Gospel Story Finder

My mind has been much on this topic because of an experience our family has had in the last few months. Our daughter and her husband took a while to find each other, and then, though they wanted children with all their hearts, for a number of years they had difficulty realizing that dream. They prayed and they sought priesthood blessings and medical help and eventually were thrilled to learn they were expecting twins.

Things did not go smoothly, however, and three and a half months before the babies were due to arrive, the mother-to-be found herself in the labor and delivery section of the hospital. The doctors at first were hopeful that they could stop the labor for a few more weeks. Quickly, however, the question became, would they even have the 48 hours necessary for medication to prepare the babies’ immature lungs to function?

A nurse came in from the newborn intensive care unit to show the couple pictures of the machines the babies would be hooked up to if they were born alive. She explained the risks for eye damage, for lung collapse, for physical impairment, for brain damage. The couple listened, humbled yet hopeful, and then, despite all the doctors could do, it was obvious that these babies were coming.

They were born alive. First the baby girl and then the baby boy—weighing less than four pounds together—were rushed to the intensive care unit and put on ventilators, with umbilical tubes and intravenous lines and constant attention. They can’t have too much light, they can’t have too much noise, their chemical balances need constant monitoring, as the hospital, with millions of dollars of equipment and many wonderful doctors and nurses, attempted to replicate the miracle of a mother’s womb.

There are multitudes of little miracles every day: a collapsed lung heals and then, despite the odds, continues to function properly; pneumonia is beaten back; more deadly infections invade and are overcome; IV lines go bad and are replaced. After two and a half months, the baby boy has gained two pounds and can breathe with an oxygen supplement. His ventilator is gone, he learns to eat, and his grateful parents take him home with monitors attached.

The baby girl keeps pulling her ventilator tube out, setting off alarms across the nursery. Maybe she wants to keep up with her brother, we think, but her throat closes off each time, and she just can’t breathe on her own. Her throat is so inflamed that at times the respiratory therapists have great difficulty reinserting the tube, and she almost dies. Her normal progress is stymied by her continued dependence on the ventilator.

Finally, after her baby brother has been home for two months, the doctors feel they are forced to suggest surgery for her—a surgery that will allow her to breathe by opening a hole in her throat, a surgery that might solve the stomach problems by opening a hole in her side, but a surgery that will impact her little body for many more months and maybe for the rest of her life. As the parents wrestled with this decision, a beloved aunt sent a message to all the family. She explained the situation—the critical issue of timing, the importance of getting off the ventilator—and suggested that we join our faith once again, and in prayer and fasting ask for one more miracle—if it was the Lord’s will. We would culminate our fast with a prayer the evening of December 3.

Let me read from a letter that was sent to the family the morning of December 4. “Dearest Family, Wonderful news! Blessings from the Lord. Our heartfelt thanks for your prayers and fasting in behalf of our little girl. Yesterday morning she came off the ventilator and has been off for 24 hours at this writing. To us, it is a miracle. The medical staff are still guarded about predicting the future, but we are so grateful to the Lord and to you. We are praying that this will mark the beginning of the end of her hospital stay. And we even dare to hope that she’ll be home for Christmas.”

She did make it home for Christmas, and both babies are currently doing just fine. Our family has had its own “parting of the Red Sea,” and we are prepared to testify that there is today, as there was yesterday and will be forever, a “God of miracles” who loves His children and desires to bless them.

When I returned to Perth, my family welcomed me with open arms. But my attempts to share the gospel with them were met with stiff opposition. They even made arrangements for me to see religious “experts” who could “enlighten” me and help me to see the “error” of my chosen path. This was a great test of faith for me, and after an onslaught of anti-Mormon propaganda, I found myself questioning my decision.
Yet in the quiet chambers of my heart, I could not deny that what I had experienced in France was from God, so I sought the Lord’s Spirit to strengthen me. I fasted and prayed every Sunday for weeks, I buried myself in the scriptures, I received priesthood blessings for guidance and strength, and I attended church weekly to associate with the Saints. Instead of dwelling on what I couldn’t understand or didn’t know, I focused on those things that I did know: I am a child of God, Jesus is the Christ, Joseph Smith restored the Lord’s Church, the Book of Mormon and the Bible are the word of God, and families are forever. With this new perspective, my testimony began to grow and strengthen again.

