Gospel Story Finder

“But, Shawn, I don’t think Tyrell will let me play,” my friend Richie protested as I grabbed the basketball from the box in the garage and started for the door. “He hasn’t ever had much to do with me.”
“He didn’t have much use for me a few weeks ago,” I replied, “until he found out that I’m a pretty good basketball player. I ran into him down at the park, and we started shooting a few baskets. Since then he’s invited me to play with him and some of his friends. We get along just fine.”
“But I’m not one of his friends.”
“But you’re my friend. Frankie isn’t going to be there this afternoon, so we’ll be short a guy. We need six players to have a good game. You’ll be the sixth man.”
Tyrell was the most popular guy in sixth grade. He wore the nicest clothes and hung around the other popular kids like Nick, Frankie, Logan, and Blake.
I had never tried to be Tyrell’s friend, not because I didn’t like him, but because I didn’t think I’d stand a chance. That’s the reason that I felt pretty special now that I was playing ball with him. I’d even gone to his house a couple of times.
When Richie and I reached the park, we strolled over to the basketball court where Tyrell, Nick, Logan, and Blake were talking. “Let’s use Shawn’s ball,” Logan called out when he saw me. “He has the newest one.”
I tossed Tyrell my ball. “I brought Richie along,” I explained, “because I knew Frankie wasn’t going to be here. This way we can have three to a team.”
Tyrell looked Richie up and down, and I heard Nick mutter, “I don’t think he even knows how to play ball.”
I swallowed and spoke up. “He plays all right. He can be on my team.”
Everybody was quiet because Tyrell was still thinking. I knew that whatever he decided was the last word. After a pause, he tossed the ball at Richie. The ball came hard and fast, but Richie caught it. “All right,” he finally said slowly, still eyeing Richie, “I’ll play with Shawn and this new kid.”
Richie was nervous, but I knew that if the others just gave him a chance, he’d show them that he could play. He missed a few baskets and threw the ball away a couple of times. Then he settled down and played really well.
We had a tough time keeping up with Blake, Nick, and Logan, but we didn’t ever fall behind more than six points. Then, right at the end, we finally pulled away from them when Richie hit a long shot and followed it up a few seconds later with a quick layup. We ended up beating them by two baskets.
“I guess old Richie here can play ball,” Tyrell panted as we all walked off the court and lay on the grass under a big pine tree. “He can be on my team next time, too.”
We all horsed around at the park for a while longer. While we were goofing around under a big sycamore tree, where a group of people had been picnicking earlier, Richie stopped dead in his tracks, bent over, and picked up a small red and orange package.
“What’d you find?” Tyrell asked, walking over to him.
“It’s a pack of cigarettes,” Richie rasped, “and it’s almost full.”
All of us crowded around to get a closer look. “We’d better crush them up and throw them away,” Richie suggested.
“Hold on,” Tyrell called out, taking the package. “We don’t have to do anything right this second. Let’s see what we have here.”
For a minute we all studied the cigarettes. Tyrell and his buddies joked about them and pulled one out and tried it between their fingers. Richie nervously held one when Nick demanded that he take it. “It won’t hurt you to touch it,” he growled. “What are you, some kind of baby?”
“Why don’t we just chuck them,” I said, trying to smile. I held up my basketball. “Let’s play another quick game.”
“I have a lighter,” Blake suddenly volunteered, digging in his pants pocket and pulling out a small yellow disposable lighter. “It was on my brother’s dresser,” he explained, smiling. “I just picked it up this morning.”
Tyrell looked around the park. “Hey,” he suggested, “let’s go over behind the baseball bleachers and light one.”
“Light one of the cigarettes?” Richie questioned, his voice shaking a little.
“We’re not going to inhale,” Tyrell laughed, shaking his head and giving Richie a shove. “We’re just going to light it and see what it’s like. Come on.” He started moving away. Richie, Nick, Blake, and Logan followed.
Something in my head kept telling me to return to the basketball court and start shooting baskets or to take my ball and go home, but I didn’t. I told myself that I was just going to watch.
My stomach was twisting and turning, though, as I walked around the bleachers with the others. Tyrell took the cigarette and handed the pack to Blake. “Take one,” he ordered, “and pass them to Nick.” He looked around at all of us. “We can each try one. It’s no big deal.”
“I’ve never smoked before,” Richie rasped when Logan held the pack of cigarettes out in front of him.
“One cigarette isn’t going to kill you,” Tyrell said with a grin. “After all, they’re yours. You found them.”
I could see the battle inside Richie. He knew he wasn’t supposed to smoke. He’d been taught that all his life, just as I had. But this afternoon he had a chance to be part of Tyrell’s popular group. Not only that, but Tyrell and his buddies had treated him all right. He had been one of them. Just like I had. Now we realized that to still be one of them might mean smoking a cigarette. I knew that Richie was trying to decide whether it was all worth it.
“Go ahead and take one,” Tyrell growled. “Don’t be such a baby. The rest of us are going to—even your buddy Shawn,” he added without looking at me.
Richie stared down at the pack of cigarettes. Even before he did it, I knew he was going to look at me. And he did. His eyes were scared, but more than that, they were asking me what to do.
I just stared back at him, worried about what I was going to do. Ashamed, I looked away without saying anything.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Richie slowly reach out and take one of the cigarettes. “Will one cigarette be that bad, Shawn?” he asked me.
I looked up. More than anything, I wished that I had gone home right after our basketball game. I wished that I had walked away as soon as Tyrell took the cigarettes from Richie and started playing with them. I wished a lot of things.
I was the only one without a cigarette. Logan was holding the pack out to me. I had been excited and happy to be Tyrell’s friend. It had been nice to feel popular. I could still be popular—if I took that cigarette.
“My mom and dad don’t want me smoking,” I stammered, trying to smile while I said it.
“Your mom and dad aren’t here,” Tyrell came back. “They’ll never know. Do you think we’re going to tell them? This is our secret.”
“Should we do it, just this once?” I heard Richie ask me.
I looked at him. He wouldn’t be here right now if I hadn’t invited him. And then I made another frightening discovery. I realized that whatever I told Tyrell, I was making the same decision for Richie. I knew that Richie would do whatever I decided to do.
“Come on, Shawn, take one,” Tyrell ordered. “We’re waiting.”
I felt a sick, ugly feeling in the pit of my stomach. I started to speak, but the words didn’t come. I stopped, swallowed hard, then announced strongly, “I’m not going to smoke, Tyrell.”
“Are you afraid that somebody’s going to rat on you?”
I shook my head. “No. I just don’t want to do it. It’s something I decided a long time ago.” I thought of the promise I’d made when I was baptized to always keep myself clean. “If I smoked and didn’t get caught, that wouldn’t matter, because I’d always know. I’d always know that I’d broken promises I had made. I’m not going to do it, Tyrell. Not today, not ever.”
I started to push past him. He reached out and grabbed my arm. “Friends hang together, Shawn. I thought you were one of our friends.”
I coughed nervously. “I thought I was, too. Is this what I have to do to be your friend?”
“We’re a team. We do things together.”
“Then I guess I won’t be part of your team.” I pulled my arm free and started walking.
“Wait up, Shawn,” Richie called, dropping his cigarette on the ground and crushing it under his heel. “I’m going with you.”
Richie and I walked from behind the bleachers and started across the park. The sick, ugly feeling I had felt just seconds before was gone. It was as though a hard, heavy rock had been lifted off my shoulders.
“I was waiting for you to tell them no,” Richie whispered beside me. “I was praying you would. I just knew you would, Shawn. You had to, for both of us.”
“Run off like a couple of babies,” Tyrell taunted. “We’ll find somebody else to play ball with us. And if you’re not part of our team, don’t figure on being our friends. You sorry guys probably don’t even have any friends.”
I smiled over at Richie. He was still my friend. I thought of Jesus and the promises I had made to Him. He was still my friend. I knew then that I didn’t have to worry about being popular. I could choose the right and still have the very best kind of friends.

