Gospel Story Finder

When “I Am a Child of God” was first written it read: “Teach me all that I must know to live with Him someday.” However, Sister Randall changed the words because of a suggestion made by President Kimball.

Several years ago, before Spencer W. Kimball became president of the Church, he was visiting a conference in California where Primary children sang this song. Later, he said to a visiting Primary general board member, “I love the children’s song, but there is one word that bothers me. Would Sister Randall mind if the word know were changed to the word do?”

The change was made, for President Kimball had pointed out a very important truth—that while it is important to know what is right, it is more important to do what is right. Only in this way can we be sure of returning someday to our heavenly home to live always with our Father, His Son Jesus Christ, and our loved ones.

Three of my granddaughters are young women. They think it’s amazing that I can actually remember when I was their age. I really do remember many things—some hard things and some really good things. I especially remember a time when I was very happy. I was seventeen years old. My friends and I went to a fireside where the speaker taught us about our Savior’s love.
He told us that we could have confidence in the Savior, that He would lead us, that He would be there for us, that our faith in Him could increase and we could feel greater happiness than we had ever known.
But we needed to participate. We needed to do something. We needed to choose to believe in the Savior and His love; we needed to ask for His help, and then we needed to practice thinking about Him all through the day.
The speaker suggested that to help us remember to think about the Savior, we could listen to the school bell that rang often during the day. Each time we heard the bell, we were to say a silent prayer, even with our eyes open, even walking down the hall. We could thank our Heavenly Father for our blessings, especially for our Savior. We could tell Him of our love and ask for His help. He taught us that in just a few seconds, many times during the day, we could practice thinking about our Heavenly Father and Savior.
There was something else: the speaker suggested that almost immediately we move from praying about ourselves to praying for someone else—a friend, a teacher, a stranger—and asking Heavenly Father to bless that person.
He also warned us that all of this might seem awkward at first but that if we chose to try, we could truly be filled with His love, our faith really would grow, and we would feel joy.
That sounded wonderful to me. I decided to try. I could not believe how many times the bell rang each day. When I heard it, I stopped. “Heavenly Father, thank you. Please bless me and bless Dorene. I know she’s having struggles.” It was awkward at first, but soon I found myself thinking about my Heavenly Father and Savior, not only when the bell rang but many times during the day. I remember walking across a muddy field one morning and seeing a tiny yellow flower. It was probably a weed, but to me it was beautiful, and I felt that He had created it just for me. I loved Him so much. My faith had increased, and I was happy.

One day Joseph played a game of ball with some of the young men in Nauvoo. The Prophet’s older brother Hyrum saw him. Hyrum had a great love for his brother, and he didn’t like to see people given a chance to find fault with him. Hyrum was afraid that if people saw Joseph having fun with the young men, they might think this wasn’t what a prophet should do.
After the ball game, Hyrum approached Joseph and said that such conduct was not proper for a prophet of the Lord. He spoke out of love, wishing to guide his brother.
The Prophet looked lovingly at Hyrum. He knew Hyrum was concerned about him, and he trusted and often listened to the advice of his older brother. But this time Joseph simply answered him in a mild voice. “Brother Hyrum, my mingling with the boys in a harmless sport like this does not injure me in any way, but on the other hand it makes them happy and draws their hearts nearer to mine; and who knows but there may be young men among them who may sometime lay down their lives for me!”*
The Prophet Joseph was right. When persecution again started for him, two young men in Nauvoo risked their lives to discover the Prophet’s enemies and their plots against him. The young men showed how much they had come to love the Prophet by how much they risked their own safety for his. Joseph Smith dearly loved children, and they loved the Prophet too.

