Gospel Story Finder

The day I received my mission call, I drove up to Gus’s gas station. I saw him standing by the cash register counting a wad of money. He scratched his beard and pulled back his long hair as he puffed a cigarette. He looked perturbed, as if he hadn’t made quite enough cash that day. I read his lips as he recounted the money and watched his mouth form numbers and then a four-letter word.

When the wheels rolled over a black hose, the customer bell rang. It startled poor Gus and caused him to swear again. He jumped when he realized it was me, spit the cigarette out, stamped on it, and crammed the money into the cash register. The entire reaction spanned a time lapse of two seconds.

I watched in amazement. I wasn’t supposed to know he smoked, swore, or worshipped money. What? Did he think I was born yesterday?

Read the rest online in “Harley-Davidson,” by J. Scott Henrie (from Aug. 1985).

I grew up in the high mountain town of Lake Tahoe, California. As kids, we spent magical winters navigating through four to six feet of snow, digging tunnels, and engineering impressive ice caves. Winter was a wonderland of fun and adventure.
In our neighborhood there were many cabins that people used only in the summertime, and another breathtaking snow sport, indulged in by some of the older kids, was climbing up onto the low roofs or porches of these empty cottages and jumping into the snow drifts far below. This roof-jumping excitement was a big no-no for me; a mom and dad rule that I found very restrictive.
The temptation grew to be too much. One day, at the age of nine, I climbed up a woodpile, monkeyed over an old ivy trellis, and scrambled onto the roof of the neighbor’s house. I sat triumphant for several minutes, surveying my domain. I felt free, and confident. It was glorious up here! I was absolutely sure my mom and dad didn’t know what they were talking about.
I remember so clearly that first jiggle of doubt as I moved to the edge of the roof and looked down at the snow. It seemed a long way down. “Aw, come on,” I chided myself. “You’ve seen the other kids do it, and they come out laughing, so it must be tons of fun.”
Temptation took hold of me, and I launched myself off the roof. Actually, everything seemed wonderful for the two seconds until my feet hit the snow. Then I remembered something important. The big kids always put their arms out, like bird wings, so that they’d only sink into the snow up to their armpits.
My thin little arms were straight down at my sides. The result of this was that I entered the snow like a rocket—sleek, smooth—and I got stuck. The snow pressed around me. I was in about 4 feet 4 inches (1.32 m) deep, and since I was only 4 feet 2 inches (1.27 m) tall, I was in trouble. I was wedged in tight, and it was a terrible feeling. I was not free anymore.
I shoved my head back, looked up into the brilliant blue sky, and yelled. I knew my mom was just inside our house. Sure that she would hear me and come running, I yelled again. No answer. The snow was absorbing my voice like cotton.
Five minutes went by; then 10. I was getting cold and very panicked. I tried to wiggle my way up. No good. I tried to kick my legs. I lost a boot. Fifteen minutes went by. I started to cry. I was so afraid I’d be stuck here forever.
Then I heard my mom’s voice calling. It sounded far away, but it was unmistakably her voice, and it was yelling my name.
I yelled out, “Mom, mom, I’m over here! I’m in the snow!”
It took some time, but eventually she found me. She dug me out and took me in to thaw by the fire. I’d been stuck only about 20 minutes, but it seemed like days. I was so glad to be free.
Mom didn’t say anything about jumping off roofs, or the loss of my boot. I guess she could tell by the look on my face that I was pondering the big issues of life: rules, foolish acts, and consequences.
Later that day my dad came to my room to have a little talk with me.
“Gale.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Your mom and I love you.”
I felt tears coming. “Yes, Dad.”
“We give you rules because we love you, and we want you to be safe. You may not always understand why there’s a rule, but you have to trust us.”
“Yes, Dad.”
That was it. He must have known that I’d already learned a big lesson from my snowbound mistake. He stopped at the door to smile at me, and I knew without a doubt I was precious to him. I also knew that he would be so sad if I did anything that brought pain into my life. I remember promising myself that I would try to be a better girl.
Junior high and high school brought their share of boundary pushing and challenges. There were times when I put my toes right on the edge of the roof and peered over. It was hard not to jump when so many of the other kids were rebelling. Whenever I thought about jumping, the memory of being stuck in the snow would come to me, and I’d feel again that fear, and cold, and loss of freedom. I’d remember my father’s voice of love and concern.
I know that Heavenly Father gives us rules to keep us safe. He does this out of love. I also know that He’s very sad when we make choices that bring pain into our lives.
The world may think they’re free as they go about breaking or flouting God’s laws, but true freedom, safety, and peace come by being obedient to the rules of a loving Heavenly Father.