When I was 14, my school was across from a Latter-day Saint chapel. I watched men in white shirts going in and out of that big building. I wondered what they were doing inside.
One day my friends and I wanted to play soccer, but there was no more room on our school grounds. Someone said, “Let’s play at the church. They have a nice place outside to play.” That was my first contact with the Church—outside the building.
Two years later one of my brother’s friends invited my sister to go to the LDS Church, and I went along with her. I was excited to finally find out what they were doing inside that church.
When we got there, we saw some members playing a simple game. They looked so happy, and that got my attention. “Why are they so happy?” I wondered.
I found out when I took the missionary discussions and was baptized. Happiness comes from inside. My conversion changed my life, the life of my children, and generations ahead and behind.
Whatever you do outside the teachings of the Church will not bring you happiness. Maybe it will bring you a laugh or a small moment of excitement, but real happiness is within the gospel.
Even if your friends sometimes make fun of you, they will admire you for standing by your principles.
Your parents love you. Whatever they ask you to do is not because they are being hard on you; it is because they want to protect you.
Always be grateful for your parents and for the gospel and the happiness it brings into your life.

One of the most beautiful modern-day examples of meekness that I am aware of is that of Brother Moses Mahlangu. His conversion began in 1964, when he received a copy of the Book of Mormon. He was fascinated as he read this book, but it was not until the early ’70s that he saw an LDS Church sign on a building in Johannesburg, South Africa, as he was walking down a street. Brother Mahlangu was intrigued and entered the building to learn more about the Church. He was kindly told that he could not attend the services or be baptized because the country’s laws did not allow it at that time.