When Mom looked up from peeling the potatoes for supper, she saw Lucas standing in the kitchen doorway with a furrowed brow and a book in his hand. “What are you reading that makes you look so serious?” Mom questioned, wiping her hands on a towel.
“This.” Lucas held up his book so that Mom could see the cover.
Mom sat in a kitchen chair and lifted Lucas onto her lap. “I thought that The Night Before Christmas was one of your happy books,” she said.
“It is, Mom, but why is Santa smoking a pipe?” Lucas asked. “Isn’t he a Latter-day Saint like us?”
Mom was quiet for a bit as they looked at the picture of Santa with his pipe making a circle of smoke around his head. “I guess,” she said slowly, “that maybe the missionaries haven’t been to the North Pole yet to teach him about the restored gospel and about why it’s so important not to smoke.”
“But, Mom, everybody knows Santa Claus. Why hasn’t someone told him?”
“I don’t know,” Mom answered, stroking Lucas’s hair gently. “I guess someone really should.” Then she gave Lucas a squeeze and asked, “Do you want to help me peel the potatoes?”
“No thanks, Mom,” he replied. “I need some ‘time out to think’ time.”
“OK, Champ, but don’t be late for supper,” she said as he slid off her lap and headed for his bedroom.
Lucas climbed onto his bed, lay on his stomach, and opened his book again to the page with Santa smoking. All that year they had been learning in Primary about being missionaries. Sister Franklin had said that even a Sunbeam could be a missionary. Santa must have held a lot of Sunbeams on his lap. Hadn’t even one of them told Santa about being a Mormon? Suddenly Lucas scrambled off the bed, ran over to his bookshelves, put away his storybook, and took his favorite book from the shelf. He had a happy smile on his face when he went into the living room. He had a plan.
That night after supper Lucas asked Mom and Dad to come to his bedroom for a meeting. Mom didn’t even wash the dishes first, because she could tell that this was an important meeting to Lucas. When his parents were seated on the bed, Lucas showed them a package wrapped in newspaper comics. “Billy Anderson said that Santa is going to be at the mall this Saturday. I want give this to him.”
“You want to give Santa a present?” Dad asked. “That’s wonderful. Do you mind if we ask what it is, Son?”
Lucas showed Dad the page in his storybook with Santa and the pipe. “You see, Dad, I don’t think that Santa is a member of the Church. Mom said that maybe no one has told him about Heavenly Father’s plan and about not smoking. So I want to give him the Book of Mormon that you gave me when we started to read it as a family. I thought that you and Mom could give me another one for Christmas. That way Santa will know about what’s important, and maybe he’ll stop smoking that pipe.”
Dad reached out and pulled Lucas onto his lap. Mom reached over and patted his hand. Her eyes were watery, and Dad’s were too. That surprised Lucas a little. “It’s all right to give my Book of Mormon to Santa, isn’t it, Dad?”
“Yes, Son. It’s more than all right—it’s terrific! I’m very proud of you, Lucas. I’m proud that you want to be a missionary and share the gospel with others.”
Mom said, “Lucas, why don’t you let me help you write your testimony in the front of the book. You can put your name and address inside so that Santa will know who cares so much about him. Then you can wrap it again in Christmas paper, and I bet I can even find a bow for you to put on top. Would you like that?”
“Yea! All right!” Lucas yelled, ripping off the wrapping as fast as he could.
Dad took a pen out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Mom.
“Dear Santa,” Lucas began, “I am worried about you because I saw in a picture that you smoke. Smoking is bad for you. Heavenly Father loves us and wants us to be good to our bodies. This book is all about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I read it with my family every day. It makes me happy. You are so nice to all the children that I want you to be happy too.”
“That sounds great, Son,” Dad said. “I’m glad to hear that reading the Book of Mormon as a family makes you happy.”
“I want to write my name,” Lucas told Mom. “You can write our phone number under it.”
Afterward Dad did the dishes while Mom helped Lucas cut, fold, and tape the Christmas wrapping paper. Lucas put a big gold bow on last, and the gift looked super. Then Mom put it on top of the refrigerator so that nothing would happen to it before Saturday.
On Saturday morning there was a long line of children waiting at the mall to sit on Santa’s lap. It was hard for Lucas to wait, but finally his turn came. He was so excited that he jumped onto Santa’s lap.
“Well,” Santa exclaimed, “aren’t you happy today! And what do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas?”
“Nothing,” Lucas said. “I just want to give you this.” He handed the gift to Santa, give him a hug, and ran back to his mom and dad. When he looked over his shoulder, Santa was just sitting there, looking a little surprised.
That night Lucas was brushing his teeth when the phone rang. Dad answered it and talked for a few minutes, then called Lucas. “The phone call’s for you, Lucas. It’s Santa Claus.”
“Wow! Really?” he shouted as he ran to the phone.
“Hello, Lucas. Remember me? You sat on my lap and gave me a present this morning.”
“Sure I remember. Did you read the Book of Mormon?”
“Well, I haven’t had time to read the whole thing,” the voice on the phone said with a chuckle. “I had to work all day. But I did read what you wrote in it and the first few pages. I was wondering if I could come over tonight and meet your mom and dad.”
“Great!” Lucas exclaimed. “I’ll ask them. Dad, Mom, Santa wants to know if he can come over to our house tonight. He can, can’t he?”
“Sure he can,” Dad answered. “Why don’t you let me talk to him for a few minutes after you finish so I can make sure that he knows how to find our house.”
“Dad, he’s Santa Claus. He knows where everyone lives.”
“You’re probably right, but I’d still like to talk to him. It’s not every day that Santa Claus calls on the phone.”
Lucas grinned. “It’s OK with my dad,” he said, “and anything OK with him is OK with Mom.” He handed Dad the phone and ran into the bathroom to finish brushing his teeth.
When Lucas went back to the living room, he asked, “Do you think he’ll come in his sleigh?”
“No,” Dad answered. “He’ll be driving a dark blue car. We need to talk about that for a few minutes, OK?”
Lucas said, “If you mean that he’s not really Santa, but just one of Santa’s helpers, I already know that. His beard didn’t fit him very good, and he was a lot skinnier than Santa is.”
“Then you won’t be surprised when this Santa comes to the door as a young college man?”
“No, I could tell by his voice that he wasn’t an old man. And the real Santa would have to be pretty old if he were flying around when your were little.”
“Well, then, you know, Lucas,” Dad said, “that the most important thing is that you tried to share the Book of Mormon with someone, whether or not he was the real Santa.”
“I know. Missionaries teach everyone they can.”
Just then a car pulled into the driveway. Lucas jumped up and ran out the door before the young man even had time to get out of his car.
“Come in, Santa Claus,” he shouted. “We’re going to tell you all about the Book of Mormon and Jesus Christ and everything!”
Valentine Day was on Saturday that year, and Lucas got dressed in his Sunday clothes. He took an extra long time washing his face and brushing his hair so that he’d look just right.
“Are you ready, Lucas?” Mom called from the living room. “John is here.”
John was the Santa Claus helper, and today he was going to be baptized. Lucas shook John’s hand, and then John reached down and picked him up. “How about a hug, too?” he asked.
“Sure,” Lucas said, squeezing with all his might. “You may be only Santa’s helper, John,” he whispered, “but you’re the best Santa in the world to me.”
“And you’re the best missionary in the world to me,” John whispered back.

