Gospel Story Finder

One Christmas, my young son needed two dollars to make me a present. On Christmas morning, he was so excited about it that, in spite of the many brightly wrapped packages with his name on them, he insisted I open his present first. It was a pencil holder for my office—made from a jar covered with brightly colored macaroni shells. The two dollars bought pencils and erasers. I was pleased with his innocence and love. He then eagerly turned to his own presents.

In those days, too, the Church did not have a family home evening program like we have today, but my family did have family nights. One of the fondest memories I have is of sitting on Dad’s lap during family night as he read us stories from the Book of Mormon. It was the beginning of my testimony of the Book of Mormon, and my love for my father and mother grew as well.
After we spent this time together, we played games like Hide the Thimble, and Button, Button, Who’s Got the Button. We played basketball too. In the winter we’d take a metal coat hanger, bend it into a circle, and wedge it above a door. We’d wad up some stockings for the ball. Of course, we couldn’t dribble the ball, but we could shoot it at the hanger-basket, and we could pass it to each other. We loved playing together.

I was almost 13 when my family moved to Pendleton, Oregon, which was a big town to me with about 6,000 people in it. My dad ran the agricultural experimental station for Oregon State University. It was 168 acres in size, and it was fenced all the way around. I had a job hoeing the weeds from under the fence, and initially I hated that job.
One afternoon I was hoeing weeds with a friend named Arlen Jenkins. I was complaining and moaning and groaning about the hard work, but he looked at me and said, “You know, you really need to consider that if we weren’t doing this, we might be doing something worse.” That was his attitude. He was always happy doing any type of work because he knew he could be doing something worse. I have tried to reflect that attitude in every job I have had since that time.

I broke up with my first boyfriend on a clear summer night.
Earlier that day, Carter (name has been changed) and I had been fighting—which wasn’t abnormal in our three-year, on-and-off relationship. We fought about everything—from what to eat to future plans. In the beginning, I waved our differences aside with the adage that “opposites attract.” But our occasional playful banter eventually morphed into an exhausting chain of disagreements.
That summer night we had taken a telescope into the desert to look at the planets. But we found that the brightness of the moon against the dark sky obscured our view. Frustrated, we started arguing—again.
I ended up walking off to compose myself. “This isn’t me,” I thought. I was known as the peacemaker among my siblings, and I spoke gently and kindly to my other friends. So why was I yelling at the guy I claimed to love?
I looked up at the dark sky and prayed to know how I could improve my relationship with Carter. Suddenly, overwhelming peace replaced my anger, and I felt impressed that the best thing I could do for both of us was to end our relationship.
Healing took time. There were moments I was tempted to dismiss the prompting to break up with Carter because I missed the familiarity of our relationship. I sometimes felt frustrated at God, believing that He had slammed one door shut without opening another. Even so, I clung to the counsel of Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “In moments of fear or doubt or troubling times … hold fast to what you already know and stand strong until additional knowledge comes” (“Lord I Believe,” Liahona, May 2013, 93–94).
I didn’t receive that “additional knowledge” for many months, and I began to wonder if I ever would. After one of my heartfelt prayers about the breakup, the Spirit pressed on my heart, telling me that Heavenly Father’s promptings are for the well-being of His children. The details of His reasoning aren’t as relevant as my faith in Him is.
Knowing that Heavenly Father had a plan for me gave me hope for my future and helped me to start dating again. One morning I read Doctrine and Covenants 88:40, where the Lord teaches that “light cleaveth unto light.” I suddenly realized that this principle can apply to dating. I knew I would be happier with someone who shared my values and light.
I eventually met Austin. We connected instantly, from our love of tacos to our respective stateside missions. His gentle spirit felt familiar and compatible with mine, and I eventually married him. What we have isn’t an explosive relationship like you might expect in a popular romance movie. It’s sweet and stable—something I believe can last forever.
Many of us yearn for an explanation when we receive difficult promptings. From my experience, I learned that faith in the Lord can help us remain obedient without knowing the why. As we trust in an all-knowing God, we can feel peace in our decisions to act on promptings until we do receive the “additional knowledge” He has promised the faithful.

In 2021, the service-mission programme started in the UK. This led me to look at serving again. I am now two months into my service mission—it is the best decision I have ever made. I was set apart at the same time as my younger brother, Elder Joseph Peedle, who is serving in Helsinki, Finland. It was amazing to be set apart on the same day! During my preparation for starting my mission, I learnt a lot about being patient and how things are done in the Lord’s timing.
My service mission has saved me. It has given me purpose and focus. I felt lost for a long time and this mission ‘found’ me. I love the gospel and I love our Saviour and our Heavenly Father. Trust in the Lord, everything will work out!