Brother Mahlangu accepted that decision with meekness, humility, and without resentment, but he continued to have a strong desire to learn more about the Church. He asked the Church leaders if they could leave one of the meetinghouse windows open during the Sunday meetings so he could sit outside and listen to the services. For several years, Brother Mahlangu’s family and friends attended church regularly “through the window.” One day in 1980 they were told that they could attend church and also be baptized. What a glorious day it was for Brother Mahlangu.

Later the Church organized a branch in his neighborhood in Soweto. This was possible only because of the determination, courage, and faithfulness of people like Brother Mahlangu who remained faithful for so many years under difficult circumstances.

One of Brother Mahlangu’s friends, who had joined the Church at the same time, recounted this story to me when I visited the Soweto stake. At the end of our conversation, he gave me a hug. At that moment, brothers and sisters, I felt as if I was encircled in the Savior’s loving arms. Meekness emanated from this good brother’s eyes. With a heart full of goodness and deep gratitude, he asked if I could just tell President Thomas S. Monson how grateful and blessed he and many others were for having the true gospel in their lives. Brother Mahlangu and his friend’s example of meekness truly influenced many lives for good—especially mine.

For days I had looked forward to my chance to work with the homeless in my city. But that cold Saturday morning it was not easy to feel charitable when I wished I could be back in my warm, comfortable bed. However, I was already committed.
As we arrived at our destination, despite the cold, many were already waiting for the kitchen to open. It was very quiet, and most of the people looked gloomy. There was not one smile or spark in anyone’s eyes, and their dark expressions matched the room they waited in.
I was frightened and decided that I didn’t want to work directly with them. Anyway, what would I say to them? How would I act around them? I didn’t want to make any of them angry with me. Was I supposed to give them pity or treat them like one of my buddies? Yes, it would definitely be easier to just stay away.
As these thoughts went through my head, we were led into a serving area with walls painted yellow, and pictures of rainbows and flowers placed strategically around the room. The brighter room calmed some of my nerves. Perhaps the sunshine and rainbows would subdue the “dangerous” ones.
While I was busy trying to conjure up more pleasant thoughts, the day’s jobs had been announced and I was left as the dishwasher. At least I would not have to interact much with them.
Soon, people began to filter in. Some knew each other, and others looked lost. I was amazed to see how different they all looked. There were even some who I would never have guessed were homeless.
There wasn’t much work for me at first, so I watched the other youth interact with the homeless. The longer I watched, the less scary these people looked to me. Those faces now began to lighten up. Smiles were everywhere, as was the sound of lively chatter. Soon, those who finished eating came and dropped their dishes in front of me. I smiled and tried to look cheerful. Some smiled back. I began to feel a lot better about these people. Maybe they weren’t so bad after all.
Suddenly, it was rush hour. I could barely keep up with the continuous flow of dishes, and my smile soon turned into a grimace and a plea for help. No one seemed to understand what I needed except one man.
Instead of walking off like everyone else, he cleaned off his plate and began to work on the mountain of dirty dishes. He was cheerful and made all those who passed him smile. He talked to me and made my work more enjoyable. This man had few material possessions, but he had a heart and compassion. His dirty appearance did not resemble his character at all. When we were finished, he told my supervisor what a good job I had done. Before I could say a word, he was gone.
In the car on the way home, I could not stop thinking of that kind man. Despite his circumstances he could still be cheerful and help others in need. I wished I could have told him how grateful I was for the example that he set for me.

This year I had to make a hard choice between watching general conference on Saturday morning or playing in my last soccer game. My mom told me that I could decide for myself. I chose to stay home and watch general conference and listen to the prophet because it is what Heavenly Father wants me to do. Even though I really wanted to play soccer, Heavenly Father helped me feel happy inside about my choosing the right.

Recently members from the Hyderabad First and Second Branches collected old clothing and bought rice and cereal to give to a boys’ shelter. The people who run the shelter go to a train station in the area, find boys who are living there, and bring them back so they have a place to sleep. Schooling and counseling are also provided at the shelter.
When Church members arrived at the shelter, they were warmly greeted. After much visiting and an exchange of games and laughter, members sanded down the walls of the shelter, which were in dire need of repair. Paint was donated and applied, giving the shelter a clean, cheery appearance.

Ricky Maxfield can walk through Reno and see the fruits of his Eagle Scout project—cantaloupe, watermelon, squash, carrots, beans, corn, and peas. Fourteen-year-old Ricky, of the Mount Rose Fourth Ward, Reno Nevada Stake, received a pickup load of garden seeds for his Eagle project from the American Indian Services at Brigham Young University. With the help of nine Scouts in his troop and his brother Dale and sister Carrie, he raised $5,500 from selling the seeds and donated the money to American Indian Services. A tractor was bought with the money and delivered to the Hualapai tribe of northern Arizona.

