Gospel Story Finder

On the six Saturdays prior to Christmas, the Solihull businesses use the parking area adjacent to the Church area offices in Birmingham, England, as an overflow for Christmas shoppers. The young men of the Birmingham Second Ward saw it as a prime opportunity to have a special fund raising project for charity. They set up a car wash.
“The car wash was the idea of the youth,” said David Cook, Young Men president, “and I was proud not only of the effort they put in, but their dedication and high standard of performance.”
The young men took great care, and some car owners were so impressed they had their cars washed each week. And even though the young men were cold and wet at the end of each Saturday, they did not complain. They used half of their earnings to buy new sports equipment for youth activities and donated the other half of the money to three charities.

Another example of the importance of small things comes from Elder and Sister Jackson, missionaries serving in Guyana: “When we first arrived in the mission field in Guyana, we saw in the local Georgetown newspaper the report of the ‘Teenager of the Month.’ In the report he said his favorite food was macaroni. We took the newspaper clipping, a Book of Mormon, and a box of macaroni and knocked on his door. We have taught and baptized seven of the family since our first visit.” This small thing resulted in a great benefit in establishing the Church in Guyana.

When I was young and preparing for a mission, my mom invited me to go to a continuing education night at the church. The topic was Joseph Smith. Of course, I had a lot going on, and I didn’t really want to go.
But she talked me into it, and I’m glad she did.
I can remember sitting in the back row of the chapel as the instructor began teaching about the Prophet Joseph Smith. I’ll never forget it. It was a riveting moment of clarity. I was completely tuned in to the story. As it culminated and the teacher bore testimony, I knew that I knew it was true. I just knew it. But more importantly, I realized that I’d always known it was true; this was just the first time I’d realized it.

I was raising our children in the Church, but within a few years, our children decided they would rather spend Sundays boating with their dad than attending church with me. I was devastated. One day in 1975 I talked to my stake president and told him that I had decided I needed to leave the Church because it was breaking up our family. He patiently listened and said, “Do what you must, but be sure that your Father in Heaven approves.” So I went home and fasted and prayed. That was the second memorable prayer. The answer that came was the impression that I was the link in the gospel chain for my family; if I broke that link, everyone would be lost. I knew the answer came from God, so I committed to never leave the Church. And I never did.