I think, too, of Barbara Taylor, whom I met in 1962, on the day I entered Hong Kong as a new missionary. Sister Taylor was the wife of President Robert Sherman Taylor, president of the Southern Far East Mission. The day after I arrived, she took me visiting teaching. With a couple of sister missionaries who could speak Cantonese, we took a bus to the harbor, then a ferry to a place called Aberdeen.

Among the homes we visited were some dug out of the side of a hill. We reached these homes by hiking up hand-dug stairs, scattering chickens and children as we climbed. As we visited with one sister—a beautiful young Chinese mother—I saw and felt things I had not felt before. I looked at the refugee families on the side of that hill and realized they were children of God who deserved all the help I could give them in making sense of life on earth with all the challenges they faced. All around me were hosts of waiting youth, speaking a language I could not understand—yet communicating with me through smiles and feelings, eager to learn and grow and help.

Kristi was 23 years old. She had a job she liked in her field of computer science. She was active in her young adult group and meeting new friends when she was in a head-on collision with a truck on icy roads. The brain surgery Kristi underwent after that accident saved her life but paralyzed her left side.
Kristi struggled, first spending time in a wheelchair, then walking with braces, and finally walking on her own again. But she didn’t walk the same as before. She couldn’t use her left hand, and her vision was impaired. Her poor eyesight and loss of use in her hand made it impossible for Kristi to go back to her former job.
Gradually it became clear to her. There were two paths she could take. She could continue not accepting herself and being miserable. Or she could accept herself and find happiness. The acceptance came as she realized that her spirit was whole. It was complete, the same spirit she had before her accident.
As Kristi grew in accepting herself, she began to reach out to others. Her struggles seemed to lessen as she began serving. She made a decision to return to school and prepare to go into social work so she could help others as she had been helped. Kristi looked inside herself, found and accepted a friend who was definitely worth having—herself.

The spiritual roots of my family tree have been strengthened for three generations because of the unwavering faith of my great-grandfather.

Another example in my family history reminds me not to doubt. In 1913 in Mexico, Elder Ernest Young and his companions preached the gospel to my great-great-grandmother Maria de Jesus de Monroy, a widow; her three daughters, Natalia, Jovita, and Guadalupe; and her only son, Rafael—my great-grandfather. They were baptized on June 10. Two months later, citizens of the United States left the country because of the Mexican Revolution.

On August 29, 1913, the day President Rey L. Pratt and all American missionaries were to depart, Rafael Monroy, a 34-year-old convert of two months, went to the mission home to express his concern. “What is going to become of us?” he asked. “There is no organized branch in San Marcos, and we don’t have the priesthood.” Listening to Rafael’s concerns, President Pratt asked him to sit down. He placed his hands on Rafael’s head, conferred on him the Melchizedek Priesthood, ordained him an elder, and set him apart as president of the San Marcos Branch.

Rafael, who understood that his baptismal covenant was sacred and eternal, also understood that he should share the gospel. For 23 months he and his counselor, Vicente Morales, helped in the conversion and baptism of more than 50 people. They preached to dozens more.

Then, on July 17, 1915, the revolution arrived in San Marcos. Revolutionary soldiers accused Rafael and Vicente of belonging to and supporting the opposing army, hiding weapons, and belonging to a strange religion. They took them prisoner, tortured them, and hanged them until they fainted. Then the soldiers gave them one last chance to save their lives. They would be spared if they would renounce their religion. Rafael answered, “I cannot do it, for I know that what I have received is true.”

Rafael and Vicente did not doubt. They acted consistent with their knowledge and testimony. At the end of that day, they were executed by the Liberation Army of the South, giving their lives for what they believed.1