In 1986, President Ezra Taft Benson promised the Saints that the power of the Book of Mormon would begin to flow into our lives the moment we began a serious study of the book (see Ensign, November 1986, page 7). Inspired by his promise, my wife and I decided to start reading the Book of Mormon with our family.
At the time we had four children, ages six months to six years. At first, we were able to read only one column each day. With 531 pages and twice that many columns, the book seemed like a never-ending undertaking.
Despite, or maybe because of, how slowly we read, we made every effort to read each weekday. Our children were eager to please—often waking us to start reading. Although we missed very few days, it took us more than six months to read 1 Nephi.
By this time our two oldest children were able to read a few words by themselves. As we slowly made our way through 2 Nephi, including quotations from the writings of Isaiah, we were growing as a family in spiritual as well as other ways. We added a daily devotional time and another child to the family. Dirty diapers and cries of hunger often interrupted our reading, but each day we would finish our allotted column no matter how long it seemed to take.
About the time our oldest turned 11 years old, we started reading at an accelerated pace—one page per day. As we neared the middle of that year, we received word that the Alberta Temple would be rededicated the next spring, an event our family had been looking forward to. We did some calculating and found that if we continued reading at the same pace, we would have one chapter of the Book of Mormon left to read on the day the dedication would begin. We planned to travel the 1,200 kilometers to attend this event, rise early that morning, and drive to the temple grounds to read the last chapter.
The morning of the dedication dawned bright and clear. The temple grounds were beautiful, and we sat down behind the old stone monument as we prepared to read.
The Spirit seemed to be with us more strongly than usual as we finished the chapter and concluded the volume of scripture. It had taken us about five years to complete reading it. We each took a turn praying for confirmation that the Book of Mormon was indeed the word of God. We didn’t see any angels or hear voices, but we did feel the calm, peaceful, loving presence of the Holy Ghost. Tears filled our eyes as the Spirit testified to each of us of the truthfulness and sacredness of the Book of Mormon.
We gave thanks for the opportunity we’d had to become closer to the great prophets of the Book of Mormon and for the blessings that we had received through reading their words—blessings of increased faith, strength in the face of adversity, and greater love and tranquility in our home. Indeed, we had received the blessings a prophet of God had promised us.

One day when strolling down the road on which the Bridlington meeting house stands, my mind not taken up so much as usual with the needs of the day, I took to looking at the buildings that line this very ancient of streets.
My first observation was a surprising one, when I realised there had been eight churches of different denominations on the street at some point. Many were still there, but now used for different purposes than their builders intended. I then began to wonder at what had been on the sites of new buildings squeezed between the Victorian shops and houses. My curiosity aroused, I made a visit to our local studies library, and returned many times, as I became absorbed in the history of this road that had existed since pre-Christian times.
I was fascinated and felt that maybe others of the town would be also. This thought coincided with an invitation to attend a meeting to discuss ideas for the year’s Heritage Open Days (every September thousands of volunteers in towns and cities across the country organise events to celebrate Britain’s heritage and culture). I went along and volunteered to give a talk and put on an exhibition on the history of the street. Conscious that the biggest problem in doing so is finding a location, I had previously approached the Bishop and been given permission to use the church building.
A further thought had already come into my mind- why not extend the event to include a chapel Open House? Saddened by the missionaries’ lack of success in getting people to come into the building, I felt that putting on something of a nonreligious nature could be the encouragement people needed and hopefully once in the building, they might ask questions, pick up leaflets and read things on notice boards.
The foyer had the history of the Bridlington Ward, the Church’s involvement in humanitarian aid, emergency preparedness and ‘Just Serve.’ The notice board in the baptismal font told of Christ’s original Church, the apostasy and the restoration; and our belief in the need for baptism and the form it should take. Displays on the work of Relief Society, the Young Men and Young Women’s programmes and Primary, filled the classrooms, and the Elders Quorum were on hand to give help and advice on family history and show a film about one brother’s experience of finding out more about his family than merely their names and dates.
With excellent advertising on social media, in local newspapers and free events booklets supplied by the Heritage Week organisation, seventy people attended. No one asked the missionaries for the discussions, no-one new appeared at church the following day, but one man who attended the lecture approached me and raised my spirits when he expressed his appreciation for being able to tour the building and learn something of our beliefs. Others may have felt the same, but not expressed it. Seeds were sown and continued effort and new ideas will bring results. As Christ said: "If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you." (Matthew 17:20)

