I go to council meetings, I pray,” he explains. “When I sense that I should interfere in a heated discussion, I raise my hand to ask permission to speak. I am always surprised that things quiet down and the group listens to me. Often they become calm, and even if they disagree with me, the discussion often takes a different turn.”
Serving on the city council is an unpaid position, and Brother Giraud-Carrier enjoys the satisfaction of serving his community. Equally important, he says, “It helps me to love people more, to appreciate them, even though they are not of the same opinion or even behave in a way that irritates me.”

The Provo Utah Sharon East Stake often goes camping or holds outdoor activities for part of its youth conference. But last year, the youth stayed in town and helped in the revitalization project of one of the pioneer neighborhoods in Provo.

Mark Stringham, 16, was on the youth planning committee. They were tossing around the idea of doing a service-oriented project. One of their leaders is involved in city government. He said there was a neighborhood that needed some help. Mark said, “The minute he said it, everybody’s mind just went, Boom. That’s what we need to do.”

The teens worked with an organization already involved in helping the residents improve their land and keep their homes in good repair. To make the project even more enjoyable, the stake invited the teens who live in the neighborhood to come to their youth conference. The young people didn’t know each other because they attended different high schools, so giving service together also became a time to gain new friends.

Brendan Wright, 17, said, “The theme of our youth conference was by helping others you can raise yourself. When you get here, it just explodes. It’s fun. You get to know people. You take pride in what you’re doing. This is my little section of the house. I’m going to paint it the best I can.”

The group not only painted houses, they helped cut down the high, dry weeds running along the railroad tracks. One spark from a passing train could start a fire, and the growth was so tall and dry, it could have caused major problems if it spread to nearby homes. Looking a little like they had been rolling in haystacks, because of the bits of dry grass sticking to their clothes and hair, one group had the weedeaters going full blast. Then passing motorists began to stop and tell them it looked good and how much they appreciated them helping out. The word was spreading with the good works.

Giving service is like dropping stones in a pond of water. From one small act, the ripples start to spread. One act of service creates ripples of hope and encouragement that spread through neighborhoods, communities, and towns.

The ripples are not just on the outside. The teens who made themselves get up early and participate found out that being of service did something for them as well. There is satisfaction in working hard, in joining your friends involved in good works, in making something better. Now if it were only a little easier to get out of bed.

Call the mayor’s office or city government. Ask if there is a person who coordinates volunteer efforts, and set up a meeting with them to come up with ideas.
Create a planning committee. Include both young people and leaders.
Identify everyone that needs to be contacted and what permissions will be required.
Select a day and time. Make sure there are no major conflicts with other church or school activities. Make sure everyone receives notification of the event at least two or three weeks in advance.
Plan in some fun breaks in the work schedule.
Make realistic plans. Make sure you can finish what you start.
Enjoy the good feelings that go with being of service.

A dance festival? Sharon Leo had never seen one, and now she was invited to dance in one. An 18-year-old nonmember living in central Utah, Sharon had been around Mormons all of her life. Now her friend Jolynne Taylor of the Orem Utah Sharon West Stake had asked Sharon to join her in a five-stake dance festival to be held in the huge BYU Marriott Center. With reservations, Sharon accepted.
Rehearsals occupied every Saturday morning for months as Sharon found herself practicing square dances, Swiss polkas, disco numbers, karate exercise numbers, Greek line dances, the English quadrille (her specialty), and many other dances with 600 fathers, mothers, young adults, teens, and children. Sharon’s view of Mormonism began to expand as she met new people and made more friends.
Then there were the costumes to make. While Sharon was struggling to put in a zipper and get the length of her costume correct, others were also sewing like crazy—especially where whole families were participating. Cori Dawn Anderson, 16, of the Orem Utah Sharon West Stake, commented, “Being in the dance festival as a whole family was a good experience. The hardest part was making seven costumes in two weeks. But with everyone helping and sewing in their spare time, we got them all finished. It was really fun, and despite all the work, it was worth it.”
During the rush of practices and costume making, Sharon Leo began taking the missionary discussions.
As Sharon grew in gospel knowledge, the dance festival grew in excitement among its participants. Bishops, stake presidents, and high council members responded to the challenge to participate and brought their families. Miriam Abegg, 17, whose father is on the Orem Utah West Central Stake high council said, “The dance festival was fantastic! I could feel that the Lord’s Spirit was with us during our performance. And I enjoyed practicing with my family. It helped me to see my dad with different eyes—enjoying square dancing, whirling and throwing my mom and us kids up in the air. It was a lot of work, but it was fun to work with other people—especially my own family, even though my brother did drop me on the floor one time.”
Suddenly, the day of the performance was upon them. Between the final dress rehearsal and the evening performance, a different kind of event took place. As Sharon’s family, friends, missionaries, teachers, and priesthood administrators watched, she stepped into the waters of baptism. Jolynne’s father performed the baptism, and Jolynne’s mother accompanied the hymns at the piano. Jolynne waited at the top of the baptismal steps to be the first to give Sharon a hug of fellowship. It was a beautiful time of reverence in an exciting day.
The dance performance filled the evening. As the Marriott Center darkened, over 6,000 spectators sat waiting. Suddenly the lights flashed on to the throb of Star Wars music, and the youth and their families began a spectacular show complete with bright lights, colorful costumes, and exciting dances. The dance numbers that had been such stumbling blocks—difficult to learn, difficult to find music for—suddenly were magnificent. The costumes, made mostly from donated materials, looked professional. The organization and technical details, so ragged in rehearsal, suddenly ran smoothly and professionally.
As Joycelynn Demaree, the costume chairman, remarked, “There were so many little miracles and acts of faith that took place during the putting on of the festival. It was a lot of hard work, but to see the whole thing come together was worth every minute of the thousands of hours involved.”