Toriki Chung Tien, 16, from Tubuai, said, “My little brother and I painted our grandfather’s graveyard house and helped our mother decorate his grave with pride and joy. Every time we talked about him and the blessings he performed, I felt his presence and my tears flowed. Thanks to the gospel and the Resurrection, I know that one day we will meet as a family and that I will find my grandpa who I miss so much.”

Sister Dil had only six weeks left on her mission in New Zealand when she found out she would be spending those last weeks serving with Sister Tuala!
“It’s the very last thing I would have signed myself up for,” says Sister Dil.
Sister Dil and Sister Tuala had been starting players for their high schools’ top competitive basketball teams in Auckland, New Zealand. They were rivals. They would often play against each other in final tournaments, and it was not pretty.
“To put it into context a little bit,” says Sister Tuala, “we would walk off the court with scratches and bruising.”
Sister Dil and Sister Tuala spent a lot of time training and playing basketball. “Basketball was our lives,” says Sister Dil.
After graduating from high school, they both felt impressed to serve a mission—although neither of them had ever felt a desire to serve before.
Just because Sister Dil and Sister Tuala served in the same mission didn’t mean they were instant friends. After being rivals for so long, Sister Dil and Sister Tuala still had a hard time seeing each other as anything else.
In fact, the first day Sister Tuala saw Sister Dil, one of her first thoughts was, “I don’t know if I’m supposed to like her.”
So when Sister Tuala and Sister Dil were assigned to serve together, it was definitely weird.
Both had ideas about each other based on how they played on the basketball court. Each thought the other was aggressive, competitive, and mean.
But things began to change as they got to know each other. Sister Dil realized Sister Tuala is “the complete opposite” of how she had always seen her. “She is actually a very loving person—one of the most loving companions I’ve served with,” Sister Dil says.
Sister Tuala had a similar experience. She hadn’t realized that her feelings of rivalry toward Sister Dil had been “quite an unconscious conflict” in her life.
Those negative feelings of conflict and judgment were replaced with love and understanding as she began to see who Sister Dil really was. And although Sister Tuala thought Sister Dil was quiet, she found that “Sister Dil can talk!”
In their newfound friendship, Sister Dil and Sister Tuala realized that maybe they had never really been enemies after all.
“In basketball you build in your mind this idea that we’ve got to win, and every other team’s the enemy,” says Sister Dil. “And then basketball finishes, and you realize, ‘Oh, they’re no longer the enemy. They probably never were really the enemy.’”
Now, Sister Dil and Sister Tuala see that they are on the same “team”—God’s team.
Both sisters felt God’s hand in their assignment as companions and know the power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ allowed them to experience healing and change.
“Jesus Christ made that sacrifice so all these things that have gone wrong in the past can be healed, made right, and made better,” Sister Dil says. “We can forgive. We can forget. We can move on, and things change.”
Not only did Sister Tuala and Sister Dil heal their conflict, but they also learned how to see others as God sees them.
“Coming out here and being able to see my companion and other people in a different light, I realize that every person’s story matters,” says Sister Tuala. “And everyone needs the Atonement of Jesus Christ.”
They learned that although it can be difficult, it’s possible for two people who once saw each other as enemies to come together through love.
“It doesn’t matter what age you are or what ethnicity you are,” says Sister Tuala, “or whether you’re an atheist or religious.
“If I can work alongside someone who I never really had a great relationship with, and the two of us come together for one main purpose, then other people can too.”
Oh, they’re no longer the enemy. They probably never were really the enemy.

Nearly 30 years ago I desired to attend a general conference of the Church and drove 14 hours to be in Salt Lake City for the conference. I entered Temple Square at 8:00 A.M., where the line outside door number 10 was all the way across Temple Square and halfway down the south side of the Assembly Hall. I was nearly 300 feet from my goal. The usher called out that the Tabernacle was full. People dropped out of line, and I inched forward.
At five minutes before 10:00 I was the only person standing in front of my chosen door. The door opened, and the usher said, “Are you still here?” He closed the door, and my heart sank. As the choir began to sing the opening hymn at 10:00 sharp, the door opened one more time, and the usher beckoned me inside. He placed me on half a seat and behind a post, but a welcome seat it was! I was able to sustain the Lord’s chosen leaders and hear their counsel that special day.