My grandparents started dating before Grandpa joined the Church. Grandma told him she was unavailable on Sundays and several evenings during the week. At first he considered dating somebody else since she was so busy. Eventually she explained, “I’m a member of a church you’ve never heard of.”
Grandpa immediately replied, “Oh do you mean The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?” Grandma was dumbfounded—she thought he had been stalking her! But he had heard of the Church before.
At 19, Grandpa was asked to help with the census because of his penmanship. When he asked a woman for her religion she said, “I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” It was the longest denomination name he had ever heard. The name stuck with him. When Grandma told him that she belonged to a church he most likely didn’t know, he already had the name in his memory.
In his talks, Grandpa shared his thoughts and feelings and the struggles he faced investigating the Church. He had to humble himself to pray about joining the Church. He received an answer and acted on it.
It is amazing to share Grandpa’s firsthand accounts with my wife and children. They’ve never met him, but his words are reaching them 30 years after his death.

One wonderful thing happened when we were just starting in the United States. We needed so much advertising! Believe me, we needed a budget a hundred times larger than we had. We were worrying about how to stretch our dollars.

I was commuting between here and Vancouver, and one day I was in Canada when Mr. Kessler phoned me and said, “Rose Marie, a very large company wants to use you in their advertising. They want to know when you will be back in New York so that you can be photographed in full color. They also want to show some of your suits. The ad will be on the backs of all of the prominent magazines in America. They will be on billboards, newspapers—everywhere! It will amount to about $250,000 in free advertising for us, and they want to know when you will be back in New York for the photographs.”

I said, “Oh, Jack, tell them I will go anytime for that.”

And he said, “There is only one hitch in it. You have to say that you smoke Camel cigarettes.”

I said, “Oh, my goodness! Well, ask if I can say Camels must be the best because my partner smokes them.”

And he said, “No, the slogan is ‘Experience Is the Best Teacher,’ and so they want you, and you have to say that.”

I said, “Well, Jack, you know the answer. I couldn’t possibly.”

He said, “Don’t answer now. I will call you tomorrow. You think about it.”

Well, our budget for advertising that year— that we could afford to spend ourselves—was about $30,000. So to get $250,000 worth of free advertising would have been tremendous.

I went home that night to my children—who were seven, nine, and eleven—and I said, “How would you like to have someone advertise our business for us so we would have lots of money and we could buy a big, beautiful home with a swimming pool, cars, a horse for Bruce to ride, and everything you want?”

And they said, “Oh, Mommy, how?”

And I said, “A company wants to use me in its advertising. All I have to do is say I smoke Camel cigarettes.”