“Hurry, Cathy,” Anne called over her shoulder to her sister as they ran along the road.
“I am hurrying!” Cathy yelled back, barely three steps behind her. Laughing, they turned into the parking lot of Mr. Parkins’s Plant Place. Breathing hard, they burst through the front door into the rich smell of potting soil and damp, growing things.
“Well, hello, girls.” Mr. Parkins smiled as he looked up. “Did you come to work?”
“Yes, please,” Anne said. “Today and tomorrow too, if you need us. We want to earn money to buy a present for Mum.”
In the early spring Mr. Parkins often paid the neighborhood children to help transplant seedlings. “Where is your cousin Emmy today?” he asked.
“She went to help Granny,” Cathy said.
“Well, come along.” Mr. Parkins led them into one of the long, low greenhouses. “We’re working on the petunias right now, and I need all the help I can get.”
In the greenhouse, long tables were covered with young petunia plants. Allen, Tom, and Lance were already working and laughing loudly.
Mr. Parkins stayed long enough to make sure the girls knew what to do and to check on the boys’ work. “I’m sure glad the five of you could come,” he said as he left.
The potting soil was crumbly and moist on Anne’s fingers as she carefully separated the plants. Cathy worked beside her, filling each of the small containers with soil and planting the seedlings. For a while no one said anything.
Then Lance elbowed Allen and whispered something in his ear. Allen laughed loudly, then whispered in Tom’s ear. Tom snorted. Then Lance stopped whispering and started saying nasty things out loud.
Anne’s fingers started to shake, and she felt slightly sick. “I wish Emmy was here,” she whispered to Cathy.
Cathy nodded. “So do I.” Emmy would know what to do. She was as brave as Nephi.
Just last week Anne and Emmy had been walking home from school with several other girls, when someone started singing in a really silly way. Everyone laughed and joined in. They sang the next song even sillier, singing really high and then really low. It was fun until one girl started singing “I Am a Child of God” in the same way. It hadn’t been funny to Anne anymore. It had given her the same sick feeling as the bad talk in the greenhouse was giving her now.
But Emmy had known what to do. “Hey, let’s not make fun of Church songs,” she had said quietly but in a friendly way.
The other girls had looked surprised for a moment; then one girl started singing the song the right way.
But Anne wasn’t Emmy, and she didn’t know what to do. She was afraid if she asked the boys to stop, they would just get worse. Now they were using words Anne knew were not right.
She looked over at Cathy. Cathy’s lips were pressed tightly together, and she was about to cry.
“Shall we leave?” Anne whispered.
“But I want to buy something nice for Mum,” Cathy said quietly.
“Me too,” Anne said. “Besides, Mr. Parkins said he needs all the help he can get.”
Cathy nodded and blinked as two tears slid down her cheeks. She hid her eyes so Lance, Allen, and Tom wouldn’t know she was crying.
Anne moved closer to her. She was angry now. If only Emmy was here! she thought. If only I knew what to do!
Suddenly she had an idea. Softly she started humming her favorite hymn. When Cathy heard the first few notes, she looked up at Anne in surprise. Then she smiled. By the end of the hymn, they were humming softly together.
The boys were still making ugly jokes, but Anne didn’t feel angry anymore. She and Cathy hummed “I Am a Child of God” a little louder, and by the end of that song, Lance was quieter. Anne, feeling braver, gave him a big smile as she started singing a Primary song. Cathy joined in, and their voices echoed sweetly through the greenhouse, while the boys gradually became silent.
Anne and Cathy were still singing Primary songs when Mr. Parkins poked his head in an hour later. “Sounds good, girls.” He came over to the long table. “Your work is good, too. But it’s almost dark—you’d better get home. I’m glad you’ll be coming back tomorrow—I can always use good, cheerful help.”
Rubbing the soil off their fingers, the children followed Mr. Parkins out of the greenhouse and into the early evening light. Lance, Allen, and Tom scooted past Anne and Cathy.
“Babies,” Lance hissed as he ran past. Anne just smiled at him again.
The air was cooler now, but the girls didn’t feel cold.
“I feel warm and happy,” Cathy said, looking up at the pink sky.
“Me, too,” Anne said. “Race you home!”