My paternal grandparents had two children, a son (my father) and a daughter. After serving a mission and military service in Hawaii, my father returned to the islands in 1946 to establish himself professionally and raise his family. His parents lived in Salt Lake City, as did his sister. She married in 1946 and four years later was expecting a child. There is something very special for parents to anticipate a daughter (in this instance an only daughter) giving birth for the first time. No one knew that she was carrying twins. Sadly, she and the twins all died during childbirth.
My grandparents were heartbroken. Their grief, however, immediately turned them to the Lord and His Atonement. Without dwelling on why this could happen and who might be to blame, they focused on living a righteous life. My grandparents never had wealth; they were never among the socially elite; they never held high position in the Church—they were simply devoted Latter-day Saints.
After retiring professionally in 1956, they moved to Hawaii to be with their only posterity. The ensuing decades found them loving their family and serving in the Church, and mostly they just enjoyed being together. They never liked being apart and even spoke of whoever died first finding a way to help them reunite soon. Nearing their 90th birthdays and after 65 years of marriage, they passed away within hours of each other by natural causes. As their bishop, I conducted their double funeral.

On an airplane flight a few weeks ago, a friend of mine engaged a lady in conversation. He told her about his trip to Anderson, South Carolina, to visit a fourth cousin because he was seeking information concerning some of his ancestors. He asked this lady sitting next to him, “Would you like to know why I am interested in my ancestors who died long ago?”
“Yes, I would,” she replied.
“I was trying to find information about my forebears so I could perform certain work for them in the temple. Do you know where the Savior was during the three days His body lay in the tomb following the crucifixion?”
“No. Where?”
He continued, “Peter, the apostle, said Christ preached to the spirits in prison who were disobedient in the days of Noah.” And then he said, “Now, do you think the Savior of the world would spend three days preaching to such people if they could not do anything about it?”
“No, I don’t. I have never thought of that,” she said.
He proceeded to explain baptism for the dead and the resurrection. He quoted Paul: “Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead, if the dead rise not at all? why are they then baptized for the dead?” (1 Cor. 15:29.)
“Do you remember the phrase ‘until death do you part’ being used when you were married? Your marriage contract ends when either of you dies.”
She replied, “I guess that’s right, but I had never thought of it that way.”
He continued, “My wife died the forepart of last month, but she is my wife eternally. We were married by one having the priesthood authority to bind in heaven that marriage performed here on earth. We belong to each other eternally; and furthermore, our children belong to us forever.”
Just before landing he said to her, “Do you know why we met? It is so you too can learn about the gospel and be sealed to your husband, your children, and your progenitors for eternity—to become an eternal family.”
Soon after this incident, he mailed a copy of Elder LeGrand Richards’s book A Marvelous Work and a Wonder to this lady and her family and tucked his name card inside. The name of this woman eventually found its way to some full-time lady missionaries laboring in her city in Pennsylvania. After the missionaries’ first contact with her, they wrote, “Mrs. Davis was extremely gracious. You should have seen the light in her eyes when she met us. Brother Cummings had planted a most fertile seed with his testimony and confidence that he and his loved ones would be together after this life. As missionaries we felt at peace. We were impressed that the Lord would attend our efforts because this family was prepared.”

Illustrations by Dani Jones
It was the first full week of eighth grade, and I was already feeling stressed about keeping up with my heavy course load. To make matters worse, my mom had volunteered the two of us to spend the afternoon taking care of a two-year-old boy named Aaron. The plan was that Aaron would nap for two hours while his mom was gone and I’d work on my schoolwork on my laptop while he napped. However, soon after our arrival at Aaron’s house, we heard him crying. At first, we thought he might fall back asleep, but his crying grew louder and louder until he was wailing, screaming, and calling out for his mom.
“Great. How am I going to get my schoolwork done now?” I thought. I felt instantly stressed. I still had my computer open to do my assignment, but how much Spanish homework do you think I was accomplishing with his siren-like wailing going on? Yep, nada.
My mom was doing everything possible to comfort him, but he was clinging to her and sobbing, his tears leaving wet spots all over her shirt.
Then I felt the Holy Ghost speak softly to my mind and heart, prompting me that comforting Aaron was more important than my homework.
So I shut my laptop and started to talk to him. Between my mom snuggling and rocking him and me talking to him, he finally stopped screaming and settled down. Soon enough, little Aaron actually got down from my mom’s lap.
He seemed to want to play. At that point, my mom could have played with him and I could have returned to my studies. But again, I felt that it was important for me to play with little Aaron.
So I sang crazy songs, made silly voices, rolled around on the floor, and contorted my face in all kinds of funny ways. He smiled and laughed. When Aaron’s mom came home, it was awesome to have a happy, giggly Aaron greet her.
My mom and dad have always taught me and shown a good example of how serving others brings joy and meaning to our lives. Now I think I understand what it means in the Bible to “love thy neighbour as thyself” (Matthew 22:39), and it feels awesome!