And they said in disgust, “Oh, Mommy, we don’t need a house. We have a house. Bruce can rent a horse, and we don’t need a swimming pool.”

And I thought, “Isn’t that wonderful?”

So when Mr. Kessler called me the next day, I said, “Well, Jack, I am awfully sorry, but you know the answer. I really feel sorry about it because, after all, I am only part of the business. It is your business too, and I hate to deprive you of this advertising by saying no, but I just could not possibly do it.”

Then the most wonderful thing happened. Mr. Kessler said, “Rose Marie, Nina and I talked this over, and we would have been afraid for the future of this business if you had said yes. It will be made up to us many times. Don’t you even give it another thought.”

And I thought, “How very blessed I am that I could be associated with people who could have an understanding of Mormon principles like that.”

And I was very happy when I saw that the Camel designer series of ads lasted only six months and not one swimsuit designer was ever featured on it. We all feel that it has been well worth the sacrifice, for this business has grown faster than we could cope with it!

My husband and I were assisting our daughter and her two sons at the airport, where they were preparing for their return flight home. We helped our daughter as she juggled luggage, located passports, and managed an active three-year-old. Tommy, our one-year-old grandson, was fast asleep in his stroller until he awakened abruptly. He panicked as he struggled to take in all the noise, bright lights, and general chaos.
I saw his expression and knew what was about to happen, so I cried out to my daughter. She quickly stooped down, cupped Tommy’s face in her hands, met his gaze, and lovingly said, “Hello, little lamb.”
In an instant his furrowed brow, turned-down mouth, and tensed-up shoulders relaxed as his whole body sighed with relief. He gave a little smile before his heavy eyelids closed again. His fear was replaced by a calm assurance and a peace that seemed to envelop him. It was a small but powerful manifestation of the trust Tommy had in his mother. Her familiar touch, voice, and presence comforted him.

I would like to speak of a personal experience where I felt God's grace, his condescension, and in turn how He gave me the power to make progress on one of my weaknesses. Sometimes I get my feelings hurt easily and find it hard to forgive other people. Even though I have found it hard to forgive, I have always wanted to be able to forgive. Once when I was having a particularly hard time forgiving someone, I made it a point of earnest and extended prayer. I alternated between pleading with the Lord to take away my hard feelings to just gritting my teeth and deciding I would forgive. I would just do it. Neither of these tactics worked. I was still burdened with anger and resentment. Finally, I humbled myself and I asked the Lord why it was that I could not forgive. He answered my prayer with one of the most wondrous moments I ever experienced. I felt embraced in his love. Part of what made that love so powerful was that at the very time I felt His love I also felt how clearly he saw my weaknesses. While the answer to my prayer was not in words, what was communicated to me was something like this: "You are not capable of forgiving right now. But if you will come to me I will tutor you and guide you and help you learn how. But you must do it my way and on my timetable." It was kind of strange because I found myself somewhat embarrassed that the Lord told me I wasn't at that time capable of extending forgiveness. But that feeling was only momentary. The feeling that has stayed with me all these years is gratitude for God's knowledge of where I was at, his love for me (even though I was in that place), and for the tutoring and grace he has extended to me. I am grateful that He did not take my anger away in a moment but that He cared enough to teach me. By doing so, I learn more of the depth, the breadth, and length of forgiveness both for myself and others.

One such teacher was Lucy Gertsch. She knew each of her students. She unfailingly called on those who missed a Sunday or who just didn’t come. We knew she cared about us. None of us has ever forgotten her or the lessons she taught.
Many years later, when Lucy was nearing the end of her life, I visited with her. We reminisced concerning those days so long before when she had been our teacher. We spoke of each member of our class and discussed what each one was now doing. Her love and caring spanned a lifetime.
I love the Lord’s injunction found in the Doctrine and Covenants:
“I give unto you a commandment that you shall teach one another the doctrine of the kingdom.
“Teach ye diligently and my grace shall attend you.”6
Lucy Gertsch taught diligently because she loved untiringly.

When Elder Quentin L. Cook was 15 years old, he had a talk with his big brother, Joe. Joe was trying to decide if he should go to medical school instead of going on a mission. They talked long into the night. They talked about the gospel. They talked about testimonies. They talked about serving a mission.

Joe knew that going to medical school and becoming a doctor was a good way to help people. But he also knew that Jesus Christ truly lived, that Joseph Smith was really a prophet, and that the Book of Mormon was really true. So he knew that going on a mission first would be a better choice. Quentin learned that night that his brother Joe had a strong testimony.