A tiny sunbeam shining bravely through a crack between the logs in her bedroom played across Louisa’s face. She stretched lazily and listened to the shrieking of the sea gulls outside her small window. They seemed to be calling to her to come and play. Louisa knew they had come for their usual breakfast of worms and insects and perhaps an occasional mouse from the fields surrounding the growing settlement. She had come to think of the gulls as her own, because each morning as the sun rose over the mountains they settled first in the field next to her window and then moved to other fields.
Quietly she slipped from her bed onto the rough floor and down the stairs to the door of the cabin. She smiled as she slipped outside. Father had built one of the few two-story log houses. He planned to cover it with stucco later when he wasn’t so busy.
Louisa chose her favorite spot on the porch by the corner post to sit quietly without moving to watch the sea gulls. She arranged her flannel nightgown around her bare toes to keep out the morning chill. Her soft, brown hair fell gently over her shoulders and her clear, blue eyes seemed to shine as brightly as the sunbeams.
With a soft sound the door opened again and her little brother Thomas crept quietly to her side. The sharp sound of her father’s ax in the woods across the field and her mother’s gentle singing in the garden broke the stillness of the beautiful morning. Thomas yawned sleepily and gazed at the birds in the field.
“Father’s chopping wood for winter and Mother’s weeding the garden so the vegetables will grow,” Louisa almost whispered so she wouldn’t frighten the sea gulls. The birds continued to eat as though Louisa and Thomas were not even there.
“Tell me again about the sea gulls, Louisa,” Thomas said sleepily. “Please.”
He was too young to remember when they had crossed the plains in the covered wagon to Utah. Louisa remembered, though.
“Mother and Father packed our clothes, quilts, pots and pans, dishes, food, and everything else they could into the wagon. I put in my doll and helped with some of the smaller things. Father hitched the oxen to the wagon and we started on our long journey. I’d never seen oxen before. They looked like big brown cows to me.”
“What about the sea gulls, Louisa?” Thomas didn’t like to hear about the times they had traveling to their new home in the mountains.
“When we first came to Utah, I helped Father and Mother plant the seeds in the ground. It took Father two days to break the hard ground before we could plant the seeds. All day we worked and dropped a seed at a time on the ground.”
“Where was I?” asked Thomas.
“You wouldn’t remember because you were only a baby then and had just learned to walk,” Louisa answered quietly. “Anyway, when the new plants were just coming up, about this high,” Louisa measured with her fingers, “some crickets came and began eating them. More and more crickets came.”
“What are crickets?”
“Thomas, you know what crickets are. They are those shiny black bugs. They scrape their wings together to make a squeaky sound at night,” Louisa answered.
“Oh. Tell me about the sea gulls.”
Louisa continued her story. “Everyone got sticks and shovels and whatever they could find and began beating the crickets. But more crickets came. Finally, the people gave up. They couldn’t kill all the crickets. They were going to eat up all the food we planted.”
Tears came to Louisa’s eyes remembering how hard she had cried. She had only been four. Now Louisa was eight and too big to cry. But sometimes she did when she was hurt or afraid.
“When did the sea gulls come?” Thomas asked.
“Father and Mother and the rest of the people prayed to our Heavenly Father that the crops would be saved from the hungry crickets. And it wasn’t long until we were surprised to hear a noise in the sky. I looked up and saw sea gulls. At first they looked like more crickets. I hadn’t seen any sea gulls here before, although I used to watch them on the ocean before we came west in the wagon.”
Louisa waited for Thomas to encourage her to go on with the story. But he just lay quietly beside her. The sky was dark blue with streaks of white clouds high in the sky. Most of the sea gulls were quiet, but once in a while one would call.
“The sea gulls came to the ground and ate up the crickets,” Louisa continued. “No one had really noticed them in the valley before. Some people say they were here all the time. But I think Heavenly Father sent them to us when the people prayed. What do you think, Thomas?”
But Thomas didn’t answer. He had fallen asleep in the warm sunshine.

In my own immediate neighborhood we have had our share of heart-wrenching tragedies. In October 1998, 19-year-old Zac Newton, who lived only three houses east of us, was killed in a tragic automobile accident.
Less than two years later, in July, 19-year-old Andrea Richards, who lived directly across from the Newtons, was killed in an automobile accident.
One Saturday afternoon in July 2006, Travis Bastian, a 28-year-old returned missionary, and his 15-year-old sister, Desiree, who lived across the street and two houses north of us, were killed in a terrible automobile accident.
One month later, in August 2006, 32-year-old Eric Gold, who grew up in the house next door to us, suffered a premature death. And others in this neighborhood have also suffered heart-wrenching experiences privately endured and known only to themselves and God.
With the loss of five young people, one might assume that this is an unusual number of trials for one small neighborhood. I choose to think the number only seems large because of a close, caring ward, whose members know when there is a pressing need. It is a ward with members who are following the admonition of Alma and the Savior—members who care and love and bear one another’s burdens, members who are willing to mourn with those that mourn, members who are willing to comfort those in need of comfort, members who endure together.
In each of these instances we saw an outpouring of love, service, and compassion that was inspirational to all. Bishops arrived, home and visiting teachers went into action, and Melchizedek and Aaronic Priesthood quorums and Relief Societies organized to take care of both spiritual and temporal needs. Refrigerators were stocked, houses cleaned, lawns mowed, shrubs trimmed, fences painted, blessings given, and soft shoulders were available for crying on. Members were everywhere.
In every one of these instances, the families who lost a loved one expressed increased faith, increased love for the Savior, increased gratitude for the Atonement, and heartfelt thankfulness for an organization that responds to the deepest emotional and spiritual needs of its members. These families now speak about how they got to know the Lord through their adversity. They relate many sweet experiences that grew out of their pain. They testify that blessings can emerge from heartbreak. They give praise to the Lord and would echo the words of Job: “The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21).