Several years ago, the Salt Lake City newspapers published a notice of a close friend taken by death in the prime of her life. I visited the mortuary and joined a host of persons gathered to express condolence [sympathy] to the husband and motherless children. Suddenly the smallest child, Kelly, recognized me and took my hand in hers. “Come with me,” she said, and she led me to the casket in which rested the body of her beloved mother. “I’m not crying,” she said, “and neither must you. Many times my mommy told me about death and life with Heavenly Father. I belong to my mommy and my daddy. We’ll all be together again.” To my mind came the words of the Psalmist: “Out of the mouth of babes … hast thou ordained strength” (Psalm 8:2).
Through tear-moistened eyes, I saw my young friend’s beautiful and faith-filled smile. For her, whose tiny hand yet clasped mine, there would never be a hopeless dawn. Sustained by her unfailing testimony, knowing that life continues beyond the grave, she, her father, her brothers, her sisters, and indeed all who share this knowledge of divine truth can declare to the world: “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning” (Psalm 30:5).

“My first Christmas in the [Salt Lake] Valley came on Saturday. We celebrated the day on the Sabbath. All of us gathered around the flag pole in the center of the fort. There we held a meeting. What a meeting it was. We sang praises to God. We joined in the opening prayer, and the speaker that day has always been remembered by me. There were words of thanksgiving and cheer, not a pessimistic word was uttered. People were hopeful and buoyant, because of their faith in the future. After the meeting there was handshaking all around. Some wept with joy. Children played in the enclosure and around the sagebrush fire that night. We gathered and sang, ‘Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear; but with joy wend your way.’ We had boiled rabbit and a little bread for dinner. We all had enough to eat and there was a sense of perfect peace and good will. I never had a happier Christmas in my life.”

Unknown author, quoted by Bryant S. Hinckley, in Kate B. Carter, comp., Our Pioneer Heritage, 20 vols. (1958–77), 14:198.

May I underscore this call to action by discussing a concept I was reminded of recently while watching a basketball game.
In that game, the first half was a seesaw battle, back and forth. Then, during the last five seconds of the first half, a guard on one team made a beautiful three-point shot. With only one second left, his teammate stole the inbound pass and made another basket at the buzzer! So that team went into the locker room four points ahead with a palpable surge of momentum. They were able to carry that momentum into the second half and win the game.

I never knew that winning a championship baseball game could make me so miserable. Well, actually, winning the game felt great. It wasn’t until afterward that I began to feel miserable. Coach announced that the regional play-off was just five days away. On Sunday!

Until a few weeks ago, it wouldn’t have mattered to me what day the play-off was. Then Mom and I began meeting with the LDS missionaries, and we liked what they were teaching us. We were even reading the Book of Mormon. We had talked about keeping the Sabbath holy, and I didn’t think that playing in ball games—even regional play-offs—was doing that. But how I wanted to play in that game!

Dad and Mom ran to meet me on the diamond. They were as excited about the victory as I had been at first. "Son, you were fantastic out there!" Dad crowed.

"I knew you’d do it, Kimball!" Then Mom looked at me closely and asked if I was OK.

Dad answered for me. "Sure. He’s fine—just a little tired after a game like that. What he needs now is some celebrating. How about going to the Palace for a pizza?"

I didn’t worry about the game for the rest of the evening—no one worries about anything when Dad is around. If I ever want to be cheered up, I go to him. But if I ever need help with problems, Mom is the one I talk to.

While waiting for our pizza, Dad "interviewed" me. Picking up a breadstick, he pointed it at me, saying, "Don’t be afraid of the microphone, young man. Speak right into it and describe exactly how you made that fantastic catch."

That night, when Mom came in to say good night, all my concerns returned.

"All right, Kimball, out with it. Something happened at the baseball game, didn’t it?"

"Coach told us that regional play-offs are this Sunday—when we talk with the elders." Dad had agreed to let us meet with the elders as long as we did it on Sundays, and in the front room (so that we would be out of his way). To Dad, church or anything religious was for Sunday. He didn’t want it interfering with the rest of the week.

Mom sat down on my bed. "What’s on your mind?"

"Well, would it be wrong for me to play that one game?" I hit my pillow. "I just don’t know what to do. Could the elders tell me?"

Mom looked thoughtful. Then she said, "Kimball, I’m glad you care so much about doing what’s right." She asked me to read 1 Nephi 16:17–32 [1 Ne. 16:17–32] and discuss it with her in the morning.

The next morning after Dad left for work, I helped Mom clean up the breakfast dishes. "Kimball, what did you get out of those verses?" she asked.

"Well, one time Lehi and his family were traveling in the wilderness and needed food. Nephi was hunting and broke his bow, and since his brothers’ bows were broken, too, he made himself a new one."