I went to seminary and later to institute, I attended Church activities, and I even started my own Personal Progress. I couldn’t wait to go to Young Women activities. I will never forget the hours we spent cooking, making postcards or bookmarks, decorating our classroom, or playing games, as well as the wonderful spirit of friendship between us. Each activity helped me understand my divine nature and role in life.

Four months ago, in my study of the scriptures, I was reading about Alma’s mission in Ammonihah when I came across this suggestion in Come, Follow Me: “As you read about the great blessings God gave the people of Nephi (see Alma 9:19–23), ponder the great blessings He has given you.” I decided to make a list of God’s blessings to me and record it in my digital version of the manual. In a matter of minutes, I had listed 16 blessings.
Foremost among them were the great blessings of the Savior’s mercy and atoning sacrifice on my behalf. I also wrote of the blessing I had to represent the Savior as a young missionary in Portugal and, later, with my loving eternal companion, Patricia, in the Brazil Porto Alegre South Mission, where we served with 522 powerful and wonderful missionaries. Speaking of Patricia, many of the blessings I recorded that day are blessings we have enjoyed together throughout our 40 years of marriage—including our sealing in the São Paulo Brazil Temple, our three wonderful children, their spouses, and our 13 grandchildren.
My thoughts turned also to my righteous parents, who raised me in the principles of the gospel. I was reminded in particular of a moment when my loving mother knelt with me to pray by my bedside when I was around 10 years of age. She must have felt that if my prayers were going to reach my Father in Heaven, they would need to improve. So she said, “I will pray first, and after my prayer, you pray.” She continued this pattern for many nights, until she was confident I had learned by principle and by practice how to speak to Heavenly Father. I will be forever grateful to her for teaching me to pray, for I learned that my Heavenly Father hears my prayers and answers them.
In fact, that was another blessing that I included in my list—the gift to be able to hear and learn the will of the Lord. An important part of Heavenly Father’s plan is the opportunity to communicate with Him anytime we want.
When the Savior visited the Americas after His Resurrection, He repeated an invitation that He had given to His disciples in Galilee. He said:
“Ask, and it shall be given unto you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.
“For every one that asketh, receiveth; and he that seeketh, findeth; and to him that knocketh, it shall be opened” (3 Nephi 14:7–8; see also Matthew 7:7–8).
Our prophet, President Russell M. Nelson, has given a similar invitation in our day. He said: “Pray in the name of Jesus Christ about your concerns, your fears, your weaknesses—yes, the very longings of your heart. And then listen! Write the thoughts that come to your mind. Record your feelings and follow through with actions that you are prompted to take. As you repeat this process day after day, month after month, year after year, you will ‘grow into the principle of revelation.’”
President Nelson added, “In coming days, it will not be possible to survive spiritually without the guiding, directing, comforting, and constant influence of the Holy Ghost.”
Why is revelation so essential to our spiritual survival? Because the world can be confusing and noisy, full of deception and distractions. Communication with our Father in Heaven enables us to sort through what is true and what is false, what is relevant to the Lord’s plan for us and what is not. The world can also be harsh and heartbreaking. But as we open our hearts in prayer, we will feel the comfort that comes from our Father in Heaven and the assurance that He loves and values us.
The Lord said that “every one that asketh, receiveth.” Asking seems simple, and yet it is powerful because it reveals our desires and our faith. However, it takes time and patience to learn to understand the voice of the Lord. We pay attention to thoughts and feelings that come to our minds and hearts, and we write them down, as our prophet has counseled us to do. Recording our impressions is an important part of receiving. It helps us recall, review, and refeel what the Lord is teaching us.
Recently a loved one said to me, “I believe personal revelation to be true. I believe the Holy Ghost will show me all things I should do. It is easy to believe when I feel my bosom burn with undoubting conviction. But how can I have the Holy Ghost always speak to me at this level?”
To my loved one and to all of you, I would say that I too would like to constantly feel those strong impressions from the Spirit and always see clearly the path to follow. But I don’t. However, what we might feel more often is the still, small voice of the Lord whispering to our mind and heart: “I am here. I love you. Go on; do your best. I will support you.” We don’t always need to know everything or see everything.
The still, small voice is reaffirming, encouraging, and comforting—and many times that’s just what we need for the day. The Holy Ghost is real, and His impressions are real—the big ones and the small ones.
The Lord went on to promise, “He that seeketh, findeth.” Seeking implies mental and spiritual effort—pondering, testing, trying, and studying. We seek because we trust the Lord’s promises. “For he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him” (Hebrews 11:6). When we seek, we are humbly acknowledging that we still have much to learn, and the Lord will expand our understanding, preparing us to receive more. “For behold, thus saith the Lord God: I will give unto the children of men line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little; … for unto him that receiveth I will give more” (2 Nephi 28:30).