When she stepped, I stepped. When she flipped her hair, I flipped mine. I made sure to adjust my backpack so that it was slung over one shoulder, just like hers was.
The girl walking ahead of me was a few years older than I was. I didn’t even know her, but she seemed so cool. I was convinced that if I could mimic her walk perfectly, I’d be cool too.
At one point she stepped off the sidewalk and walked on the side of the road, so I followed suit. After a while, she stepped back onto the sidewalk. I did the same, only—squish! The moment I stepped back onto the sidewalk, my feet sank a few inches. I stood there in shock for several seconds before realizing what had happened. I had stepped right into wet cement! The girl had stepped off the sidewalk to avoid the wet cement, and I had been so caught up in imitating her walk that I hadn’t even noticed.
I was beyond embarrassed. It didn’t occur to me to step back onto the side of the road; instead, I tromped through the wet cement until I reached solid ground. Luckily the girl continued walking and didn’t notice me, but the dried clumps of concrete that clung to my shoelaces the rest of the day served as a reminder of my failed attempt at being cool.
I was only six at the time of the wet-cement fiasco, and I’ve obviously learned since then that a cool way of walking is not the most important thing to aspire to. Focusing on the wrong thing ended up leading me right into wet cement. To avoid getting led into “wet cement” yourself, it’s important to focus on the right things.

Eighteen months after the passing of our son, we received a phone call from LDS Family Services saying that a young woman had chosen to place her baby with us. Knowing that we could not have more biological children, we could not have been more excited.
When our little girl was six months old, we finalized her adoption and took her to the temple to be sealed to us. Four years after our little girl became part of our family, another young woman chose us to be the parents of a sweet little boy. Again we had the blessing of taking a six-month-old to the temple. I will never forget how I felt when I saw my children, all in white, in the temple with my husband and me to be sealed to us for eternity.

Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, is a most interesting place. In company with Elders Richard G. Scott, Rex D. Pinegar, and Larry W. Gibbons, I presided at a regional conference there just a short time ago. The facility in which we met was packed with members of the Church and other interested persons. The singing by the choir was heavenly, the spoken word inspiring, and the sweet spirit which prevailed during the conference will long be remembered.
I reflected on my previous visits to this location, the beauty of the state song—“Oklahoma,” from the musical production of Rodgers and Hammerstein—and the wonderful hospitality of the people there.
This community’s spirit of compassionate help was tested in the extreme, however, on April 19, 1995, when a terrorist-planted bomb destroyed the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in downtown Oklahoma City, taking 168 persons to their deaths and injuring countless others.
Following the regional conference in Oklahoma City, I was driven to the entrance of a beautiful and symbolic memorial which graces the area where the Murrah building once stood. It was a dreary, rainy day, which tended to underscore the pain and suffering which had occurred there. The memorial features a 400-foot reflecting pool. On one side of the pool are 168 empty glass and granite chairs in honor of each of the people killed. These are placed, as far as can be determined, where the fallen bodies were found.
On the opposite side of the pool there stands, on a gentle rise of ground, a mature American elm tree—the only nearby tree to survive the destruction. It is appropriately and affectionately named “The Survivor Tree.” In regal splendor it honors those who survived the horrific blast.
My host directed my attention to the inscription above the gate of the memorial:
We come here to remember those who were killed, those who survived and those changed forever.
May all who leave here know the impact of violence.
May this memorial offer comfort, strength, peace, hope and serenity.
He then, with tears in his eyes and with a faltering voice, declared, “This community, and all the churches and citizens in it, have been galvanized together. In our grief we have become strong. In our spirit we have become united.”
We concluded that the best word to describe what had taken place was compassion.

One day, my family was driving home from the lake. I went with my Grandma Ninya. Grammy was visiting. My little cousin Tori and I were in the backseat. Tori was tired. I whispered, “You can go to sleep, baby,” and she said, “Sing me Jesus.” I asked her, “Sing Church songs?” She said yes. So I sang “I Love to See the Temple.” Then I sang “Do As I’m Doing” and “I Am a Child of God.” She fell asleep. As I sang, I felt something inside of me. I felt the Holy Ghost. I am glad my cousin knows about Jesus and honors Him.Hillary Odom, age 10Ogden, Utah

by Barbara Sinclair
The clock read 6:45 A.M. on a Saturday morning. The Alaskan sun was hidden behind rain clouds for another hour as people trudged toward the chapel through the pale dawn. They separated to sing and dance and act their various parts in every nook and foyer of the building and then came together again to practice the finale. “We are royal children; we are kings!” sang the deeper, male voices. “We are royal children; we are queens!” replied the sopranos. And then together: “We are sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father. We’re a royal congregation, a royal dispensation. We’re a royal generation. Hear us sing!” And sing they did. The Anchorage Alaska North Stake completed five months of rehearsals and four successful, sold-out performances of their own original Mormon musical production A Royal Generation. Over 70 teenagers, 15 children, and 40 adults were involved in acting, singing, and dancing in the production. In addition, the Anchorage Youth Symphony Orchestra provided the musical accompaniment with a 17-piece orchestra. Church members and nonmembers encouraged, supported, and delighted each other in this experience.
The musical was the creation of three women, Joyce Cox, Barbara Sinclair, and Kaye Wallace, whose goal was to fill a need. They wanted to provide an experience that would be wholesome and that would try to answer many of the questions Mormon youth have about why it is important to choose to obey their Heavenly Father.
Each of the acts of A Royal Generation tells the story of a group of young people who had to make decisions and who found successful ways to do so. Act one concerned young adults deciding about missions, college, work, and marriage. The second act dealt with teenage dating problems, the selection of appropriate friends, and how to become independent though obedient. The final act outlined the difficulties of Mormon youth as they enter the teen years and select their directions and attitudes. When the Anchorage Youth Symphony Orchestra, most of whom are nonmembers, agreed to provide the music, the cast was thrilled. The orchestration was written by a local professional, and a 30-voice choir began to rehearse to back up the actors on stage.
The missionaries in Anchorage (who ushered at each performance) reported that many people expressed interest in the Church, and each request for more information was further adrenalin for the cast, crew, and orchestra.
Was all the time and effort, the cost and sacrifice, the sleeplessness and practice worthwhile? “My two friends who came to see me are taking the missionary discussions,” said one cast member. One look at her face was all the answer that was needed