O f all of the passengers on the crowded train, one man caught my eye. He wasn’t like the other passengers, who turned their backs to him. He was older, his head was bowed, and he was sitting alone.
I tried to ignore the pulsing of my heart, as the Spirit told me to do something for him. I thought of what I might be able to give him. I didn’t have any money, and he already had a jacket. I didn’t have anything to give. But the Spirit kept prompting me.
With my heart in my throat, I sat down next to the old man, introduced myself, and we began talking. We were still talking when we pulled into the station.
“This is my stop. It’s a pleasure meeting you.” I shook his calloused hand. It was a little cold, but it was the gentlest thing I have ever held.
“It was a pleasure talking to ya,” he replied.
My heart began to hurt as I turned to leave.
I always thought of charity as giving things to those in need, but I learned how to give pure love and received much more. I realized that charity doesn’t revolve around money. Charity is answering the Lord’s call to help someone in need.

“When I worked at the candy shop,” his older sister began, “I practically ate my paycheck each week in candy. I couldn’t help myself, it tasted so good. Finally after praying about it, I decided to set a candy quota for each day. If I stuck to my quota, I rewarded myself by taking the money I would have spent on candy and putting it toward a new pair of jeans. Some days I didn’t make it, but gradually I ate less candy. And I got the jeans!”

There are scores of others, each one a lesson to all in the principle of obedience and sacrifice. A young lady with a great desire to fill a mission was counseled to buy ingredients, make cookies, and sell them at school during lunchtime. She did so. Then she bought more flour, baked more cookies, and continued this process for weeks, making a small amount of money each day to help toward her mission.

When I was in nursing school we completed our study of death and dying by spending time with terminally ill patients in hospital. The assignment consisted of an entire eight-hour shift with that patient filling their psychological as well as physical needs. I can’t express how reluctant I was to face such a patient. I really felt I wouldn’t be able to do it. I even thought of telephoning the school to say I was sick, but my class grade depended upon completion of this assignment.
I felt very inadequate that day as I stepped onto the elevator of the hospital. A constant prayer had been in my heart and mind all through the night and was answered in part as the elevator ascended.
“Don’t be afraid,” the voice whispered.
I doubted back, “But what will I say? How do I talk of death to someone who isn’t a Latter-day Saint?” My mind continued, “I’m the only Latter-day Saint in my whole class … in the whole school. Some of the hospitals I work in don’t have a Latter-day Saint in them on the staff or as a patient.”
Once on the fourth floor, I looked at my patient’s medical chart. This was not our usual routine as we were to assess our patient personally before we ever went to their chart; it was part of the learning exercise. However, something told me to look at her chart before I entered the room. Everything checked out. “Eve Crisp. Terminal cancer—final phase.” But there in the corner under religious affiliation were the letters “LDS.”
Quickly I slipped into her darkened room. Her eyes dimmed by months of suffering brightened a bit as I took her hand in mine and introduced myself as Sister Cain.
We visited easily as I met her physical needs. I learned that my patient still had several children at home. She was only forty-seven years old. She spoke of the Church and a time that she had traveled to attend a general conference. It was one of her fondest memories. I mentioned the upcoming April conference broadcast that would be broadcast the following Sunday morning. She smiled.
Often during the day she would respond to the cries of a little boy down the hall who had been badly burned by saying, “Poor thing, he must be suffering so.” Her sympathy and compassion seemed overwhelming for one suffering so much herself. I marveled at her. The time came all too soon for me to leave. Before I left, I straightened her pillow and reached for her signal light on the bed sheet. As I placed it in her hand she held on to mine and answered the question I was unable to ask.
“The Lord is perfect. His plan for me is perfect and I know he loves me.”
I embraced her and moved silently out into the corridor. I took a deep breath before returning to the main desk to write a note on her chart. The note read: “Please see to it that Mrs. Crisp’s television is tuned to the LDS general conference on Sunday morning at six o’clock.” I then went to a report meeting and bore my testimony to a class of nonmembers that I could only hope would appreciate my remarks.
The following Monday, my supervising instructor called me from my class work into her office. Sister Crisp I was told had died that Sunday morning shortly after the television show she had been watching had ended. I shed tears for her that I would shed for no one else. She had taught me so much—“The Lord is perfect; his plan is perfect and I know he loves me.”