5 Facts about Elder Cook
Born on September 8, 1940
The L stands for LaMar
Played basketball, football, and baseball in high school
Served a mission to the British Mission
Became an Apostle in October 2007

Quentin decided that he wanted to have a testimony too. After they finished talking that night, Quentin went to another room to pray. He had always had a testimony of Jesus Christ. And he believed that Joseph Smith was a prophet. He believed the Book of Mormon and the Church were true. But he wanted a spiritual witness from the Holy Ghost. As he prayed, a powerful witness came to him that swept away any doubts he had forever.
Now Elder Cook relies on that strong testimony to help him with every choice he needs to make.

“Hola, cómo estás? Hola, cómo estás?” I sounded like a broken record. Or even better, a bright, colorfully feathered parrot thrown into a Mexican restaurant where customers would shout the same phrase at it day and night, trying to get the English bird to talk back.
Last year my father was called to serve as president in the Barranquilla Colombia Mission, and for the first few weeks I really felt like that parrot. Coming to a Latin country where beautiful brown skin and short people are common, I could easily admit that my red hair, pale skin, and height of five feet, nine inches definitely made me appear out of the ordinary.
But sticking out was the least of my problems. My main concern was the language. If you hear, “Hi, how are you?” a million times in Spanish, you’re bound to catch onto the phrase sooner or later. But you can only get so far with knowing that phrase, and then what do you do?
Our family’s first Sunday in our new country soon arrived. Being filled with excitement and anticipation for the experience that awaited us, we all piled into our little Colombian station wagon and made our way toward the chapel.
We found the right building in no time. The chapel was small and simple. Wooden benches had been lined up along the cement floor, facing the pulpit. Four fans hung overhead, trying to circulate what little air was making its way around the room.
As we walked in to sit down, I looked around the chapel and counted only 20 people in the congregation. This appeared very unusual to my family, considering that in our ward in California the overflow area frequently had to be opened.
It was fast and testimony meeting, so most of the members bore their testimonies. My brothers and sisters and I just sat in the congregation in a small state of bewilderment. As each person got up to speak, I tried to listen for familiar words or phrases, but everyone seemed to talk so fast that I couldn’t make out a thing. I was quickly losing confidence of ever learning to understand.
When sacrament meeting came to an end, my sister and I went to Young Women. We both felt extremely awkward and out of place as we sat down next to the other girls. The Young Women president then came into the room and began the class.
This was going to be impossible, I thought. How would I ever be a part of something I could not understand? At that moment the young women began to sing. The words made no sense to me, and I was completely lost and frustrated.
Then something made me stop and ponder for a moment. I listened harder. Wait! The tune sounded very familiar. I looked at my sister, and she recognized it too. Together we were joined in song with the other girls.
I remember the mixture of the Spanish and English words clashing together in a most unflattering way. But we all sang our hearts out with one purpose in mind. The words were unmistakably different, but the meaning was clearly the same. Heavenly Father understood our voices perfectly. Every word. To him we sang in perfect harmony.
As I closed my ears to the words and opened my heart to the meaning, I felt the beautiful spirit that encompassed the room and I began to understand. The Spirit was our translator. We couldn’t communicate to each other through words, but we could hear the peaceful whisperings of the Spirit through the music we sang there together.
I don’t even remember what the name of that hymn was. It doesn’t really matter. What’s important is the love and acceptance we felt for each other at that very moment.
As we sang the final words of the hymn, there was complete silence. We just sat there looking at one another, hanging on to that wonderful feeling in the room.
Then the young women turned to my sister and me and they smiled.
Hey! I recognized that. So I responded with a smile of my own, and they understood. I knew right then everything was going to be fine.

Mervyl Meyer, from South Africa, received this great gift when her mother died at the age of 93. As an only child, Mervyl felt her mother’s loss deeply. She realized that her mother’s death was a blessed release from the pain and frustration of advanced age, but she longed for her mother’s companionship.
One Saturday morning as Mervyl prepared her garden for spring planting, she reviewed in her mind the Relief Society lesson she would be teaching on Sunday. The lesson was about the paradisiacal glory the earth would enjoy during the Millennium. Although she had prayed about the lesson—and the promise it held for her mother’s resurrection—her heart was heavy with the thought of her mother’s body buried deep in the dark ground. She feared she would never see her mother again.
But as she worked, she was touched by the Spirit. “I pondered the lesson. It came to me that the earth in which I worked was the same earth that sheltered my mother’s mortal remains. As I put my hands into the rich brown soil, I received an intimate assurance of the renewal of all life, of the Resurrection. I felt at peace.”