Illustration by Clayton Thompson
I sighed as I stared out the window at the freshly fallen snow, envisioning my siblings and myself building a larger-than-life snowman, laughing and tackling it to the ground moments later. But it was just wishful thinking this year—my family was not here for Christmas. My dad had to work, and my siblings, who were all older than me and married, were spending the holiday with their in-laws. It was just my mom and me that Christmas Eve.
My mom, ever the optimist, gave me an encouraging smile from across the room while she prepared our Christmas Eve dinner. Despite her efforts to make things feel normal without the rest of our family there, our house felt empty and lonely.
Shortly before dinner, a knock at our door signaled that our special guest had arrived. I opened the door to see a very shy, elderly widow hesitantly standing out in the cold. My mom had invited her over to join us for our Christmas Eve feast, and I could tell she felt as awkward as I did.
The normal clamor and jubilant conversation that usually filled the room during dinner was instead replaced by a mellow discussion. At one point, I looked around the room at the empty chairs and felt like crying. Just then the widow asked, “Do you miss your family?”
I nodded and looked into her eyes. Then I sensed it: she misses her family too!
I suddenly had an outpouring of love for this widow. She understood me. My attitude did a 180-degree turn as I realized I wasn’t alone. We shared a common bond of missing our families. This Christmas was far from normal, but sharing that moment with her brought me a new perspective—one filled with gratitude and love!
Later that evening we watched Joy to the World as part of our usual Christmas tradition. Sure, I had seen the film a dozen times, but this time it held new meaning for me. The Holy Ghost testified to me that the Savior, Jesus Christ, lived and died so that we might live again. Because of Him, I get to have my family forever. It didn’t matter so much that my family was not there that Christmas Eve—I had an eternity to spend with them!
I’m so grateful for the evening I shared with that sweet widow. We all feel lonely at times, but we can find joy knowing that our Savior will never abandon us and that He has provided a way for us to have everlasting happiness and to have our loved ones with us forever.

I play baritone sax in my high school’s marching band. One day we got on buses to go to our last competition of the season, and everyone was excited and ready to compete. We put everything we had into our final show, and it was one of our best performances. We were soon done and were waiting quietly in line with other bands to receive our awards when one of my friends behind me started to make conversation. Before long we were having a great time—talking, laughing, and joking around—while we waited to take the field again for the awards ceremony. I looked around and saw that other bands started doing the same.
One of my friends told a joke, but the punch line had a cuss word in it. I asked him to cut it out, and when everyone asked why, another one of my friends stepped in and said it was because I was Mormon and didn’t like to hear that type of language. I was relieved to see that my good friend knew about my standards and was willing to stand up for them. But I was still a little embarrassed that I was the one to ruin the fun everyone was having telling jokes, so I turned around to go join another group of friends.
Right as I turned, I heard someone to the right of me yell, “Hey! I’m Mormon too!” I glanced over to see a member of another band smiling at me. We started to talk and were soon explaining to groups of friends in both bands what our standards are and why we have them. As more and more people joined to ask questions and hear our answers, I was starting to feel overwhelmed by the questions being thrown at us—not because they were hard questions but because there were so many!
I felt a tap on my shoulder. Thinking it was another question, I continued answering the current question. I felt the tap again, so I turned and saw yet another young man from a different band smiling at me. “Are you guys talking about Mormonism? Dude! I’m Mormon too!” I couldn’t believe it! We all soon gathered up the Mormons in each of our bands to share our testimonies and experiences with everyone in the crowd. It was so fun to be surrounded by people I knew shared my same standards and beliefs and to teach others about the gospel.