Finally, the Lord said, “To him that knocketh, it shall be opened.” To knock is to act in faith. When we actively follow Him, the Lord opens the way before us. There is a beautiful hymn that teaches us to “wake up and do something more than dream of [our] mansion above. Doing good is a pleasure, a joy beyond measure, a blessing of duty and love.” Elder Gerrit W. Gong of the Quorum of the Twelve recently explained that revelation often comes while we are in the act of doing good. He said: “As we try to reach out in service to those around us, I think the Lord gives us an extra measure of His love for them and therefore for us. I think we hear His voice—we feel Him in a different way—as we pray to help those around us because that’s one of the prayers that He most wants to answer.”
That simple suggestion in Come, Follow Me to think about my blessings brought a sweet spirit and some unexpected spiritual insights. As I continued reading about Alma and his ministry in Ammonihah, I discovered that Alma provides a good example of what it means to ask, seek, and knock. We read that “Alma labored much in the spirit, wrestling with God in mighty prayer, that he would pour out his Spirit upon the people.” That prayer, however, was not answered the way he hoped, and Alma was cast out of the city. “Weighed down with sorrow,” Alma was about to give up, when an angel delivered this message: “Blessed art thou, Alma; therefore, lift up thy head and rejoice, for thou hast great cause to rejoice.” The angel then told him to return to Ammonihah and try again, and Alma “returned speedily.”
What do we learn from Alma about asking, seeking, and knocking? We learn that prayer requires spiritual labor, and it does not always lead to the outcome we hope for. But when we feel discouraged or weighed down with sorrow, the Lord gives us comfort and strength in different ways. He may not answer all of our questions or solve all of our problems right away; rather, He encourages us to keep trying. If we then speedily align our plan with His plan, He will open the way for us, as He did for Alma.
It is my testimony that this is the dispensation of the fulness of the gospel. We can enjoy the blessings of the Atonement of Jesus Christ in our lives. We have the scriptures widely available to us. We are led by prophets who teach us the will of the Lord for the difficult times we live in. In addition, we have direct access to our own revelation so the Lord can comfort and guide us personally. As the angel said to Alma, we have “great cause to rejoice” (Alma 8:15). In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Before sunrise I knew it was going to be one of those days. I hadn’t yet eaten breakfast when I messed up my shoes on some really fresh—and really fragrant—cow manure in Grandpa’s barn. Then one of the oversized eager eaters in the hog pen gave me a pretty good shove causing slop to slop onto my shoes and pants.
After breakfast things went steadily from bad to worse to awful. This was the day Grandpa had selected to have us put “soil sweeteners” on a newly cleared piece of land. I didn’t realize it yet, but Grandpa had just sentenced the four of us—Uncle Lynn, the new hired man, my little brother, and me—to a slow death by asphyxiation.
As we pitched several million tons of really ripe cow manure into the spreader, my brother managed to miss the spreader and “accidentally” hit me with a pitchforkful of the stuff. After slipping and falling several times while shoveling, all I could say to no one in particular was “No 13-year-old boy has ever been this dirty.” I didn’t hear anyone disagree.
Things didn’t get any better as the day went along. After the manure had been shoveled, we had to take the spreader to the sawdust pile and load enough sawdust to cover all of North America. Not so bad, I thought.
Boy, was I wrong. First, my brother nailed me in the back of the neck with a shovelful of sawdust. I nailed him back. He tackled me. I stuffed a handful of sawdust down his shirt. He returned the favor. Over and over we rolled, wrestling like a couple of overgrown kittens.
Cow, pig, and chicken manure on my shoes. Cow manure in the center of my back. Hog slop on my pants and shoes. Chicken manure all down my left side. Sawdust inside my shirt, and enough sweat to give me a nice shine.
Now I’m as dirty as I can get, right? I wish. While we were catching our breath, the hired man decided to tell a really dirty, offensive story.
When he finished, there was this long silence. Nobody laughed. Uncle Lynn was the ward clerk and an innocent, virtuous man. I was a newly ordained deacon who wanted to be like Uncle Lynn. My 11-year-old brother hadn’t even understood. Finally, the hired man said something about guessing his story hadn’t been very funny. He had that part right.
By the end of the day, I was dirtier than I had ever been. Eventually, I took a long shower with lots of soap and shampoo. It felt so good to be clean again. My skin was clean. My hair was clean. Even my fingernails were clean.
But no amount of soap, water, or shampoo would wash the hired man’s lewd story out of my memory. Like an unwanted and unwelcome guest, it had arrived and now it wouldn’t leave.
It’s been decades since I heard that dirty story. I’ve never repeated it. I’ve tried hard to forget it. I know the Lord considers me blameless regarding that story. But every once in a while, it pops into my mind for just an instant, and I discover the uninvited guest still hasn’t gone home.
You see, there are some kinds of dirt which soap can’t reach.