As I interact with other young single adults, I’ve noticed that sometimes it can be easy to be so focused on our marital status that we don’t pay attention to those around us. For example, when I first started attending a family ward rather than a young adult ward, I believed I deserved extra attention, pity, and looking after because I was single. I have yet to find an instance when having such an attitude ever did me any good.
During the first year in my ward, I was surprised that many of my other ideas turned out to be myths. I learned that married people can be friends with single people and that I could make a difference in people’s lives. Some mothers are overjoyed to have a friend come over for a visit when their husbands are gone for work or Church callings. Parents are often grateful when an adult can provide some individual attention to their children, and most are quite willing to “lend out” their children for movies or other activities.
I also learned that I was not the only person who was single. Other ward members are empty nesters, divorced, or widowed and also struggle to deal with life’s issues on their own. And despite my belief that married people are happier, I met some who dealt with depression, job loss, or disabled or wayward children. Those with such struggles always appreciate a listening ear.
But these realizations and friendships did not happen instantly. They took time and effort as I consistently attended my Church meetings, served in callings, and looked for opportunities to help. When my bishop asked me to teach the six-year-olds, I felt inadequate. However, after my first month, several parents thanked me, saying how much their children enjoyed coming to class. To this day some of my closest friends in the ward are family members of those children.
I try to always be available to help others in my ward, but on occasion I have been the one in need of service. Once when I needed to paint a room in my home before moving, I was in the middle of final exams and also had to leave town for a wedding. When I mentioned these circumstances to a sister in my ward, she told me she would get some other sisters together to paint the room. Their service saved me lots of time and money.
The members of my ward seem not to define me by my marital status because I don’t define myself by it. In conversation I don’t bring up my lack of a spouse; instead, I talk about my job, studies, hobbies, and immediate family. By my focusing on these topics, people often see that there is more to me than what is lacking.
A wise friend once told me that friendship is a two-way road; you can’t give some without receiving some in return. I realize that all my friendships will never provide me with the same experiences that a spouse and children would, but I also know that Heavenly Father loves all His children. No matter our circumstances in life, it is possible to feel loved and accepted.

Answer: I struggled as a child. I had a wonderful family and didn’t go through any obvious tragedies, but I always seemed to feel angry at myself and those around me. I would take these feelings out on my siblings. The more I mistreated them, the worse I felt. And yet I couldn’t seem to stop. This behavior drove a wedge between me and my family members. When I was 12 years old, I thought I was an evil, rotten, worthless person. I thought everyone would be better off without me.
Answer: I remember one time at the doctor’s office, the pediatrician asked Mom if she had ever heard her children say, “I wish I’d never been born.” And Mom answered, “No, all of the kids are fine.” I was surprised that Mom didn’t know I had thought about killing myself. So I tried to tell her what I was going through. But she acted so shocked that it made me never want to talk about it again. I pretended that I hadn’t really meant it.
Answer: Yes, but I didn’t really understand what a testimony was. I always knew deep down that there was a God, but Satan was working hard to convince me to doubt everything else. So I started wondering if the entire Church was wrong. Fortunately, I had some great Young Women leaders who were inspired to help me and show me a lot of love. One of them in particular helped me start feeling better about myself.
Answer: A bright spot was my Young Women class. I had a teacher who taught right at my level. She’s since moved away, and I wish I could tell her what she meant to me. I don’t remember what she taught exactly, but I remember feeling like I belonged there.
Another thing that really helped were temple trips. Even though I often felt worthless and didn’t think anyone cared about me, I enjoyed the spark of light and goodness of the temple. I often felt the Spirit there. One trip in particular made a difference. It started out bad because one of the older girls said something hurtful to me. But later that day, she apologized and gave me a hug. And I learned that I really liked hugs! After that, I asked her for a hug every Sunday. One Sunday I sat down in sacrament meeting without getting a hug from her. And she came up to me and said, “Where’s my hug?” with a smile. I felt so surprised and special that she sought me out and showed me love. She and I became closer and closer friends. I know hugs don’t help everyone, but they helped me.
Answer: Sure! She was the craziest, most energetic person I have ever known. She seemed to have never-ending amounts of happiness to share. She greeted me with so much enthusiasm and love every Sunday and gave me a hug. Her dose of goodness seemed to be just what I needed. I would carry it with me during the week. Over time, I began to accept that what she said was true. The Spirit was working on me. This is when my behavior finally started to improve in a lasting way. And my suicidal thoughts, which I’d had about a year, went away, though I still had to work on how I felt about myself.
Answer: Another turning point was when I began to volunteer at a nonprofit organization each week with my older brother and my mom. I was sometimes the only volunteer on my team who showed up regularly, so my supervisor counted on me. I found I really liked that. For example, one time we were cleaning up together, and she got called away to do something else. I kept sweeping and working hard. When she came back, she said that I had really good initiative and gave me so many compliments. And it felt so good. I realized that working hard and doing a good job was fun. Helping was fun! So I began to try my hardest to be the best volunteer that I could be. I gained enough experience to train other volunteers. I developed a passion for this organization and made friends.
Photograph from Getty Images
During this time, my behavior continued to change in positive ways as I felt the Spirit increase in my life. Over the next couple of years, I made friends again with my family members. I started feeling like a good person instead of a bad person. I became a happier person. People even commented on how much I smiled. And my happiness no longer depended on having a leader saying good things at church. My testimony of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ was growing, and I could feel Their love for me.
Answer: My testimony keeps growing stronger. I know now that Heavenly Father loves every one of us—including me. I know the Book of Mormon is the word of God. I know that no matter what mistakes we have made, we can come back to goodness. We can repent through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Anyone can return to Him again.
Answer: Please, if you are experiencing low self-worth, or depression, or want to die, or any other feelings like that, reach out for help. Go to a parent, a youth leader, a former Primary teacher, a bishop, even a friend—anyone you feel you can trust. I promise you that Heavenly Father does not want you to die. He wants you to live and feel joy. He wants you to feel His love. Turn to Jesus Christ. He can help you throughout your trials. He knows everything you are going through. Meanwhile, Satan is the one who tells you lies about yourself. Ignore him. He wants you to fail. Heavenly Father wants you to succeed.
Answer: Honestly, I still have a hard time accepting compliments or believing good things about myself sometimes. And I think insults hurt me more than they hurt most people, even if they’re just a joke. I still sometimes have a hard time believing that people love me until I feel convinced. But overall, I like myself and who I am becoming. It is a glorious feeling!