Rochelle moved to a modest duplex in an affluent area in the western United States after spending time in a homeless shelter. Divorced and caring for several children, she worked at two jobs, sometimes three, to be able to afford food and rent, and had been less active, off and on, since her conversion.
“Even though just about everyone in my new ward seemed better off than I was,” she explains, “they reached out to me and accepted the way I dress. Everyone really cared.”
Although under significant financial pressure, Rochelle never resented others for their easier circumstances. “I want to be more secure, definitely, but I never looked at my neighbors’ houses and felt that God had left me behind,” she recalls. “I could feel Him walking beside me even through my poor choices.”
Although Rochelle’s work schedule has been a challenge at times, ward leaders and friends ultimately helped her fulfill a yearning to attend the temple. “Going to the temple regularly helps me be grateful for how far I’ve come,” she observes. “I don’t worry that others might seem ahead of me.”
Rochelle admits that she and her daughters struggle and “are not a perfect LDS family.” Yet she also recognizes that “everyone has problems and no family is really perfect,” a perspective that liberates her from looking sideways at others instead of focusing on her relationship with God.
“My daughters can see what a difference the gospel has made in my life,” she says. “I can feel the difference too and am busy enough with work, family, and Church that I don’t have time for comparisons. I’m just happy to be on the right path.”

“Anchored by Faith and Commitment,” page 30: Elder M. Russell Ballard tells about his great-grandfather who was offered a life of ease if he would leave the Church. He refused and chose instead to make the difficult trek to Salt Lake City, arriving ragged and destitute but true to his testimony. What are you willing to give up for your faith? Is there anything you would not be willing to sacrifice if the Lord required it?

To illustrate the potential results of not using this principle President Gordon B. Hinckley relates the story of Guy de Maupassant, the French writer. He tells the story of a peasant named Hauchecome who came on market day to the village. While walking through the public square, his eye caught sight of a piece of string lying on the cobblestones. He picked it up and put it in his pocket. His actions were observed by the village harness maker with whom he had previously had a dispute.

Later in the day the loss of a purse was reported. Hauchecome was arrested on the accusation of the harness maker. He was taken before the mayor, to whom he protested his innocence, showing the piece of string that he had picked up. But he was not believed and laughed at.

The next day the purse was found, and Hauchecome was absolved of any wrongdoing. But, resentful of the indignity he had suffered because of a false accusation, he became embittered and would not let the matter die. Unwilling to forgive and forget, he thought and talked of little else. He neglected his farm. Everywhere he went, everyone he met had to be told of the injustice. By day and by night he brooded over it. Obsessed with his grievance, he became desperately ill and died. In the delirium of his death struggles, he repeatedly murmured, “A piece of string, a piece of string.”

“I’m bored,” Mike said.
Mike’s mother looked up from the cake she was making. “I’m going to work in the garden while the cake bakes,” she said. “I could use a strong boy like you to help me.”
“That’s no fun,” Mike told her as he licked the spoon. “I want to do something fun.”
Mike followed his mother to the garden. He looked cross, even with cake batter on his chin. He ate some fresh peas, watered the corn, and watched a ladybug crawl along a bean leaf.
“How would you like to deliver some carrots to Aunt Annie?” asked his mother.
Mike started to grin. “I have an idea,” he said, running toward the house.
Mike cut out the bottom of an old shoe box. He found a red crayon and wrote three words on the piece of box. Then he got his skates and ran back to the garden. “Pin this on my back, please,” he said to his mother.
“Mike’s Delivery Service,” she read as she pinned it to his shirt.
Mike put on his skates and picked up the bag of carrots. “Vroom! Vroom!” he said as he started down the sidewalk.
Old Mr. Davis, who lived in the next block, was walking by. He had a bag of groceries in his arms, and his dog, Chip, on a leash. “Beep! Beep!” Mike shouted, skating carefully out around the old man. “Make way for Mike’s Delivery Service!”
“Yap! Yap!” barked Chip, jerking his leash.
Mike turned in at the house on the corner. He rang the doorbell and called, “Delivery for you, Aunt Annie!”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Mike,” said the smiling lady who opened the door. “Do you take return loads?”
Aunt Annie put a carton of eggs in Mike’s hands. She said, “This is a special delivery, sir. Please be very careful.”
Chip barked and pulled at his leash when Mike passed him and Mr. Davis again.
Mike’s mother met him at the door and took the eggs. “Thank you, sir. You have a very good delivery service.”
Mike sat on the step and ate a piece of warm cake. While he ate, he had another idea. “I have one more job to do, Mom,” he called. And Mike’s Delivery Service took off again.
Mr. Davis was sitting on a low wall, resting. Chip could hear Mike’s skates, and he pulled on the leash.
“Mr. Davis,” said Mike, “I’ll carry that bag for you.”
“Well, Mr. Delivery Service,” said the old man, “it has a jar of jam in it.” Then he winked and said, “If the glass broke, it could give your ‘delivery truck’ a flat tire. But you would help me a lot if you could take my dog!”
Mike took Chip’s leash in his hand. Chip barked and ran down the walk, pulling Mike behind him. “Slow down, Chip, before we get a ticket for speeding!” yelled Mike.
Chip and Mike were waiting when Mr. Davis got home. “Thanks, Mike,” said the tired man. “You made a fast delivery—but did you deliver the dog, or did the dog deliver you?”
“Chip delivered me,” Mike said. “And he liked it. Look at him.”
Chip was wagging his tail hard.
“You like to help, don’t you, boy?” asked Mike as he patted the head of the happy dog.
Mike felt happy, too, and not a bit bored.