A few years ago, I had never heard of temples. After discovering the Church almost three years ago, temples still seemed like figments of the missionaries’ imagination. On my small Caribbean island of Barbados, the idea of a temple on the earth seemed like a magical fairy tale that was too good to be true. If they were so awesome, then why didn’t Barbados have one?
A year after joining the Church, I finally came to a greater understanding of the role temples play in our lives as members of Heavenly Father’s true Church. I had an extremely strong desire to visit the one that was closest to my tiny island—the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple.
The cost of an airline ticket to Dominican Republic was much more than the few dollars I had in my bank account. Setback after setback seemed to push me further away from what felt like an impossible goal of visiting the temple. But I made it a habit to never forget this quote by President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018): “Always have the temple in your sights. Do nothing which will keep you from entering its doors and partaking of the sacred and eternal blessings there” (“The Holy Temple—a Beacon to the World,” Liahona, May 2011, 93).
One of the greatest joys in this life is the joy the temple brings. Hearing the missionaries speak of the joy and overwhelming sense of peace that always filled them when they visited the temple always made me a little envious because although I remained committed to my covenants, I wasn’t as fortunate as they were, being unable to walk or drive to the nearest temple. With the Dominican Republic temple being far away, it started to seem like I would never be able to receive the blessings that awaited me there.
Just when I had given up all hope of ever visiting the temple, the Barbados Bridgetown Mission young single adults trip to the Dominican Republic made my temple dreams a reality. Preparation was key. Entering the temple is by no means a small or insignificant undertaking, so at the start of the year, I kicked into high gear making adjustments to increase my spirituality. I took the sacrament more seriously, I started to pay closer attention during sacrament meeting, I bore my testimony whenever I had the opportunity, and I stopped letting technology distract me and decided to dedicate my hours of church to finding even more ways to feel the Spirit more abundantly.
Being spiritually prepared and worthy before entering the temple ensures that we will receive the blessings that Heavenly Father has in store for us. After months of hardships, trials, and even the death of my beloved grandmother, no words can accurately sum up what I felt when I took those first steps onto the grounds of the Dominican Republic Temple. As I stood there with tears in my eyes, I felt the Spirit as I had never before.
During my many visits to the temple on that trip, I would always open my Book of Mormon to a particular scripture. It was one that I often read to my grandmother, although she was not a member of the Church before her death. It came from 1 Nephi 3:7, which reads “And it came to pass that I, Nephi, said unto my father: I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.”
I know with all certainty that Heavenly Father was preparing a way for me to reach the temple and that it was through His divine intervention that I was finally able to make it there. Where there is opposition or stumbling blocks in our path, Heavenly Father will make a way for us to move forward, even if our path seems dark. The temple is truly a sacred place where we can feel Heavenly Father’s love for us on this earth.