I grew up as an only child, raised by a single mother. We moved a lot. I remember feeling like I had no stability or a place to call home. When I was a senior in high school, my mother moved to California and I stayed behind in Utah, hoping to find some stability in my life.
I moved in with some relatives. I came and went as I pleased, and I never had to check in with anyone. Sounds like every teenager’s dream, right? It wasn’t for me, and it wasn’t the stability I was hoping for. I still felt like I didn’t belong. I felt alone.
I put on a brave, happy face during the day, but at night I often found myself parked in a Church parking lot listening to Church music in tears. I began to have this desperate feeling to know that God truly existed.
“Heavenly Father, I want to know that Thou dost exist. I am lost. I feel alone. I want to know for myself. I so desperately need to know.”
Silence. All I heard was silence.
That peace and comfort never came. I always left feeling defeated, like I had wasted my time in prayer. The prayers I offered up those nights in my car, in tears, always seemed to go unanswered. There always seemed to be … silence.
Over the next several years, I still felt alone, but despite those prayers that seemed to go unanswered, I still had faith that God existed.
When I met the man who became my husband, I finally felt a sense of belonging and stability—a sense of home. His family welcomed me wholeheartedly. That was a big deal for me because I had longed for those feelings for so long. When we married in the temple, I felt so much joy in joining a family centered on the gospel.
I loved seeing priesthood blessings being given at home, attending church in my husband’s mother’s ward with dinner in her orchard to follow, and listening to sweet music playing from her kitchen window as we all sat, ate, and talked. These experiences took root in my heart and began to fill a void that so needed to be filled. This family unit was just what I needed, and God knew it. But He wasn’t finished answering those late-night prayers.
I sat with my mother-in-law on her porch one morning. She said something that was so meaningful to me. For the first time in my life, I heard the Spirit testifying to me that Heavenly Father really existed.
“When you know Heavenly Father is really there,” she said, “everything changes.”
From there, everything did change! My testimony grew as I sought to know more. Now I know when the Spirit speaks to me. I know that sweet feeling when He is near.
One day I read an inspiring question on social media that asked, “Where will you meet the Lord today?”
I “met” Him through a spiritual impression that came to me as I walked along a trail near our home several years after I got married. I stopped walking and wrote down the impression. I saw myself all those years ago, sitting alone in the Church parking lot and understood that, back then, God saw what I couldn’t.
What I couldn’t see then was that one day God would show me who He was through my future mother-in-law, whom I had not met yet. He could see that I would gain a bond with her that would build and strengthen me in ways I had never known before.
He was answering me way back when, but I didn’t hear it. He saw the big picture, and I didn’t. I couldn’t see His plans for me. In that moment on my walk, He gently impressed upon my heart what He had had in store for me all along.
When I hear my mother-in-law pray or speak of her steadfast love for her Savior, I can feel her testimony. Being blessed to become one of her daughters is a special gift from God. Her testimony is also a gift from God that blesses all our lives. I know that my Savior lives because she has spent her whole life drawing near to Him. She radiates His reality for all to see.
“To some it is given by the Holy Ghost to know that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and that he was crucified for the sins of the world.
“To others it is given to believe on their words, that they also might have eternal life if they continue faithful.”
Doctrine and Covenants 46:13–14.

One freezing October evening, as we were packing up, a man in his late 40s came to us with only the shirt on his chest, the shorts on his legs, and the shoes on his feet. He had nothing else to his name. But he was the happiest person I saw that day. We were able to give him some clothes, a sleeping bag, and a hot water bottle. As we were talking with him, we discovered it was his birthday. He said it was the best birthday he has ever had with the small gifts we gave him. His attitude was one of gratitude. Then we all noticed someone who was not happy, and our new friend went straight over to this man. He told us that he would take care of him, and make sure that the other man got home safely!

At age sixteen, I started to deliver newspapers. I had an old trade bike, a bike that has room to carry papers on the front. I loved cycling! One day I was cycling through the city, and in the bicycle-shop window, I saw a Coventry-Eagle bicycle. It was magnificent! It was lilac-colored with black trimming, and it had racing handlebars. I went home and told my father about it.
The next day, he said, “If you’ll save up half the price of the bike, I’ll give you the other half.” Great! It took me many months to get half the money together. I did not realize until long after the event that my father would not have had sufficient money to contribute to the purchase when I first asked concerning the possibility. He knew that as I was saving, he could also save. That way, between us, we could raise the amount needed. My father always kept his promises.