"Then what did he do?"

"He didn’t know where he should go to hunt, so he asked his father, Lehi." All of a sudden I knew what Mom was getting at, and it scared me. "You think I should ask Dad about playing ball on the Sabbath?" I wasn’t sure he even knew what the Sabbath was!

"Why not, Kimball? He’s your father, the head of our family."

"Mom, that worked for Nephi—his dad was a prophet. But Dad doesn’t know anything about religious stuff."

Mom got out the Book of Mormon. "Kimball, read verse 20 to me." She pointed. "This part."

"‘… and also my father began to murmur against the Lord his God,’" I read.

"So even Lehi was complaining. Does that sound like the way a prophet, or a father, should act?"

I shook my head.

"But Nephi went to him anyway and asked him where to hunt. And you know what? Lehi was sorry for complaining and for not behaving like the head of the family should. He repented and made himself worthy to get an answer from the Lord so that he could give Nephi an answer."

Then I saw that to my mom, this wasn’t just about playing ball on Sunday. It was about trying to help Dad begin to change—like Nephi had helped his father to get back on track. When the missionaries had talked to us about the plan of salvation and temples and sealing and things like that, Mom’s eyes had been shiny with tears. Now I realized just how much she wanted Dad to be a part of it. I wanted it too. "OK, Mom. I’ll give it a try."

I still wanted to talk to the elders, though, so I called Elder Adams and told him my problem and what Mom had said. He just told me what a wise mom I had. Since he wasn’t going to tell me what to do, I had to gather my courage and ask Dad.

That night after supper, as Mom headed for the kitchen to get dessert, she looked straight at me. I took a deep breath. "Dad?"

"Aye, me mate," he answered in his best Australian accent, which didn’t make it any easier to get serious.

"My championship game is coming up, you know, and I’m wondering if I should, well, maybe not play in it." Dad looked shocked, so I hurried and added, "Well, it’s on the Sabbath—I mean, Sunday—and I don’t know what to do."

"Ah, a spiritual matter. Have you talked to your mother?" he asked, a little amused.

"She said I should get your advice."

"Oh? What about those two young men? Isn’t that what they’re for—to solve the world’s problems? Did you talk to them?"

"Yes. They said I should talk to you, the head of our family." I was sort of embarrassed to say that last part, but I thought it might help to point it out to him.

Dad was quiet. Finally, pulling the water pitcher to him, he stared at it and said, "Let’s take a look in our trusty crystal ball. Now, to play? Or not to play?" He studied the pitcher for a long time. "The crystal is cloudy. Maybe I need to change the water or something." He shrugged. "Sorry, son. I just don’t know. Talk to Mom about it again. Here she comes now, with an awesome dessert."

That was the end of our talk, the talk that was going to help me make my decision and to bring us closer together as a family. Dad had joked his way through it. I managed to keep back the tears of disappointment and embarrassment until I got to my room. Then I prayed. It helped some to ask Heavenly Father to help me not be mad at Dad and to know about playing on Sunday.

Mom came to my room before I went to sleep. She tried to comfort me, but she was as disappointed as I was. When I told her that I had decided not to play the game, she felt a little better. I didn’t, exactly.

The next morning, I told the coach that I wouldn’t be playing in the game because it was on Sunday. I could tell that he didn’t agree or even understand. But on the way home, I had a nice, peaceful feeling and I knew that I had made the right choice.

None of us mentioned the game again until Sunday morning. Dad looked out the window and commented on what a perfect day it was for a game. But he didn’t do his usual weatherman imitation.

That day at church, I figured the elders would ask me about my decision, but I didn’t see them at the meetings.

Pulling into our driveway after church, we saw their bikes in front of our house. Before, whenever they beat us home, they waited for us on the porch. But they weren’t there. We walked in and heard voices—not from the front room, our usual place, but from the family room. Dad was with the missionaries! On the end tables were scriptures, pamphlets, pictures, and glasses of lemonade.

As Mom joined Dad on the sofa, he squeezed her hand, smiled, then looked at me. "The other night, Kimball, you gave me the shock of my life by asking for my opinion on Sabbath ballplaying. I was caught off guard. I felt bad that you wanted spiritual advice and I couldn’t give you any. I responded the only way I knew how, by joking. I apologize, son."

Dad paused. I’d never heard him speak this long without cracking a joke.

"I figured that the elders could solve your problems easier than I could, so I was even more surprised when you said that they told you to come to me. Then, when I realized that they cared more about helping our family than gaining converts, I was impressed."

Elder Adams interrupted. "Your wife gave Kimball that counsel first, sir."

Dad looked at her in surprise.

"It was something I picked up from Lehi and Nephi in the Book of Mormon," Mom said, winking at me.