“But, Pa, I’m bigger now! See?” Joshua said as he stood on his tiptoes.
“I do see how big you are,” Pa said. “Come over here to the measuring wall. We’ll measure again.”
Joshua ran over to the measuring wall and stood as tall as he could. Pa took a pencil and put a mark on the wall just above Joshua’s head. It was a little higher than the last one.
“Well, I’ll be!” Pa said. “You’ve grown one-eighth of an inch!”
“I knew it! Can I ride Dugan today?” Joshua asked as he jumped up and down.
“I think you just might be big enough to ride the horse,” Papa said.
Joshua was so excited! He went to the corrals with Pa and watched as Pa put a bridle and harness on Dugan.
“Why didn’t you put a saddle on her?” Joshua asked.
“Because today we have work to do with her,” Pa explained. “We are building a fence. You and Dugan will get to help.”
“Really? How?” Joshua asked.
“We will put a chain around the poles that are in that pile by the barn. Then we will hook them to the harness on Dugan and she will pull the poles where they need to go,” Pa said.
Joshua sat on the fence as Pa put a chain around the poles. He looked at Dugan. “She is a really big horse,” he thought. He began to feel nervous.
Pa finished chaining the last pole. “Ready, Joshua? Come over here and I’ll lift you up.”
Joshua climbed down the fence slowly and walked over to Pa with his head hung low.
“What’s the matter? Have you changed your mind?” Pa asked.
“Maybe I better wait until tomorrow,” Joshua mumbled. “I’ll be even bigger then.”
“I bet you won’t be scared anymore after you get on the horse. I won’t let you get hurt. I’ll walk beside you and lead Dugan to the place where we unload the poles,” Pa said.
“Really? You’ll be with me?” Joshua asked.
“You bet I will,” Pa said. He reached down and lifted Joshua onto Dugan’s back in one big swoosh.
“Wow! Look how high I am!” Joshua said. He grinned from ear to ear.
As he rode, Joshua looked at Pa. He realized that Heavenly Father would always be there to help him too. He would lift him up. He would walk beside him. And knowing that, Joshua could do anything—even ride a really big horse.

A young bishop of my acquaintance can testify to the impact of unkempt appearance on those around us and its relationship to the drug culture. One evening last June, Bishop E. Wayne Nelson of the South Shore Ward in Griffith, Indiana, received a telephone call from a jailer in an Indiana city, fifty miles from his home. The jailer was holding two Mormon boys who were charged with possession of narcotics. Bishop Nelson made several visits as these young men waited in jail for their cases to be heard. He learned that both were from Utah, the sons of active Latter-day Saint parents. Both had tampered with drugs in this state. Both had adopted an unkempt appearance, including shoulder-length hair. Soon after they arrived in Gary, Indiana, to look for work, and while they were walking down a street, a peddler of narcotics approached them and invited them to make a purchase. Faced with that temptation at that time in that place, the boys chose not to resist. Soon after this transaction they were arrested and charged with possession of the drugs they had purchased. After the bishop heard their story in jail, he asked them, “Why do you think the peddler approached you?” One boy responded, “I guess it was our appearance; we just looked like users.” These young men had taken upon themselves the badges of the drug culture, and they were easily identified and approached by those who sought to profit from their weakness.