One night a young idealist had a dream. He dreamed there was a new store in a nearby shopping mall. He went in and saw an angel behind a counter. Nervously, he asked what the shop sold.

“Everything your heart desires,” replied the angel.

“Then I want peace on earth,” exclaimed the idealist. “I want an end to famine, sorrow, and disease.”

“Just a moment,” replied the angel. “You haven’t understood. We don’t sell fruit here—only seeds.”

Some people have dogs to love—big ones, silky ones, spotted ones. Some people have cats to love—big ones, furry ones, stripy ones.
Some people have goldfish to love. Some people have canaries. Some people have brothers, or sisters. I didn’t have anybody—no dog, no cat, no goldfish, no canary, no sister, no brother. It was terrible.
Everybody needs somebody—somebody to hide with in the dark when everything’s creepy, somebody whose nose turns red with yours when it’s cold, somebody to slosh through the rain with. It’s pretty lonely without anybody.
“Hello, Jimmy,” I said to myself every morning. “Good night, Jimmy,” I said to myself every night. Nobody ever answered me.
When my teeth chattered and I said, “Brrrr!” nobody ever said, “I’m c-c-cold t-too!”
When I watched a scary show on television and I grew goose bumps, nobody else grew goose bumps with me. Nobody else shivered. Nobody else said, “I—I’m SCARED!”
Then Mommy talked to me one night. She told me I was going to have a baby brother or sister. “Next month,” she said.
“Whoopee!” I said. “That’s what I want.”
I waited a month, a whole month more. Then my baby brother came. He was a little red thing all wrapped up in blue blankets. “Hi,” I said.
He didn’t answer. He screwed up his eyes. He made his fists into little balls.
“How are you?” I asked.
“Waaaa!” he answered. “Waaaa!”
I tried to talk to him, but he didn’t even hear me. I didn’t even hear me.
I made a face at him to make him laugh. He didn’t laugh. He turned purple and cried—again. “Waaaa! WAAAA!”
I didn’t laugh either. He made so much noise that I couldn’t even think.
He smelled funny too.
He couldn’t blow bubble gum. He couldn’t eat ice cream. He didn’t even have much hair, just some fuzz. He couldn’t walk or run or talk.
“Good night,” I whispered to him. He was already asleep.
That night I heard him. It was dark.
“Waaaa!” he yelled. “Aa-aah!”
“Waaaa,” I said. “Waaaa. Waaaa. Waaaa.” Nobody paid any attention. Nobody laughed either.
So I still didn’t have anybody to play with. When I laughed because the grass tickled my elbows, nobody laughed beside me. When I jumped into bed and the springs plunked, nobody plunked beside me.
But after a while …
When I leaned over the crib to tickle my brother’s toes, he smiled at me.
When I helped Mommy hold his bottle, he wrapped his fingers around my finger. I couldn’t get away. I didn’t even try.
When I walked my fingers over his stomach, he kicked his feet because it tickled.
When I blew at the funny, fuzzy hair on top of his head, he waved his hands. He laughed. I laughed too.
And when he cried, Mommy sat him on my knee.
“Waaaa!” he said. “Waaaa!”
Mommy wrapped my arms around him. His tummy felt warm and round. “Don’t cry,” I said. “Please don’t cry.” I joggled him. He couldn’t joggle back. He stopped crying, though, and leaned against me. He pinched the skin on the back of my hands with his fingers. He kicked his heels on my legs.
“Hold him tight,” Mommy said.
I did. I held my baby brother tight. And I wasn’t lonely anymore.