The Datiles family enjoying a bowling activity. When the children were young, Brother Datiles was struggling to pay tithing because of his failing business. He and his wife set a goal to be full-tithe payers.
Photograph courtesy of the author
Years ago, when my children were young, I went to see my priesthood leader to have my temple recommend renewed. But when he asked if I was a full-tithe payer, I had to tell him I wasn’t. I wanted to be, but I was struggling to pay tithing due to a wrong decision I had made in a failed business.
After listening to my struggles and asking about my financial needs, he kindly and compassionately reminded me about the importance of putting my faith in the Lord and being a full-tithe payer. We then reviewed together what is written in Malachi 3:10: “Prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.”
“I understand that it’s painful for you not to have your temple recommend renewed at this time,” he said. “But the joy you will feel and the blessings you will receive will be much greater after you honorably pay your tithing. We can reconvene for a temple recommend renewal in three to six months.”
After that interview, my wife and I talked and prayed about it. We were sure Heavenly Father knew how much we desired to be back in the temple to participate in sacred ordinances. Going to the temple is so important to us. In the house of the Lord, not only can we provide help to our departed loved ones, but we also experience great joy, peace, and calm. These are all priceless blessings that we can get from making and keeping temple covenants and performing sacred ordinances there. We determined that tithing is less about money and more about placing our faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. And we set a goal to be full-tithe payers and to return to the temple.
Having these goals in mind, we felt impressed to sell our car. It was our only means of comfortably transporting our family, but we had faith that the Lord would bless us if we made this sacrifice. We knew that it would be hard for us to commute in a jeepney holding three young girls while my wife took care of our bags, but we knew that it was the right thing to do to achieve our goals. We began paying our tithing in full.
After three months, I met with my priesthood leader again for a follow-up interview. He asked me about my testimony of tithing, and I was able to tell him I was a full-tithe payer.
My wife and I finally got our temple recommends renewed, and we immediately went back to the temple. We had achieved our goal of returning to the temple to make covenants and receive ordinances in behalf of our ancestors. Windows of heaven started to open. Blessings started pouring in. My feelings of happiness and inner peace were beyond description.
We still commuted using jeepneys and would sometimes miss our stops because we fell asleep at times, but the joy of being full-tithe payers and the blessings of temple worship are greater than any physical hardships.
The blessings continued. After six months, I was promoted at work, where I not only received a higher salary but also qualified for car benefits. After six months, the Lord gave us a new ride—our family once again had a vehicle, now more comfortable than the one we sold.
The Lord kept His promises to me, and by keeping His commandments, I keep my promises to Him too.
The author lives in Laguna, Philippines.