We all have opportunities to proclaim the gospel by being good examples in our homes, at work, at school, and in our communities. One young woman’s patriarchal blessing said that wherever she traveled, people would judge the Church by her example. Since then, she has traveled a great deal—in a college performing group, and later in her employment. She has remembered that counsel and has had many opportunities to discuss the Church with nonmembers.
Another sister, a recent convert, was startled one Sunday when a sister in her ward spoke about dressing with the intention to someday go to the temple and receive one’s endowment. “That sister’s counsel made a strong impression on me,” she says. “As I thought about it, I felt a desire to find out just how I should dress if I had been to the temple.” She later discarded her revealing or inappropriate clothing, and she made future purchases with Church standards in mind. Two years later, when she received her endowment, her wardrobe did not need to be changed; it was both modest and attractive.

Who would have known that what began as a lemonade stand fund-raiser for Help a Child Smile would evolve into a carnival organized and run by Lindsay Schoen, with more than $10,000 raised during the past seven years?
Her provide-a-service idea first began with a lemonade stand that became a fixture near her Fielden Avenue home. Lindsay had already decided she would donate the money from her little business to Help a Child Smile, a nonprofit charitable organization that provides trips and gifts for sick Canadian children.
“The year after I had my stand, I went to [Help a Child Smile’s] big fund-raiser and I gave them $50 that I had earned,” Lindsay says. “I thought it was really cool. I didn’t even know how much money I had because I just kept all the money I made in a little box. Then I counted it out and gave it to them. I thought it was pretty neat.” So did the people at Help a Child Smile.
During Lindsay’s sickness, Help a Child Smile had selected Lindsay’s family for an all-expenses-paid trip to Disney World in Orlando, Florida. Lindsay had directly benefitted from people’s generosity, and now she wanted other cancer patients to experience the same thing she had.
That was when the grade-school businesswoman hatched the carnival idea. It was time to diversify, time to turn her lemonade stand into something a little bigger. Lindsay set a goal to make $100 at the first carnival, replete with a fish pond, a ring toss, and crafts table. She advertised the carnival by putting up posters on telephone poles around Port Colborne, and she sold tickets for 25 cents each. She even got people to donate some of the prizes, as well as food.
“I just didn’t know if anyone would come,” Lindsay says.
She couldn’t have been more wrong. By the end of that first carnival, the money she had made wouldn’t fit in her trusty box. “We made over $750,” Lindsay says.
Each year since, the carnival has been improved and upgraded. No longer is it held in the Schoens’ backyard. Instead, the front lawn of a water treatment plant hosts the pony rides, clowns, pie sale, and dunk tank—where Port Colborne’s mayor gladly agrees to let people try to knock him in the water. But since Lindsay knows the mayor personally, it wasn’t difficult convincing the politician he needed to participate. After all, he’d watched her struggle with the cancer she eventually beat.
“I didn’t mind getting knocked in the water,” says Mayor Neal Schoen, Lindsay’s dad. His Honor got wet all over again at Lindsay Schoen’s Seventh Annual Carnival, held last August. People pay for 25-cent tickets with a five-dollar bill, or they buy a lemon meringue pie for $100. After all these years, the people of Port Colborne seem to have the same vision Lindsay does, even if it does cause her to stress a bit.
“I just love doing the carnival. You can feel the Spirit when you do it,” Lindsay says. “And when I give the money to Help a Child Smile, I feel the Spirit so strong. It’s really cool.”
Funny how that works. Lindsay is doing her best to help some children smile, and it seems she’s the one doing all the smiling.