In the famous movie The African Queen, two refugees from World War I violence in East Africa are trying to reach the relative safety of Lake Victoria. After surviving many near disasters, their boat, The African Queen, is stranded in a marsh. Unable to tell which way the current is flowing and surrounded by high growth, the two refugees become disoriented and discouraged. At the end of their energy and faith, they are about to give up and die.
Then, in a moment of high drama, the camera through which we are viewing their peril rises, and with new perspective we see their true location. Out of sight to them, but just a few meters away, are the long-sought liberating waters of Lake Victoria.

Ben smiled down at the newborn baby in the hospital bassinet. Although he had sisters, he had been waiting nearly 12 years for a brother, and it was worth the wait. He picked Andrew up and cuddled him. “He’s so cute,” Ben whispered.
As Andrew grew, Ben always made time for his younger brother. After school they’d wrestle or play ball. Ben played on the school basketball team, and Andrew was his biggest fan. Ben coached Andrew’s basketball team. They called each other “Bro.” “Bro, come watch me ride my bike,” Andrew would call from the garage door.
“Be there in a second, Bro,” Ben would answer.
One of their favorite games started when Andrew was two years old. Ben would say, “I love you,” and Andrew would reply, “I love you more!” Back and forth they went, each trying to outdo the other. “I love you to the sky.” “I love you a zillion.” “I love you infinity.” Finally it was settled that “I love you the most over forever” was the absolute most you could love anyone. Whoever said that first was the winner.
Years passed, and one day a big white envelope arrived. It was Ben’s mission call! In three months he would be leaving. The family studied maps, went shopping for clothes, and bought luggage. Ben got shots and filled out papers. He had his picture taken for his passport and for the plaque on the bishop’s wall. Andrew became sadder and sadder. A couple of times he cried.
One Wednesday night Andrew went with Mom to drop his sisters off at the church for Mutual. His sister Katie said, “I can’t believe Ben will be on his mission in just three weeks!”
Andrew and Mom returned home with tears rolling down their faces. Mom sat down on the couch and put Andrew on her lap. They both cried and cried.
“I’m going to miss him so much,” Andrew sobbed. “He’s my best friend and my only brother. Besides, no one else knows how to pitch to me just right.”
Mom and Andrew talked about what a wonderful son and brother Ben was and how much they would miss him. They decided to kneel and pray for comfort. During the prayer Heavenly Father’s Spirit gave them peace. They realized that Ben would be an even better son and brother from serving the Lord. Andrew thought about how much he loved Heavenly Father. Although it was a hard thing, he wanted his brother to be a missionary and help families in Argentina.
For the next three weeks Andrew tried to be happy. Ben went to the temple and spoke in church. Suitcases were packed. The night before Ben was to leave, the stake president came over and set him apart as a full-time missionary. The stake president asked Andrew to bear his testimony. Andrew told everyone that he knew the Church was true and he wanted his brother to serve a mission. Then they ate hot cinnamon twists. Andrew called that last day “the day he wanted to never end.”
Early the next morning they all drove to the airport and flew to Salt Lake City, Utah. Then they rented a car and drove to the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. Just a few miles from the center, Andrew’s tears started to drip, but he wiped them away and kept smiling. They unloaded Ben’s luggage in front of the training center and went into a big meeting room where there were hymns and prayers and brief talks. Andrew tried to be brave, but he could not keep the tears away. He sat on Ben’s lap until the mission president said it was time for the new missionaries to walk out one door and the families to walk out another. The “bros” hugged and cried and hugged some more. With tears and big smiles, they each walked out the right door.
Andrew wanted to be brave, but he cried all the way to the car. He called it a happy/sad day. He was happy because it was a good thing for Ben to do and sad because he would miss him so much. Mom and Dad reminded Andrew that because he had faith in Jesus Christ, his heart would soon feel better. Daddy quoted the words Jesus used to comfort His Twelve Apostles before leaving them. “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:27).
As they drove away, Andrew called out from the backseat, “Bye, Bro, love you!” There was silence for a minute. Then, in a deeper, faraway voice, Andrew answered himself with a playful grin. “Bye, Andrew, love you the most over forever!”