“Years ago,” Mother began, “I had a neighbor who felt I had done something very wrong. It hurt me deeply. I couldn’t even see her in church without hurting so much that I wanted to go home where I wouldn’t have to look at her. I talked to your dad about it, but it didn’t help. I even talked to the bishop. But still the hurt went on and on. In time, I think she realized that she was wrong, but she never apologized to me.”
Mother reached for the large family Book of Mormon on the end table next to the couch and flipped through the pages. “I used to pray so hard that I could forgive her so that we could go on being friends like before. But it didn’t seem to help. I didn’t even want to have a Church calling anymore if it meant working with her or teaching her children. It was like a poison, and I knew it. But I just didn’t know how to overcome it.
“I was reading in the Book of Mormon one afternoon, and I came across these verses.” She pointed to Moroni 7:47–48 [Moro. 7:47–48]. “Will you read them for me, Roger?”
“‘But charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him.
“‘Wherefore, my beloved brethren, pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ.’”
“Well, at first I thought, That’s just what I’m doing. I pray every morning and every night that I can forgive, but it just isn’t helping. And then another thought came to my mind as clearly as if someone had spoken it: It doesn’t say to pray to forgive, it says to pray for the pure love of Christ. The thought was startling to me, and I realized that by asking Heavenly Father to help me forgive her, I was really asking Him to side with me. After all, if I had to forgive her, then she was wrong and I was right. But if I just wanted to love her the way Jesus Christ loves her, it didn’t matter who was wrong and who was right. Then I was leaving the judgment in the Savior’s hands, where it belonged.”
“Are you still friends?” Roger asked.
Mother nodded. “That neighbor was Kathy.”

Ever since my baptism, I have been able to serve in the Church. My first opportunity was as a visiting teacher. I loved being a visiting teacher and loved serving with Myrlande Jolibois. As my companion, she taught me how to care for the sisters and how to bring joy to those we were invited to teach. We walked everywhere and happily visited all our sisters. Her service prepared me to receive my first calling three months after my baptism. I was called to be the Relief Society president and continued to serve the sisters in my ward.

Not all who received mission calls were enthusiastic about serving. John Alma Hess referred to his mission call as “that cursed letter from Box B,”6 but went on to serve a three-year mission to Germany. A surprised Eli Beckstead wrote, “I am not a believer in the gospel … but will investigate the Church works a little more fully, and you might possibly hear from me in the future.”7 When Clarence E. Post responded, “Dear Bro., I am ready to go but don’t want to go very bad,” President Joseph F. Smith (1838–1918) assigned the Church mission secretary to “comfort him.”8 Elder Post began serving in the Northwestern States Mission one month later.

A vivid example of the position of members of the Church in relation to the world was portrayed to us one evening in our sacrament meeting, now many years ago, when a man named Brother Smith came to speak. He told us of his experience in working to rehabilitate men in the state penitentiary. A mother had asked him to reach out to her boy who was in prison.

In approaching the young man, Brother Smith was rudely rebuffed: “Leave me alone,” was the tone. However, Brother Smith noticed a rather crude painting in the prison one day and on inquiry learned that this young man had drawn it. This inspired a new approach:

“Did you paint that picture?”

“Yes, I did it.”

“I was impressed with it. I wonder if you would paint something for me.”

“I don’t know. What picture do you want?”

“I have never seen it,” said Brother Smith. “I have only read about it.”

“Where is it?” inquired the young man.

“It is here in this book,” responded Brother Smith. “The Book of Mormon, 1 Nephi, chapter 8. Will you read it and see if you can see the picture?”

Later Brother Smith inquired if the young man had read it.

“Yes, I read it,” he said.

“Did you see the picture?”

“Yes, I saw it.”

“Will you paint it for me?”

“I don’t know if I will or not.”

Brother Smith then obtained the necessary materials for painting a picture and presented them to the young man, who for the first time responded with warmth and appreciation to be able to use good equipment, and he painted the picture. Brother Smith brought it with him to our sacrament meeting, and so I have seen it. It is, of course, the picture of Lehi’s dream.

Now, will you try to see the picture in your own imagination? All you who have read 1 Nephi, chapter 8, will recall the scene. If you have not read it, I wish you would do so and get the feeling and the vision of this picture.

The description is as follows: First, Lehi wandering through a dreary waste, then coming to a spacious field; the tree with the most desirable fruit to be happy, the love of God; Lehi’s desire to share the fruit with his family; the rebellion of two of his sons; the pressing forward of many people to receive the fruit; the mists of darkness, which arose to obscure the path; the river of water along the path, which could mean destruction; the rod of iron, which represented security in staying on the path; the huge building across the river filled with scoffing people; the susceptibility of those who had followed the path to succumb to the scorn and pride of those of the world; and the wandering away of those who had partaken of the fruit of the tree of life into forbidden paths of destruction.