Do you want to do better in school? How would you like to ace your college entrance exams? Well, then work on your sense of humor and on having fun. That’s what Michael Haycock, a priest in the Lima Ward, Toledo Ohio Stake, says. And Michael knows something about taking tests and doing well in school. As a sophomore in 2004, Michael aced both standardized college entrance exams; he scored a perfect 36 on the ACT and a 1570 on the SAT (just 30 points away from a perfect 1600). He ranks at the top of his class with a 4.17 grade point average. He also says to “Learn to love to learn.”
“With a zany sense of humor, you can have fun with everything from verbs to imaginary numbers,” says Michael. That’s easy for him to say. Maybe it’s just because he’s so smart that things come so easily. After all, he is one of only two sophomores in the entire nation to get a 36 on the ACT out of about 218,000 students. He is the final winner of the Ohio University–sponsored U.S. history contest, in which he competed with 7,400 other entrants for a full-tuition, four-year scholarship. He is the star on the high school quiz bowl team. And he still makes it to early-morning seminary every day.
That’s why it’s so surprising to hear this bit of advice from Michael: “Don’t feel you’re a failure due to others’ successes. I feel this quite a bit. It’s a weakness of mine.” Michael explains that when he hears about the latest 12-year-old neurosurgeon, or the college-attending 13-year-old Nobel Peace Prize nominee, he thinks he should have done just a little more or a little better. “Everyone can do at least one thing another cannot,” Michael adds. “Every child of God is truly unique.”
So what makes Michael Haycock unique? There are lots of things. He certainly doesn’t fit the standard mold of the “brainiac.” When asked if others ever bother him for being a good student, Michael says that has happened on occasion, “but that’s only been at the beginning. When they get to know me they stop.” He plays the trombone in the marching band and the symphonic band. He sings in the school choir and even auditioned for and made it into the all-state choir. He runs cross-country. “My best time for the 5K is 20 minutes, 10 seconds,” Michael says, “which is not spectacular, but it’s not bad either.” This year he improved his time; it’s now 19 minutes, 32 seconds. But what really makes Michael stand out among his peers is that he’s a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“We have more LDS students in our school than in any other school in the county.” That number translates into nine members of the Church in his high school. Michael says he doesn’t get a chance to interact with them much outside of early-morning seminary, because they don’t have classes together. In fact, even at church, Michael is in a quorum of only four boys, and each of them lives in a different school district. “I can’t say if it’s hard or easy, because I don’t have anything to compare it to,” Michael says.
So Michael’s group of friends is quite diverse. “We have a Baptist, a Lutheran, a Methodist, and Catholics,” he says. What brings them together is years of friendship and similar interests. They all like learning and science fiction and fantasy. Having many friends of other faiths gives Michael a chance to let them know about his beliefs. “We sometimes have religious discussions—pretty much compare beliefs. I’ve gone to my friend’s church recently for Palm Sunday, and she came to general conference with me.”
When he has the chance, Michael likes to get together with other LDS youth. Like when he sang in the choir for the dedication of Church history sites in historic Kirtland. He talks warmly about the three- to four-hour drives to Kirtland for practices. But he remembers most the wonderful experience of the dedication and the fireside the night before where he saw President Gordon B. Hinckley and other General Authorities speak.
“We see these people in general conference. But this was live. And at the end of the dedication everyone got up and spontaneously sang ‘We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet,’” Michael remembers (Hymns, no. 19). “It was surreal almost. It was an amazing feeling throughout the whole dedication. It was neat.”
Living close to some of the Church history sites has helped Michael’s testimony grow stronger. He’s gained respect and admiration for what the early Saints accomplished. He’s had the chance to attend four temple dedications. And he’s come to feel a connection with the Prophet Joseph Smith. “One thing I know is that the Book of Mormon is true,” says Michael. “I’m reading it through my second time. There’s just no way one person could have put down all the wisdom on paper that is in those pages. There’s no way.”
What does the future hold for Michael Haycock? Service. “I’m preparing for college the best I can by taking AP [advanced placement] classes,” says Michael. “After that I’m going to head off to college for a year and then go on a mission. I’ll come back and finish up school.” He says he’s pretty sure he’ll pursue more degrees than just a bachelor’s. Michael has thought about becoming a Spanish professor, but right now he is planning on going into political science, with the hopes of getting into politics. He wants to make a difference in the world.
Michael doesn’t see himself as smarter than everyone else. But sometimes that’s how others look at him. “They see the stereotype of the smart kid, but I try to break that stereotype,” says Michael. And he’s done it. Michael Haycock is not just another smart kid; he’s a smart kid with a strong testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.
Here are 10 tips Michael says he uses to do his best when studying, preparing for, and taking a test.
Attend class every day and pay attention.
Have a good sense of humor so you can have fun learning.
Develop a good relationship with your teachers.
Do all your assignments, and do them on time.
Ask questions about things you don’t understand.
Review your study material with friends.
Do all review assignments.
Define your own academic identity: don’t let yourself be labeled.
Check your answers on quizzes and tests at least once—twice if you have time.
Learn to love to learn.

I volunteered for service in the United States Marine Corps during the Vietnam War. Soon after my arrival in Quantico, Virginia, for basic training, I found myself standing at attention in front of my barrack’s bunk along with 54 other Marine Corps recruits. I met my drill instructor, a battle-hardened veteran, when he kicked open the door to the barracks and entered while screaming words laced with profanity.
After this terrifying introduction, he started at one end of the barracks and confronted each recruit with questions. Without exception, the drill instructor methodically found something about each recruit to ridicule with loud, vulgar language. Down the row he came, with each marine shouting back his answer as commanded: “Yes” or “No, Sergeant Instructor.” I could not see exactly what he was doing, because we had been ordered to stand at attention with our eyes looking straight ahead. When it was my turn, I could tell he grabbed my duffel bag and emptied the contents onto my mattress behind me. He looked through my belongings, then walked back to face me. I braced myself for his attack. In his hand was my Book of Mormon. I expected that he would yell at me; instead, he moved close to me and whispered, “Are you a Mormon?”
As commanded, I yelled, “Yes, Sergeant Instructor.”
Again I expected the worst. Instead, he paused and raised his hand that held my Book of Mormon and in a very quiet voice said, “Do you believe in this book?”
Again I shouted, “Yes, Sergeant Instructor.”
At this point I was sure he would scream disparaging words about Mormons and the Book of Mormon, but he just stood there in silence. After a moment he walked back to my bunk and carefully laid down my Book of Mormon. He then proceeded to walk by me without stopping and went on to ridicule and disparage with profane language all remaining recruits.
I have often wondered why that tough Marine Corps sergeant spared me that day. But I am grateful I was able to say without hesitation, “Yes, I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” and “Yes, I know the Book of Mormon is true.” This testimony is a precious gift given to me through the Holy Ghost with the help of two missionaries and a priests quorum adviser.