A businesswoman based in Salt Lake City called a company in Virginia. After completing the business transaction, the owner asked her where she was from. On learning that it was Utah, he said, “What part of Utah?” I quote her account of what happened next:
“‘Salt Lake City,’ I responded.
“‘Salt Lake City? Well, you must be a Mormon,’ he stated matter-of-factly.
“‘Yes, I am,’ I said.
“‘I have two girls who work for me who are Mormons,’ he continued. ‘They’re the best employees I’ve ever had. Those two girls are only seniors in high school, but they keep my store cleaner than any of my other employees, and they treat my customers great. They’re really polite and pretty… you know, the “all-American” type.’
“He said, ‘Those two girls are amazing. Would you believe that they get up at 5:00 a.m. every morning and…’
“‘Go to seminary!’ I inserted.
“‘Well, I don’t know what it’s called,’ he continued. ‘But it’s some type of religious training. Then they go to school all day, and come work for me until 8:00 p.m. I don’t know how they do all of the things they do, but I’m sure impressed.’
“‘Would you believe that Mormon youth all over the world are going to early-morning seminary, five days a week?’ I asked.
“‘Well, that’s one thing I have to say for your church,’ he said. ‘You’re sure raising your children right. They’re the best.’”4

As a young boy growing up in an active Latter-day Saint family, Ken G. had never had much trouble keeping his standards high. But when he started high school, things became harder and Ken sometimes felt isolated from the good influence of his family—especially at school.
“My high school friends were all really close to me even though they were not members of the Church,” Ken says. “We still had a strong connection. The problem was they started doing things that did not follow the standards of our Church.”
At home Ken never had a problem choosing the right, but he says that when he got to school and his family was no longer around to help guide him, he started making wrong choices. “I admit I did things that were not in line with the standards of the Church, so in seminary I always felt like I was the one being talked about in the lesson.”
That’s when Ken realized he wanted to make a change, but he didn’t feel strong enough to do it on his own. “So I made a resolution to pray for God to give me the strength and the courage to say no to my friends when they did bad things,” he explains. “And I feel that God answered my prayers. It became easier for me to say no whenever my friends asked me to do something wrong or tempted me. I already had the knowledge and knew what was right and wrong. But then, through prayer, I felt like I had the power and the gift to say no and to do what was right.”
Ken says the most important thing he learned from this experience is that “prayer is a sign of your humility, because you admit to yourself that you are weak and that only God can help you become strong” (see D&C 112:10).