Another White House gift became a matter of life and death to young Tad Lincoln. A friend of President Lincoln’s, a successful turkey grower, sent one of his best gobblers to be served for a White House Christmas dinner. Tad quickly made friends with the handsome bird and named him Jack. The two of them spent many hours racing around the White House grounds. Finally, when it came time for the turkey to be readied for the holiday feast, Tad would not hear of such a thing.
“Father, you can’t let anyone kill Jack,” the boy pleaded. “He’s my friend!”
“But if we do not serve him for Christmas dinner, I might offend the man who gave us the turkey.”
“Then I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him Jack is my friend and that I want him to live.”
President Lincoln nodded, gently resting a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Then Jack will be spared,” his father agreed. “A good friend is worth far more than a good dinner.”

The young women from a ward in Virginia, USA, wanted to create these shirts for Mutual and then wear them to school. Emily C., 14, had recently moved from out of state. Many of her friends at school didn’t yet know she is a member of the Church. “A lot of my friends pointed out my shirt and thought it was so cool,” Emily says. “They asked a little bit about the Church, and I told them about the temple.”

“Grandpa,” Joey said, “I can only stay for a while this morning. I promised Brother Hurdy I’d help him tap some trees this afternoon. He’s trying to help out a friend who’s in the hospital. Brother Hurdy hasn’t done it for a long time, and I thought maybe you could give me some tips while I help you.”
Grandpa was glad Joey wanted to help him in his sugar bush, a woods consisting of sugar maples. He could use a good strong boy, and Joey was a good worker.
Joey followed Grandma into the kitchen to get the spouts and the pails that she had already washed and stacked for carrying. He made several trips from the kitchen to Grandpa’s stoneboat.
A stoneboat, which looks like a small raft, ordinarily is used to haul stones from fields so that crops can be planted there. When Joey saw Grandpa hitch his horse to the stoneboat, he asked, “How come you don’t use your tractor?”
“Well, Joey,” Grandpa answered, “Dolly is just right for this job. She doesn’t get mired in spring mud like my tractor. Besides, she needs the exercise.”
The day was getting warm fast as the sun rose higher, and the snow was melting on the dirt trail that led to the sugar bush. Joey walked beside Grandpa. He liked to be with him because Grandpa knew so many things. Whenever Joey asked questions, Grandpa would explain things so that Joey could understand them.
“How many years have you been tapping maple trees?” Joey asked.
“I started to help my father when I was about your age,” Grandpa said, “and I’m eighty-one now. But tapping trees was a lot different when I was a boy. For one thing, we didn’t have metal spouts and pails.”
“You didn’t? What did you use?”
“Sumac twigs for spouts and hollowed-out butternut logs to catch the sap,” Grandpa answered. “We made the spouts by pounding short twigs, about three-quarters of an inch thick, into bored holes. Then we sliced off the top third of the twig’s bark and took out the core. We hollowed out logs with an adz to make the pails. An adz is a hand tool with a sharp, curved blade,” he explained.
“How big were the log pails?” asked Joey.
“Oh, big enough to hold ten to twelve quarts of sap. We emptied them into wooden barrels on a stoneboat.”
“Wow!” exclaimed Joey. “Hollowing out logs must have been a lot of work.”
“It was,” agreed Grandpa. “Buying pails sure beats making them.”
“You must have bought new pails,” said Joey, pointing to the stacks of shiny pails on the stoneboat.
“No,” Grandpa said, “I’ve had them a long time.”
“How come they don’t have rusty spots like Brother Hurdy’s?” Joey asked. “He has to get new ones.”
Grandpa chuckled. “Your grandma gets credit for that. When the maple-tapping season is over, she always washes them and oils them before storing them away.”
When they reached the sugar bush, Grandpa asked Joey which he’d rather do—drill holes or pound in spouts. Joey said he wanted to learn to drill holes.
Handing him the drill, Grandpa said, “Be sure the trees you drill are at least a foot in diameter. Find the side with the most branches and roots, then bore a hole straight in an inch and a half deep about two feet above the ground. But don’t bore into any of last year’s tapholes.”
Joey found a tree that looked large enough, and he saw last year’s taphole on the side with the most branches and roots. Placing his drill bit a few inches away from the previous taphole, he asked, “How deep did you say?”
“An inch and a half.”
“Is that all?” Joey asked. “Brother Hurdy said he thought we were supposed to bore them four to five inches deep.”
“Sap travels just under the bark, so an inch and a half or so is deep enough,” Grandpa explained.
After a while Joey said, “This is great! It would have been a lot harder to bore deeper holes. I’ll have to tell Brother Hurdy.”
“It’s a lot easier on trees, too,” Grandpa said. “Deep tapholes leave brown scars in lumber. But when holes are shallow, scars tend to disappear as the tree grows.”
When Joey came to a large tree, he turned to Grandpa and asked, “Where should I bore in this tree?”
Glancing over at the tree, Grandpa answered, “Same place, on the side with the most branches and roots.”
“It’s so big, don’t you want to hang another pail on it?”
“No,” Grandpa said. “Just one. Trees need sap for their own use. They need it to stay healthy and to help them grow and mature.”
“Don’t you ever put more than one pail on a tree?” Joey asked.
“Only if it’s a lot larger tree than that one,” Grandpa answered, “and then only two.” Seeing Joey’s questioning face, he continued, “Oh, it may not hurt a tree to have two or even three pails for a season—or maybe even for three or four seasons. But you can spot a sugar bush that’s been overtapped if you see that the tops of the trees are dying.”
When Joey had to leave, he discovered that the stoneboat had no more empty pails in it. As Grandpa turned Dolly and the stoneboat around and started home, he said, “Thank you, Joey. You have been good help. You listen and you follow instructions well. I hope that what you’ve learned will help Brother Hurdy too.”
A pleased Joey looked up at Grandpa and said, “Thank you, Grandpa. I’m sure it will.”