One of my most joyous memories began during the summer of 1981. We had walked the city streets all morning talking to businessmen about the Church. By noon we were hot and tired and ready to take a break. We decided to walk through a nearby park, and as we did so, we could see off to the side a group of young people. We decided to see if they would listen to our message.
As we approached, they looked at us with some suspicion. We told them we were missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They laughed a little and made a few mocking comments. It seemed obvious that they didn’t want to listen to us. But there was one young man in the group who looked at us with a sincere interest. So we focused our attention on him. He had a guitar. We asked, “Would you play something for us?” He smiled, lifted his guitar, and began to play.
When he finished, we told him more about ourselves and our message. He told us his name was Jose Manuel. We talked for a few more minutes and then ended the conversation by asking if we could talk to him another day about our church. He replied he would be glad to listen to us and that we could find him in the park most every day taking his dog for a walk or playing his guitar.
As we left, we couldn’t imagine this young man ever being baptized. A few days later we were in that same area. To our pleasant surprise, there he was. We asked if he would listen to us. He consented, and we pulled two park benches together, and my companion and I sat on one and he sat on the other. We looked into Jose Manuel’s eyes and told him about Jesus Christ. Near the end of our message we told him about the Book of Mormon and that Jesus Christ had visited America after his resurrection. We challenged him to read about this great event. He said he would. We left the book, yet we had our doubts if Jose Manuel would ever even open it.
A few more days went by, and we decided to see how he had done on his reading assignment. To our surprise, he told us that he had read the part in the Book of Mormon that we had assigned him. He explained that he had told his friend about what he’d read. His friend also wanted to read the book, so Jose Manuel had given it to him. He asked us if he could possibly get another copy. We told him that we could probably work something out.
After that we continued to teach him the gospel. We saw him change his appearance and his heart. He wanted to be baptized.
Nearly three years have passed since we first met Jose Manuel in that park in Madrid, Spain. He is now a member of the Church. A few months ago he, like you and me, had a decision to make. He had to decide whether or not to serve a mission. Jose Manuel had every reason in the world not to go. He was just a recent convert. His knowledge of the gospel wasn’t that extensive. He had lost his father a few years before, and his mother didn’t want him to go. Other family members didn’t want him to go either. He didn’t have the finances to be able to serve for 18 months. He also had to complete his military service before he would be able to even think about serving a mission. Everything was against his going on a mission.
Every one of us, as we think about a mission, can find a number of reasons why we shouldn’t go. We must each look beyond those reasons. The key is to look for reasons to go. And Jose Manuel had some reasons to go. He knew that Jesus Christ was the son of God and the Savior of the world. He knew that Joseph Smith had seen a vision. He knew that the Church was true. He knew that it had changed his life, and he wanted to go out and share that knowledge with others.
Jose Manuel had a desire to serve. He was called to the work. With the help of the Lord, he was able to work things out. That always seems to happen. He overcame the obstacles, and he’s now serving in the Spain Barcelona Mission.
We’re all faced with different obstacles that sometimes make serving missions seem difficult. In my dad’s case, his father was ill. Jose Manuel’s family didn’t want him to go. I wondered about my basketball future. Many of the obstacles we face are those within our own minds. For just a minute I want to talk directly to you—just you. You who might say, “I have this girl friend”; or, “I’ve got a good job and a car”; or, “I’ve never been good at schoolwork, and I know I could never memorize scriptures and all those discussions”; or, “I can’t talk to people who I don’t even know”; or, “I couldn’t be obedient to all the rules missionaries follow”; or, “I don’t really know the Church is true, so how could I tell others about it?”
To those who have such thoughts and feelings: if you don’t now have a testimony, you can gain one on a mission. Your girl friend will be all right. You can learn the scriptures and discussions well enough to be effective. You’ll have the courage you need to talk to strangers. You can be obedient. You can do it.
Some of you may be fearful about your ability because to this point in your life you have struggled. Perhaps you’ve not been academically gifted or socially prominent. I agree that being socially graceful, well educated, experienced in leadership, and able to speak well are useful talents for doing missionary work. But there is something beyond these which can give a missionary his real power.
I was told recently of two missionary companions—one had many outward talents, the other didn’t. They had received a letter from a man and his family to whom they had taught several discussions. The letter told the elders to come by and pick up the Book of Mormon because the family had decided they were not interested in continuing the discussions.
The more outwardly talented elder felt confident that by using all his social skills and all his learning he would be able to change the man’s mind. During the meeting he used every persuasive skill he could think of. The other elder listened. Finally the man agreed to continue the discussions.
Later, at the family’s baptism, the talented elder remembered the night with some degree of pride. After the baptism the man told him, “The night I changed my mind and continued to have you teach me was the most important night of my life. As you talked to me, my mind was so determined to not listen that there was nothing you could have said that would have caused me to continue. But then I looked at your companion. His eyes were focused on me. I saw in his face more love than I’d ever known before. My heart felt a spirit that made it so I could not resist his silent message. I decided then that if this church could cause someone to love like that, then I wanted to be part of it.”
Outward social and educational talents help, but more needed than these are the inward talents of love and faith and testimony. In these talents we can all be equal.
If your health will allow, make yourself worthy to serve. Push aside the obstacles and go.