It’s early Saturday morning. You have lots to do—hang out with friends, maybe catch up on your homework. Then the phone rings and you remember that this Saturday is your ward’s youth serve-a-thon. You groan and think about getting in one more hour of sleep, right?
Of course not. Getting up is easy if you’re in the Richmond Ward, Richmond Virginia Stake, and today much of your service will be for those who aren’t members of the Church. Today you get to join with the missionaries and meet a lot of new people.
This Saturday morning, youth from the Richmond Ward are spread out in five different locations around the city. The first stop is a small house in the middle of Richmond. Fourteen-year-old Zack Harton and his friend Will Jones are stationed here, raking leaves, pulling weeds, and having fun.
Zack doesn’t personally know the family his group is helping, but he does know that this family is investigating the Church. Therefore, he knows that he’s also setting an example. “It makes me feel good because I’m helping someone in need—just as I would help my own brother and sister if they needed help,” Zack says.
His friend Will is also investigating the Church and is glad that Zack invited him to come along today. Will has already caught on to the wonderful feeling that comes from service. “I feel that I have an obligation toward other people,” Will says. “I started coming with Zack to Scouts and never knew it was going to get into this. But I just think it’s wonderful that somebody would care enough to do this. While we were working in the yard, everyone would help one another. You didn’t even have to ask. I could feel God around me.”
Will’s enthusiasm for service touches Cary Fleming as she, too, helps clean up at this stop. “The house looked pretty bad when we got there,” Cary says. “I wondered how we were going to clean all this. But then Will started singing nonstop, and I kept on pulling weeds, and we had a blast.”
Cary found out that what her mom said last night was right. “I did not want to go, but she told me it would strengthen my testimony if I really prayed about going and asked to have a good time. So I knelt down and prayed, and I’ve had the best time.”
A couple of kilometers away, Charity Holderness is cleaning bedrooms and bathrooms for a part-member family in the Richmond Ward. For Charity, this is a little out of the ordinary. “When I clean my own room, my mom thinks I’m sick,” she says.
Today she’s feeling something different. “I can’t even explain this feeling. I know that I haven’t done even a fraction of the work some people do. But I feel so much better knowing that I can keep doing small things. Maybe I’ll sweep the kitchen floor when I get home.”
Thirteen-year-old Caity Ingles is also here. She is not a member of the Church but came when her friend April Lacy invited her. April asked Caity to come because, she says, “I want her to know that I like to serve and help other people.”
The two missionaries at this stop like April’s idea about setting an example. Elder Jeffrey Mortensen, from Visalia, California, says: “We’re just the missionaries serving in this area for a short time. But when a ward member can make a connection with a nonmember, that is awesome.”
Building relationships—as well as cutting down some unwanted trees—is in full swing where a third group of youth are stationed. Todd Swenson, age 17, is here, and he’s a little tired from pulling up roots and clearing leaves. But his attitude is not the least bit tiresome. “This is my first time doing anything like this, but I want to do it again. I think it makes the people we are helping feel that they have friends, that someone is looking out for them,” Todd says.
Ben Mullins, age 14, agrees. “I hope it makes them feel that Church members like to help other people. It also gives me a better attitude about serving.”
Besides, according to Heather Swenson, there’s not much better to do on a Saturday. “I can spare one Saturday. I’ve got a lot of time left in my life to help other people. I need to use that time well.”
Across town at a less-active ward member’s home, Chris Odell knows all about using his time well. “I know this is the best thing I could do today,” Chris says. “When I serve, I feel close to heaven.”
Lindsay Lansing, age 14, nods in agreement and says, “Service shows that you love and respect others.” She is helping the sister missionaries gather leaves and stuff them into a garbage bag. This is not the first time she has joined them to provide service for her neighbors and less-active ward members. “I do this whenever I get the chance.”
Lindsay, Chris, and the rest of the group here finish quickly, but they don’t want to quit yet. So each of them jumps into a leader’s van to find another group that may need some extra hands.
By lunchtime, the last group of Richmond Ward youth are putting finishing touches on a wall at Svetlana Iskiyayev’s Village Shoe Shop. They have spent the morning tidying and painting the back room of the shop.
Svetlana and her husband left careers as a doctor and a lawyer when they came to Virginia from Russia several years ago. Now they are building their dreams here. And Helen Capehart, age 16, is happy she can help them. She has invited two nonmember friends to help her today and hopes that they, as well as the Iskiyayevs, will see the light of the gospel through her service.
After all, examples of service are what drew Helen herself to the gospel just a short time ago. She says: “I’m so grateful that the Lord led me to this Church and for the awesome examples my friends here have been to me. My biggest example now is Jesus Christ, and I find so much joy in serving him. I hope I always have this feeling in me.”
Most likely, that feeling will stay with Helen because she has found an important key to sharing the gospel—service.
As youth from the Richmond Ward close their day of service with a testimony meeting, Helen once again captures the essence of this activity. “I don’t think I ever feel the Spirit as strong in my life as when I am serving the Lord,” Helen says. “Look at all the magazines with beautiful people on the covers. The world says that’s beauty. But when I was working today, I got paint and dirt all over me. And I think that is the Lord’s true definition of beauty.”
She is probably right. What could be more beautiful than a child of God who has found happiness in following the example of the Savior?

In the Philippines, Latter-day Saint women were concerned about the high rates of malnutrition in their communities and how it was affecting their own families. They learned more about the most common causes of malnutrition and its devastating lifelong effects. Ward and stake Relief Societies hosted nutritional screenings in Church buildings for member families and their neighbors and then taught parents about good nutrition. They referred those in need to local medical and community services that would provide treatment.
The impact of these women came as they worked for the good of the families in their communities.