John and Cathy visited a counselor for help with their marriage. “John can’t control his temper,” said Cathy. “He’s angry all the time, and I usually don’t even know why.”
As the conversation progressed, John became steadily more agitated. Suddenly, he stood up and yelled at his wife, “I don’t have to listen to this! You’re the one who needs counseling, not me!” Then he stormed out of the room, leaving Cathy trembling and pale.
It is impossible to have the Spirit when we are angry. The Savior told the Nephites that “the spirit of contention is not of me, but is of the devil” (3 Ne. 11:29). When we allow the spirit of anger into our homes, we provide an atmosphere in which Satan can drive wedges between family members. Anger is self-serving; it feeds only our own worst emotions.
The Savior spoke against anger in the Sermon on the Mount: “Whosoever is angry with his brother without a cause shall be in danger of the judgment: and whosoever shall say to his brother, Raca, shall be in danger of the council: but whosoever shall say, Thou fool, shall be in danger of hell fire” (Matt. 5:22).
Notice that this scripture tells us not to participate in name-calling. How often do family members use belittling names and phrases in an attempt to hurt?
The alternative to anger is self-control. This doesn’t mean that we should never express our displeasure or correct offensive behavior. But when we do, we need to keep in mind that it is the behavior that is offensive, not the individual being corrected. The Lord’s counsel is that we should exercise “gentleness and meekness, and … love unfeigned; …
“Reproving betimes [quickly] with sharpness [clarity], when moved upon by the Holy Ghost; and then showing forth afterwards an increase of love toward him whom thou hast reproved, lest he esteem thee to be thine enemy” (D&C 121:41, 43).
The keys are self-control and love. These attributes are developed over time and take patience.
Keys to Overcoming Anger
When you feel angry, ask yourself, Who will benefit if I express my anger? If a criticism will not benefit the one toward whom it is directed, don’t say it.
If it is necessary to reprove, practice the principle of correcting quickly and clearly and then showing afterwards an increase of love toward the one reproved.
Avoid name-calling, especially in anger.
Work on increasing your self-control in other areas of your life.
Seek to have the Holy Ghost in your life. You cannot feel the Spirit of the Lord and the spirit of anger at the same time.

When I was called as the stake president of the Mesa Arizona Maricopa Stake, Elder W. Mack Lawrence, at the time a General Authority Seventy, invited my wife and me into the stake president’s office and extended the calling. I dutifully accepted. Then he invited us to enter the high council room and prayerfully consider men to recommend as my counselors. As I entered the room, I saw pictures of all the stake presidents who had previously served in the stake since it was organized, and my heart sank. They were great leaders both in the Church and in the community.
I looked at my wife and said, “Kathleen, I don’t think I can do this. I’m not in their league.”
She said, “Don’t talk to me about it. You had better talk to Elder Lawrence.”
To my surprise, when I told him that I didn’t think I could fulfill the calling, Elder Lawrence responded, “Well, I suppose you’re right.”
But then he said, “You can’t do it, Brother Andersen, but the Lord can. He has the power to do His work, and if you will be worthy and work hard, He will do it. You will see.”
And He did.