I know of no more graphic description of the condition of those who call themselves Latter-day Saints in relation to the influences of the world than this great vision. This story is reality. It is a great prophesy. It is a vivid warning.

Let me complete the story of the young man in prison. Brother Smith pointed to an angel the young man had painted hovering over the chasm of filthy water and asked him: “Where did you get that angel? I don’t remember any angel when I read about the picture.”

The young man replied: “I know. I put it there. It is my angel. As I painted the picture, I began to realize that God had placed an influence in my way which could bring me to safety and redeem me from the course I have been pursuing.”

This experience, of course, was the beginning of his recovery.

Last year, I made a goal for the Children and Youth program to make new friends. It was hard because I had already known everyone in my grade since kindergarten. But this year in fifth grade, I joined a program called “Peer Buddies.” In Peer Buddies, fifth graders work with younger kids who have learning disabilities or delays.
On the first day of Peer Buddies, I was paired with a little kid named Carter.* He didn’t talk much, but right away he wanted to play on the scooters. I got on one, and he started to chase me. I scooted away and then let him catch me every time. When it was time to go, all I wanted was to be back in that gym playing with Carter.
When it was time for Peer Buddies again, I walked to the gym. When Carter saw me he started jumping up and down. That moment meant a whole lot to me. It meant he was my friend just as much as I was his.
I feel really happy when I’m serving Carter. But it makes me feel even better when I think that every time I’m serving Carter, I am serving Jesus. I’m thankful the Children and Youth program helps us set and work on goals, and that we get blessings from doing those goals—like finding new friends!

George didn’t know what to do. But he did know who to ask for help. His Heavenly Father! When George was a young man, he didn’t really believe in God. He lied and stole money from his friends and family and only read the scriptures because he had to for school. Then one day George met some people who loved God and tried to follow Him. George began to pray every day. He learned that God was real and would answer the prayers of His children.
When George Müller opened his first orphanage in 1836, he wanted to provide a home for children who didn’t have parents. He also wanted to share his testimony of God’s love. So George decided to trust that God would help him. When George needed money or food or even jobs for the orphans who had grown up and were ready to leave, he would get on his knees and pray. George had faith that if he prayed to know God’s will and then asked for help, God would help him. And God did! Donations and help always came just in time. The children in the orphanages had what they needed, and George helped them see that God loved them.
As George looked at the broken heater, he knew this time would be no different. George had faith that God would help. He called workmen to come and fix the heater, but before they could come, a freezing north wind began to blow. George was worried. How would the children stay warm until the heater was fixed?
Then George remembered a story from the Bible where the walls of Jerusalem were built quickly because the builders had a “mind to work” (Nehemiah 4:6). George got on his knees and began to pray. “Lord,” said George, “would you be pleased to change the north wind to a south wind? And would you give the workmen a mind to work?”
When George woke on the morning of the repairs, the weather had changed! Even though it was December, a warm south wind was blowing. The children would be warm and wouldn’t need a fire while the heater was being fixed. The repairs could begin!
The workmen spent all day trying to fix the heater. But there was too much work to finish in one day. At the end of the day, George went down to the cellar of the orphanage. The man in charge of the workers told George, “The men will work late this evening and come very early again tomorrow.”
George nodded. He hoped the weather would stay good until then.
Then one of the workers spoke up. “We would rather, sir, work all night,” he said.
George smiled. He remembered how he had prayed that the men would have a mind to work hard and finish the repairs as quickly as possible. By morning, the heater was fixed and the orphanage was warm and snug before the winter winds returned. George knew that God had answered his prayer.