Carl swept back the curtain of his bedroom window and squinted out into the day. This was going to be great! Lots of sun. Lots of snow. And lots and lots of skiing.

Carl slipped out of bed, and his feet hit the floor with a thump. Pulling a pair of wool socks out of his dresser drawer, he imagined the exciting day ahead at a ski hill called Bear Gulch. Funny name, he thought as he slipped the socks over his feet and slid awkwardly across the hardwood floor, pretending to ski.

Whoosh! He could almost feel the snow under his skis, packed firm and cold in some places, fine and bouncy in others. And he loved the smell of the mountain air, cold from snowfall and scented with pine and fir. He loved the way the crisp wind whispered past his ears as he glided down the slope.

Carl’s family did not have a lot of money for things like skiing, and it had taken Carl three weeks of extra chores to earn enough for his ski pass. For three dollars, he could buy an all-day ticket for the rope-tow, a heavy motor-driven rope that pulled skiers to the top of the snowy hill. It seemed like a lot of money, but it sure beat hiking up with his skis.

His mother set a bowl of hot cereal in front of him, and Carl started on it hungrily.

“Are we in a hurry today?” she asked with a smile.

“You know, Mom—today’s the day I go with Joe and Marty to Bear Gulch. Remember?”

“Yes, I remember. What about your morning chores?”

“They’re finished. I worked on them last night so I would be ready.”

“All right, all right, Champ. I’ll pack you a lunch.”

Carl sat down and buckled on his old boots. They were hand-me-downs—an old pair his uncle had worn when he was a boy—but they were oiled up and in pretty good condition. Next, Carl picked up the wooden skis his father made for him and leaned them by the kitchen door. Let’s see, he thought. Hat, yes; mittens, yes. Everything was ready except for checking his money. Carl pulled a small leather pouch out of his pocket and carefully dumped the coins onto the kitchen table. He counted each coin. Three dollars—just enough for one ticket.

At that moment, Carl’s father walked into the room. “Son, did you remember to pay your tithing last Sunday?”

Carl hesitated. A long moment passed. “No,” he said sadly.

“Well,” said his father, “you choose what you want to do.”

Of course, Carl wanted to ski. He sat down at the table and stared at the coins. There weren’t that many of them. Did his father really expect him to pass up this opportunity after waiting and working and saving so long? Did the Lord really need these few meager coins for a tithe? His father had said to choose what he wanted to do. Carl wished it were that simple. It would be easy to do what he wanted to do. Then he thought about what his Heavenly Father might want him to do.

The two red-cheeked faces of Joe and Marty appeared in the front window. They were so close that their breath steamed the pane instantly and their faces were lost in the fog on the glass. Carl walked to the front door and opened it slowly.

“Hi, fellas. I can’t go.”

Joe and Marty exchanged glances. “But don’t you want to go?” asked Marty.

“Sure,” said Carl. “But I also want to do the right thing.”

He returned to the table and with one finger drew three dimes away from the rest of the pile. He stayed home that day and paid his tithing to the bishop the next day.

The following week, the ski resort lowered its ticket price to two dollars and fifty cents.

On the next Saturday morning, the sun was not shining, but the snow was crisp and bright. Carl’s wooden skis and his oiled leather boots were ready to go. His wool cap was pulled down snug over his ears. It was going to be a cold day, but a special excitement warmed him all over because he had done what Heavenly Father wanted him to do. As he handed his money over for the ski ticket, he thought about how glad he was that he had chosen to pay his tithing and how good he felt now, because he had.

One evening when I was 11 years old, I heard a commotion outside my window. I looked out the window, and in the street were newsboys carrying stacks of newspapers in their arms announcing the news that President George Albert Smith, the eighth President of the Church, had died. President Smith had been the only prophet I had known in my short time on earth. It was during his administration that I first felt the stirrings of a testimony, and even then I knew how important God’s prophets are. I had been taught in Primary and in my home by loving parents that President Smith was our earthly link to our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, that They could talk to me through him. What an empowering concept for a young girl! The Spirit had confirmed in my 11-year-old mind that this was true. When I learned of his death, I felt a tremendous loss.
However, just five days after President Smith’s death, President David O. McKay stood in this tabernacle and spoke to those assembled. He had just been unanimously sustained as the prophet, seer, and revelator by the Saints. As he brushed back the tears, he said, “No one can preside over the church without first being in tune with the head of the Church, our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. He is our head. This is his church. … With his guidance, with his inspiration, we cannot fail.”
I quickly came to love and revere President McKay just as I had loved and revered President Smith. In fact, I remember seeing him stand at this pulpit, with his white hair gleaming, and thinking he looked just like an angel.