Members of the Arusha Branch in Tanzania decided to volunteer at Shanga House, a facility that gives vocational training to people with disabilities and teaches them to provide a living for themselves and their families.
On August 20, 2011, 35 participants—adults, youth, and children; Church members, investigators, and missionaries—worked alongside people with disabilities in making craft items and jewelry that would later be sold. The volunteers also helped with household chores like cleaning and sweeping.
Just before the group departed, Shanga House coordinators asked them to come to a central area so that the people they had served could shake their hands and thank them. “It was quite an emotional experience,” said Sister Sandra Rydalch, who is serving a mission in the area with her husband, Elder Rich Rydalch. Since that time, when people from Shanga House see members of the branch downtown, “they readily recognize us, wave, and stop to visit,” Sister Rydalch said.
Patience Rwiza, who organized the branch’s project under the direction of priesthood leadership, points out that the activity was beneficial not just for those at Shanga House but also for those who offered the service. “People developed a sense of love by helping others, and along the process, people learned things from the community that they didn’t know before,” he said. “My testimony has been strengthened with what I did and saw—from the members’ participation and the community as a whole.”

In June, between my freshman and sophomore years of high school, my oldest brother took some of the younger brothers for a few days hiking and camping in the mountains of Central Idaho. This was a welcome respite from the daily chores of life on a dairy farm to which I had become accustomed. We had a great time.

One afternoon, about ten days after returning from our trip, as I was out in the barn performing a deep clean of the milking system, I began to feel quite sick. After finishing the chore, I went to the house and reported to my mother that I had a pounding headache. She told me to go lay down, which I gladly did.

That evening my headache and I attended mutual together. After mutual I went to softball practice for our young men's church team. At the time, our stake played fast pitch softball and while I was taking my turn at batting practice, I was struck in the head with a high and inside pitch. It knocked me to the ground and I was done for the night. I got home and immediately went to bed.

The next day, I felt even worse. My parents and I didn't know if I hurt because I was actually sick or because I had been hit in the head with the softball. On the second day I felt worse yet and could not keep any food down. My head was still pounding, I had a high fever, every muscle in my body seemed to ache, and I nearly passed out every time I tried to stand. A rash began to appear on parts of my body.

My father gave me a priesthood blessing and my mother took me to the doctor. After nearly passing out in the doctor's office, the doctor decided to admit me to the hospital so that I could receive an IV in order to avoid becoming dehydrated. Once there, all sorts of tests were administered, but the doctor couldn't figure out what was wrong with me.

After being in the hospital two days and the doctors yet to determine my ailment, I remember pleading with Heavenly Father to direct the doctors to know what to do. That night my mother was at home fast asleep when she was suddenly awakened. She sat straight up in bed as she distinctly heard the words, "Keith has Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever." She immediately jumped out of bed and consulted her medical books. All of the symptoms described were an exact match of what I had been experiencing and she read that it could be fatal. She immediately called the doctor and told him what my illness was. The doctor consulted his medical books, agreed with my mother, and I was treated for Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.

Even though we had diligently checked for ticks, apparently one found me to be of its liking, burrowed in, and went undetected in our daily examinations. I slowly gained my strength back throughout the rest of the summer and was able to play football that fall. This experience helped me realize that I was developing a greater trust in Jesus Christ and that He personally cared about me. In looking back, I also realize that through my prayers and pleading with Heavenly Father, I was learning to take over the helm of my own ship from my parents.