There’s something different about Chris and Jason Trevino of Huntsville, Alabama. Something different in a positive way, a way that makes you want to understand why they’re so upbeat all the time and why they seem to have life all figured out.
This is made all the more intriguing by the fact that the two 19-year-old brothers are identical twins—twins so much alike that people get confused, yet with something so different about them they stand out among their peers. For example:
—They spend a lot of time helping their neighbors, the Wellmans, take care of their three youngest children, Michael, Jennifer, and Nathan. They play and laugh with and tease them in a good-natured way. They organize parties for them and take them fishing or boating. Sometimes they all camp out as a group in the Wellmans’ backyard. Chris and Jason are more like older brothers than neighbors to them. And what do the twins get in return for their kindness? A squeeze play. The kids smother them with hugs.
—They take care of three horses at a nearby riding club, mostly in return for the privilege of being allowed to exercise them now and then. They do the dirty work without complaining. They show up when they say they will and do all that they’re asked. They help with expenses. They’re totally dependable.
—They love their family. Put Jim and Barbara Trevino and their twin boys together and it’s like you’re with a group of best buddies, friends who treat each other with ultimate respect. Add 15-year-old sister Allison to the mix, and it only gets better.
Bad mood? The twins make it disappear.
Help with homework? No problem.
Want to tag along while we go somewhere? Great. Hop in.
Yes, the twins treat everyone well, most of all mom and dad and sister. But there’s something else—fondness may be the closest description. This family really enjoys being together, in a way that lets you know they’ll always be close.
—Most of all, at a time in life when many young men of their age and athletic ability concentrate on which college they’ll attend, what teams they’ll be on, and what young women they’re dating, the twins are leaving all that behind.
Argentina. That’s what they want to talk about right now, because soon that’s where they’ll be. They’ve both been called to serve as full-time missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Chris in Bahia Blanca. Jason in Resistencia. Two years at their own expense. Two years bearing testimony of the Lord Jesus Christ. Two years focused entirely on the needs of other people.
And maybe that’s the clue to figuring out the Trevino twins. The difference that makes them both the same is their love for other people. It’s a love that comes from following the Savior and living his teachings, from concentrating on what really counts instead of wasting worry on worldly things. It’s a dedication that brings happiness so filling it spills out into everything they do and everyone they meet. Add that to personalities that have always been spontaneous, and you’ll find Chris and Jason telling everyone what they’re up to:
—Getting passport pictures taken, they keep telling the photographer about how they’ll be representing the Church. “That’s why we brought our suits for the pictures,” Chris explains.
—Meeting with the county sheriff, who has to sign letters for their visas, they can’t help explaining how excited they are about spreading the gospel. “I can tell,” chuckles the sheriff, who already knows their father.
—At the county government building, they tell the clerks about going to Argentina to preach the gospel. “Isn’t that great?” Jason beams.
—Their mother’s boss, Victor Howard, is a Church member who works across the street. Dropping in to visit, they soon have him joking along with them. But after a few minutes, they talk seriously about the mission he served and how much he loves the Lord, the gospel, and the Church.
You have to understand. Chris and Jason are the kind of guys who, if you ask about diving and you’re close to the community pool, will show you the dives they do. Never mind that they didn’t bring their suits. They’ve been lifeguards here, and the caretaker, who knows them well, gives permission. They look at each other, accept the challenge, and even though they’re in jeans, jump on the board and plunge in the pool. You get the feeling that’s the same way they’ll plunge into missionary work—follow the rules, be dependable, work hard. But get with it—no wimpy excuses.
It’s sort of like a lesson Chris says he learned at the stables.
“Horses are good,” he explains. “If you work with them you learn to love them. But there’s one named Alvin. I don’t like to ride him a whole bunch because of his attitude. He fights me and tries to get the reins from my hands. He thinks he should do what he wants when he wants. There are a few missionaries who are like that. If their mind’s stuck on somebody back home, or if they go out just because everybody else thinks they should be there, they’ve got to change their attitude. You can’t complain about the reins; you’ve got to concentrate on where you’re going.”
And that’s what Chris and Jason are doing—concentrating on where they’re going. Not just on their missions but in their lives.
Sure there are some things that will be tough to leave behind. Family first of all. Friends a close second. Even the horses they’ve taken care of. And school, and work, and just having a blast. But nothing stands in the way once you gain the perspective of eternity. Even having to work in separate missions.
“Chris opened his call letter first, and I saw Argentina,” Jason says. “Then I opened mine, and for a split second it was like, ‘We’ll be in the same mission!’ Then we read more and found out we’d be in different parts of the country. We’ve been together for 19 years, and now we’ll be apart. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is what we’ll be doing.”
Serving others. Bringing them the truth.
Like the times when they’ve talked with Mrs. Wellman about her oldest son, who died in an accident at age four, and where he is now and what he’s doing. Like the times when they’ve shared Church magazines with her, or watched the video Called to Serve.
“Don’t just let her borrow it,” Chris said then. “Let’s have her over here and we’ll all watch it together.”
These are, after all, brothers who are close in more ways than appearance. “We talk about everything together,” Jason says. “Now we’ll just do it through our letters.” That will make for some pretty great letters. Letters they’ll share with Mom and Dad and Allison. Letters they’ll share with the Wellmans and their kids. Letters they’ll share with close friends. Letters in which they’ll bear testimony and record the adventures of two years spent preaching the gospel.
“In the past we looked at missions like they were something they ask you to do,” Jason says. “Once we got closer to it, we thought, ‘It’s the Lord and the prophet who call you, and their way is the right way to go.’ We’d go to church and come home in such a great mood. We talk to everybody about it.”
That includes the 12- and 13-year-old Sunday School class he and Chris teach together.
“I’m learning more and more about the gospel,” Jason says, “especially when we talk about things like the plan of salvation and patriarchal blessings. It’s a learning experience. And I think a lot about Heavenly Father and how much he loves us. He gave up his son for us. He must have a lot of love for us to do something like that.”
“Being as close as I am to my brother,” Chris continues, “it gives me some understanding of how close I should be to the Savior, who is also my brother. Even though Jason and I will be apart during our missions, we’ll be close to Him. And that will make the bond between us even stronger.”
Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. That’s the something that makes these twins different from a lot of their peers, but exactly the same in what truly counts.
Editor’s note: Since this story was written, both Chris and Jason have arrived in Argentina and are faithfully serving their missions.