My name is Thomas, and I am a gatherer.
This year in Primary we are learning how to gather. Our leaders asked us to gather our families for prayer and scripture study. They want us to practice gathering so we will know how to gather now and when we grow up—on missions, at school, or even when we are alone. That way we can always spiritually gather with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and find peace in Them.
My job is to gather my family for morning prayer. I ask, “Will you please join me for prayer?” My brother Henry gathers us for evening prayer and scripture study.
One Saturday morning, we left early to play basketball. Afterward, we ran errands. I suddenly remembered and said, “Mom, we forgot to gather to pray.” She told me we could gather when we got home. But I said, “We need to gather and pray right now!” She asked me to say the prayer, but she kept her eyes open because she was driving.
Mom and Dad tell Henry and me how thankful they are that we gather our family for prayer and scripture study. They say our small voices make a big difference in our home. They tell us that because we gather, our family is blessed.

The last rays of the sun dipped behind the mountain. I was miles from home, sitting on a cot in a faded green tent, wondering how I was going to solve the dilemma I was in.
It was the end of the first day of my summer job as a forest ranger in eastern Utah. That morning, I had met the two women I would be working and camping with. I was only 19; they were both in their 30s. But our differences were deeper than age. On the hike to base camp, I had hung back and listened to them talk about how strange they thought members of the Church were.
Now it was night, and my co-workers were both slipping into their sleeping bags. “Are you ready to turn the lantern off?” one of them asked me.
I had a decision to make. I hadn’t done my scripture reading for the day. But I also knew how the two women felt about members of the Church. I didn’t want them to laugh at me.
I silenced my conscience and nodded my assent. The light was extinguished, and soon the even breathing of my co-workers told me they were asleep.
But sleep evaded me. After tossing and turning, I grabbed a flashlight and my Book of Mormon and headed down to a meadow just below our campsite. “This is the perfect solution,” I said to myself. “I can read my scriptures without being made fun of.”
Happy with my plan, I turned to Mormon 8. The contentment I felt ended when I reached verse 38 and read, “Why are ye ashamed to take upon you the name of Christ? Why do ye not think that greater is the value of an endless happiness than that misery which never dies—because of the praise of the world?”
That night, as I sat under the brilliant stars in a mountain meadow, I knew the Lord was speaking to me. I had been too afraid of ridicule to show my co-workers what I believed, and the Lord was disappointed in me. Armed with this knowledge, I resolved I would change.
The next night, when my co-worker asked if I was ready to put out the lantern, my answer was different. I cleared my throat and said, “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’m going to read the Book of Mormon for a few minutes.”
I steeled myself for her laughter, but it never came. “Oh, that’s fine,” she said. “Just turn the light off when you’re done.”
I’ve never forgotten the lesson I learned that night. For the first time, I understood how relentlessly Satan tries to make us feel that we won’t fit in if we do what we’re supposed to. Often, the ridicule we are so afraid of hearing never comes. We can never be examples for good unless we let the things we believe show through our actions.

When one of Brother Kim’s former students confided that she was severely depressed and considering suicide, he told her:
“Dear sister, I know of a gospel—a wonderful gospel—capable of giving you new hope, new life. If you study it and pray to God, I promise you these things: health, happiness, joy and a desire to help others find those things, too.”
She and her daughter were among the first four baptisms in Korea, at Songdo Beach in Pusan on 3 August 1952. The other two new members were Brother Kim’s son Tai Whan and daughter Young Sook.

In 1965, Dr. Nelson was presented with an extraordinary opportunity to assume the position of professor of surgery and chairman of the Division of Thoracic and Cardiovascular Surgery at another major university. Included in the offer was a generous salary and an arrangement to pay fully for the college education of all his children when the time came.
The Nelsons were overwhelmed by this offer and were inclined to accept. But before making a decision that affected not only their family but also his service as stake president, he sought the counsel of President David O. McKay.
After hearing the details of the situation, President McKay closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair, and pondered the matter for some time. Then he said, “Brother Nelson, it doesn’t feel good to me. I don’t think you should go.”
“That was it,” says Dr. Nelson. “We declined their gracious offer with many thanks. And here we stayed.”