In one of those illuminating but sad stories that would be funny if it had not involved something terribly important, Peter Druecker tells us that the czar of Russia in 1914 had ordered a general mobilization to fight the Germans, but then he had second thoughts about it. The czar called in his chief of staff and asked him to halt the mobilization. The general answered, “Your Majesty, this is impossible. There is no plan for calling off the mobilization once it is started.” Perhaps World War I might not have been any different regardless of what the Russians did, but the sweeping events flowing out of the collapse on the Russian front, paving the way for the rise of Bolshevism, deserve to be pondered in the context of that stupid, bureaucratic rigidity.

I lived in Salt Lake City for nine years, and all my friends were members of the Church. I got the idea that just about everybody was a Mormon. I was always taught to choose good Mormons for my friends, and finding them was never a problem. But then my family moved to Virginia and things really changed.
Our first Sunday there I found there weren’t any fellows my age in my ward. That whole summer I shot baskets out on my driveway by myself. Finally at the end of the summer, two new boys moved into the ward, and we became good friends.
In September I really felt alone when I found out I was the only Mormon in the freshman class in high school. My two Church friends went to a different school, but almost every day after school we would get together. If it hadn’t been for them, I would have been really lonely.
At first I didn’t try to make friends at school because I was uncomfortable around nonmembers. They had different habits and beliefs. But when I became involved in sports, I began to make friends at school. Soon everyone knew I was a Latter-day Saint. My nickname came to be “Mormon.” Everywhere I went someone would say “Hey, Mormon!” or “How’s it going, Mormon?” Soon I became very used to the fact that to my school friends I was “The Mormon.” I was proud of the fact that I was a Latter-day Saint, so my nickname didn’t bother me at all.
Because everyone knew I was a member of the Church, I had a great responsibility to set the right kind of example. It wasn’t always easy to do this. I was on the varsity football and track teams. If you have ever been in a locker room, you know what kind of bad language and shenanigans often go on. I always watched myself to see that I never took part in anything I knew was wrong.
Soon everyone came to know I didn’t smoke, drink, tell dirty jokes, or swear. After I began dating some of the girls at school, they all soon learned that I tried to carry my Church training into every facet of my life.
Still most of the activities I participated in were with my Church friends. I didn’t hang around with school crowds too much except in classes and practices because their morals were different from mine. When I did go out with them, I found they got most of their excitement from smoking, drinking, and being immoral, so I stayed around my Church friends.
One day one of my closest school friends came up to me and said, “Dayle, you’re one of my best friends, but what do you ever do for excitement?” That statement really made me think. It helped me realize that even though I was trying to live God’s commandments, I wasn’t setting a good example because I never showed my nonmember friends how much joy you can have from living the commandments. To my school friends it seemed like I had a boring life because they had never seen me having fun.
After thinking about this for awhile, I set myself a new challenge. I was going to show my school friends there were more fun ways than theirs of having a good time. I wanted to show them it wasn’t really necessary to smoke, drink, tell dirty jokes, or swear to have a great time.
I started by inviting everyone to go swimming after track practice one night. We all had fun cliff diving, swimming, and rope swinging. Later I had a few get-togethers—without liquor—at my house after some of our football games. I invited some of the kids to the Church dances. Now and then I went on double dates with some of them and had really good times. I tried to set an example by being with them and showing them how I enjoy life.
After awhile I got very close to some of the kids at school. They were really great friends. They respected me for my beliefs, and I didn’t ever look down on them for what they did. A couple of them even made up a song during my senior year. Whenever I walked into the locker room, they would bunch together and pretend they were the Tabernacle Choir. Half of them would stand in a row on the locker room bench and the other half would make a row on the floor. The leader would hum to get them in tune and then, directing with his hands, would say, “Ready, begin.” They would sing a song that went like this:
We are Mormons, Woo-Woo-oo, We are Mormons, Woo-Woo-oo.
We do not smoke; we do not drink;
We do not swear; we do not cheat;
We do not lie; we don’t even play with women.
We are Mormons, Woo-Woo-oo, Woo-Woo-oo.
After each performance I would just turn red and laugh with them. That tune really helped me remember who I was.
At the end of the season, one of my friends who had made up the song told me that he respected me for living my religion, and he wished he was that strong. It made me feel great to hear him say that. I told him it wasn’t a matter of strength; it was more a matter of getting into certain habits and resisting temptation.
I never converted any of my friends, but I showed them that you really can be happy living God’s commandments. Maybe someday the missionaries will come to their doors and reach them. I hope they remember the fun and active lifestyle that is possible through living a clean life.