One Sunday at a new ward, I sat alone during sacrament meeting. Afterward, I watched ward members talk to one another, but nobody introduced themselves to me, and I was too shy to start a conversation. As a more introverted person, I felt out of place in a ward that seemed like it was full of extroverted people. I felt like a failed member of the Church because they had skills of connection that I didn’t. So I went home before Sunday School.
I figured that being different socially prevented me from fitting in or unifying with my congregation. But over time, I’ve realized that a difference in social comfort or abilities doesn’t have to divide us or prevent us from worshipping. Rather, despite our differences in introversion and extroversion, we can all contribute unique abilities that God needs in His kingdom.

I think one of the beautiful pictures that I remember back in the early days of the program was when we looked up and saw a beautiful field, white with cotton bolls, and then saw the Relief Society sisters, the Primary children, the men and women and children in the rows of cotton with their long bags trailing behind them. They were learning to pick cotton. When they went to weigh, they always were disappointed. They thought they had 150 pounds dragging behind them, and it turned out to be only eight or ten. I remember they were happy; they were doing something that was constructive. They were helping others. I remember sometimes in their happiness they would sing songs like “Way Down Upon the Swanee River.”
I have seen them picking fruit, cherries, apples and peaches, and it seems to me there was a new dimension that had been added when they felt they were doing something constructive, something they did not have to do, something they wanted to do for their own people.

Thump! went the backpack on the living room end table. “Put your bag in your room, Petey!” Mother said as she rounded the corner, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Her smile faded as she noticed Peter’s somber face. “Are you OK?”
“I guess so.” Peter shrugged as he hung his coat on a hook by the door.
“Then why the glum face? Did you have a fight with Justin?”
“Well, no … It’s just that whenever I ask him to come to Primary with me, he says he’s too busy or has stuff to do or something. Why can’t I make him come? Primary is so cool!”
“Let’s sit down a minute,” Mother said, heading for the couch. She tossed the towel onto the end table next to Peter’s backpack. “Do you remember the eleventh article of faith?” she asked when they were seated. “I think that’s one you’ve already learned.”
“Hmmm, let me think.”
“‘We claim the privilege …’” she started him off.
“Oh, yeah! I remember now. That’s the one that says ‘how, where, or what they may.’”
“That’s right! It says, ‘We claim the privilege of worshiping Almighty God according to the dictates of our own conscience, and allow all men the same privilege, let them worship …’”
“‘how, where, or what they may!’” Peter finished proudly.
“That’s very good, Petey. But do you know what it means?”
Peter began to fidget on the couch.
Mother smiled thoughtfully. “Let me see if I can help. Remember last week, when Dad was out of town and we had that snowstorm?”
“Do I ever! We had to shovel the walks and driveway before school. It was a lot of work. And then the neighbor kids wanted to walk through the snow, so they tromped across our lawn, instead! What a waste of time!” Peter shook his head, remembering the footprints across the front lawn.
“Well, no it wasn’t,” Mother corrected gently. “Because our walks were clear, it was easy to get the car out to take you to school.”
“OK, OK.” Peter’s nose wrinkled slightly. “I still don’t get what that has to do with the eleventh article of faith—or Justin.”
“Well, we worked hard to clear a path in the snow—that’s what we wanted to do. It was important to us. But the neighborhood children chose to walk in the snow, instead—because that’s what was important to them. Right?”
“Right,” Peter said. “So what?”
“Well, you want Justin to go to Primary on Sunday because it’s important to you, right?”
“Oh. I think I get it,” Peter said slowly. “Even though I choose to go to Primary, that doesn’t mean that Justin has to, right?”
Mother smiled. “That’s right. Heavenly Father has given us a very precious gift called agency. It is the right to choose and act for ourselves. We can’t force someone to follow the same path we choose to follow. However, while you need to let Justin have his agency, it’s also very good for you to love him and be his friend. You can keep showing Justin the ‘clear path’ that’s important to you. And maybe—just maybe—he’ll want to follow it one day.”
As Peter grabbed his backpack and headed up the stairs, he turned and smiled. “I’m glad I have my agency so I can choose to go to Primary.”