"Well," Dad went on, "when I saw that this church wants to build me up as the father in the home, I decided to hear what they have to say. That’s when I called these two young cyclists and caught them before they took off for the ‘Tour de France.’"

Mom spoke up, "Why don’t we continue this discussion over some lasagna. It’s in the oven, just waiting for us." Eagerly we started for the kitchen.

As I set the table, I thought about Dad calling the elders and about his apology, and I thought, Dad might have some Lehi in him, after all.

Then I started thinking about Lehi and his family. They had a hard life in the wilderness. I wondered if Lehi ever joked around with them, just to help make their lives a little happier. Dad would have done that, I thought. Grabbing a breadstick, I spoke into it. "Listen, everyone. I want you to meet my dad—a modern-day Lehi!"

In June 2018, I had the chance to go to the Conference Center and watch the worldwide devotional for youth. When President Nelson invited us to give a For the Strength of Youth booklet to someone, a young man I didn’t know very well came to my mind. I wrote a note in the booklet and decided to give it to him later that week.
I didn’t give it to him that week; I was afraid of how he would react. I thought he might not want it and might give it back.
The next week was youth conference. During one of the devotionals, the stake president encouraged us to follow the prophet’s challenge to give a booklet to someone. When I got back from youth conference, I got up the courage and gave the booklet to the young man. When I handed it to him, he said, “Thank you! I really needed this. My family has been going through a lot and this was great timing.” We talk more now, and he told me that his family issues are looking up. I am very glad that the Spirit prompted me to give him the booklet.
Jaqueline L., Utah, USA

I grew up attending the Ogden First Ward in Ogden, Utah, USA. When I was about nine years old, our bishop (who was my father) started the testimony portion of a fast and testimony meeting by asking everyone in the congregation to bear their testimony. The meeting proceeded just as Dad had asked. Almost everyone in attendance stood and bore their testimonies.
The church building where Elder Hales attended the Ogden First Ward as a child.
Photographs courtesy of the author
This was a notable event for me. Every testimony was simple, to the point, and focused on what each person knew to be true about the Savior and His gospel. As far as I could tell, everyone could feel a distinct outpouring of the Spirit. Undoubtedly, I had felt the Spirit before, but the Spirit was present in a remarkable way that day. I felt a powerful witness of the truthfulness of the gospel. After all these years, I have never forgotten this experience when I felt the unity of the ward and the love of the Savior.
As I remember that unique fast and testimony meeting from my childhood, the feelings I had and the seeds of testimony planted in my heart by the Holy Ghost help me want to be a better person now. When we follow Alma’s counsel by remembering our own spiritual experiences, faithfully adhering to our personal religious practices, and humbly pondering all the Savior has done for us, we strengthen our ability to honor our covenants and draw closer to Him.

Jennette Evans McKay, mother of our ninth prophet, David Oman McKay, had sacrificed a great deal to make it possible for her husband to go on a mission. When the mission call arrived in the mail, Jennette and David had three children, and a fourth—Annie—was to be born very soon. They owned a large farm that required a lot of work.
David did not want to leave his wife with so much responsibility, but Jennette said, “Of course you will go! David O. and I will manage quite nicely.”
After her husband left for Scotland, Jennette McKay had the ward priesthood quorums do her spring planting, and she spent a lot of time teaching her young children how to run the farm. They milked the cows, fed the chickens, gathered eggs, and helped harvest their precious crops.
President David O. McKay remembered listening to his mother many times tell of growing up in Wales, where she was born in the village of Merthyr Tydfil on August 28, 1850.
When Jennette was only six years old, she and her family came to America on a large ship. They had been baptized members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and wanted very much to live with the Saints in Utah.
The Evans family settled in Ogden, Utah, and Jennette was attending school there when she first met David McKay. They were later married by Wilford Woodruff, who would soon become president of the Church.
David and Jennette became the parents of eleven children, eight of whom lived to adulthood. Jennette was a very kind and patient mother, and she taught her children the principles of the gospel each day by word and example. President McKay once said that his boyhood home was “the dearest, sweetest spot on earth.”
Jennette wanted to be sure that her children received a good education, and she sacrificed a great deal of time and money to send them to good schools. Each of her eight surviving children graduated from college!
When Church leaders from Salt Lake City visited the Huntsville area, they often stayed at the McKay home because the town had no restaurant or hotel. Usually when they had guests for dinner, the children knew that they should not take large helpings of food for themselves so that there would be enough for their visitors.
Jennette Evans McKay died in 1905 at the young age of fifty-four. Many years later President David O. McKay went to Wales and dedicated a chapel in Merthyr Tydfil, the village where his mother was born. He also had a large commemorative plaque mounted on the front of the small cottage where his mother was born, and the plaque is still there today.