A year ago I went with President Kimball back to his home in Arizona. And we visited the home where he grew up as a little boy. We climbed the winding stairs up to a bare room. And there the little boy, before he was a deacon, read the Bible by lamplight. We looked out the window from that upstairs room, and we saw the barns out in back where the cows had been. He used to milk nine cows every morning and night, the old-fashioned way. And as he milked the cows he learned the Articles of Faith, he learned the hymns, and he learned the Ten Commandments. He wrote them down on a little card and put them on the ground where he could look as he milked the cows.

And as he did these things, he decided to make up his mind. He was growing up, and he knew there were a lot of things that were good and a lot that were bad. He decided that when someone offered him a cigarette, he would say no. If someone offered him tea or coffee, he would say no. If they suggested that he be immoral, he would say no; to lie or to cheat, he would say no. He made up his mind when he was a little boy, before he was a deacon. He would do as his mother had taught him. He would keep the commandments.

And so as he grew older and the boys all came around and said, “Spencer, will you have a cigarette? Will you have a drink of whiskey? Will you have some coffee?” he didn’t have to stop to think. He didn’t worry about hurting their feelings. He had made up his mind just once to say no, and after that it was easy always to say no to the bad things. And that is how he has lived his life all these years.

There is another little sign in President Kimball’s office. This one reads: “Don’t quit.” We are all going to have hardships and setbacks. But Heavenly Father will not give us a hardship that we cannot overcome. Behind many Olympic champions are stories of incredible hardships that had to be overcome. Just this past summer, many of us had the opportunity to see an American win his country’s first gold medal in Greco-Roman wrestling. We saw this big guy crying tears of joy as he stood on that victory stand. Just two years before, he had undergone a serious operation for a rare form of cancer. He never gave up. Now he is an Olympic champion.

Four years ago I attended a memorial service for my brother Gary. One of the speakers paid a great tribute to my brother. I have been thinking about it ever since. He said, “Gary was a priesthood man. … He understood the priesthood, honored the priesthood, and fully embraced the priesthood and its principles.”
When my brother died, he was a high priest in the Melchizedek Priesthood, and he had enjoyed 50 years of priesthood service. Gary was a loving husband and father who had served an honorable full-time mission, married in the temple, magnified his priesthood callings, and served diligently as a home teacher.
You are an Aaronic Priesthood holder. Your priesthood service is just beginning. You may not even have 50 days of priesthood experience yet. But you can be worthy of the same tribute Gary received. In fact, you should be worthy of that tribute. The Lord has called you to a wonderful work, and He expects you to be a priesthood man.
Just think about the greatness of the Aaronic Priesthood that you bear:
The Lord sent the resurrected John the Baptist to restore the Aaronic Priesthood. When John conferred this priesthood on Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery, he called them his “fellow servants” (D&C 13:1). President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) pointed out that John “did not place himself above Joseph and Oliver. He put them on his same level when he addressed them as ‘my fellow servants.’” President Hinckley went on to say that a 12-year-old deacon can also be John’s fellow servant.1
The Aaronic Priesthood holds the key of the ministering of angels (see D&C 13:1). As you live righteously and serve diligently, you can receive the ministering of angels to guide and strengthen you. Through your administration of the sacrament, you can help others receive this blessing as well.2
The Aaronic Priesthood “holds the keys of … the gospel of repentance, and of baptism by immersion for the remission of sins” (D&C 13:1). Repentance and baptism join to form the gate that people enter to start on the path to eternal life (see 2 Nephi 31:17–18). Acting under the direction of your priesthood leaders, you can help people open this gate.
The Aaronic Priesthood includes the authority to administer the sacrament. When you prepare, bless, or pass the sacrament, you represent Jesus Christ (see 3 Nephi 18:1–12). You help your family members and friends remember Him, renew their covenants, and qualify for the companionship of the Holy Spirit.
Such opportunities require the work of priesthood men—men who are spiritually strong and who fulfill their priesthood duties.
Under the direction of our living prophets, a resource has been prepared to help you be a priesthood man. Although the resource is new, it has a familiar name: Duty to God.
I am excited about the new Duty to God book. It can help you obey the Lord’s command to “learn [your] duty” and “act in the office in which [you are] appointed, in all diligence” (D&C 107:99).
Using the book as a deacon, teacher, and priest, you will participate in activities in two categories: spiritual strength and priesthood duties.
Each activity in the Duty to God book follows a pattern that will help you become the priesthood holder the Lord wants you to become: First, you learn about a gospel principle or a priesthood duty. Then you act on what you have learned. Finally, you share your thoughts and feelings about what you have learned and experienced. Some of these activities are personal. Others may be adapted for your entire quorum to use in Sunday lessons or in activities during the week.
On page 39 the sample from the book shows how this pattern works. The comments are from young men who have already had great experiences with the new book.
Learn: This portion of the activity guides your efforts to learn about a gospel principle or a priesthood duty. It includes instruction for you to make a plan of your own based on what you have learned.
“You get to learn spiritually” about your priesthood duties before you do them.
Aaronic Priesthood holder in the United States
“I liked the idea of trying to come up with things that could really help me as an individual.”
Aaronic Priesthood holder in Guatemala
“I liked the sections of studying the scriptures and praying and I did these things and am still doing them. I am preparing to serve a mission.”
Aaronic Priesthood holder in the Philippines
Act: In this portion of the activity, you follow your plan and write your thoughts and feelings about your experiences.
“As young men in the branch we decided that we would set a goal to get together and jog. We really liked planning this together and as a group work on becoming more physically fit.”
Aaronic Priesthood holder in Guatemala
“The book is … like a diary or a journal where you can be … self-reflective. It’s a good process to go through.”
Priest in the United States
“I have a hard time scheduling my scripture study. … The goals I had to read the scriptures and pray helped me to make time and stay focused. It really made a difference for me, and I felt the Spirit as I did it.”
Priest in the Philippines
Share: After you have followed your plan, you have the opportunity to share your thoughts and feelings with family members, quorum members, and others.
“When you share, you want to keep talking with others about it because [sharing has] helped you to better understand.”
Aaronic Priesthood holder in the United States
“It was good to be able to talk with my parents.”
Aaronic Priesthood holder in the Philippines
“In our quorum meeting we liked talking with one another about our goals: what we were doing as individuals and how this was helping us.”
Aaronic Priesthood holder in Guatemala
When I think of the phrase “priesthood man,” I obviously think of my brother Gary. But I also think of others. I think of President Thomas S. Monson, who, as a deacon, felt that he stood on holy ground when he helped a disabled man partake of the sacrament.3 I think of John the Baptist, the great Aaronic Priesthood holder who prepared the way for the Savior’s mortal ministry by teaching, testifying, and administering the sacred ordinance of baptism. And I think of you. As you grow in spiritual strength and help others come unto Christ through your priesthood service, you are truly a priesthood man.
For more information about Duty to God, read the booklet’s introduction or visit www.DutytoGod.lds.org.

When he was three years old, he surprised his parents with his Christmas wish: a violin. He had heard his older sister playing her violin and really liked the sound.
For Christmas he got his own little violin, and he surprised everyone by figuring out how to play songs on it by ear. When he was five he got a bigger violin and started taking violin lessons. Then he surprised everyone with how much he loved practicing.
Now Benjamin is nine. And people are surprised because he plays in the high school orchestra. That’s pretty unusual for a fourth grader! Some of his favorite pieces are by Vivaldi and Handel. His favorite Primary song is “A Child’s Prayer.”
Right now Benjamin is trying to learn to compose music. He wants to write a piece that he can play in church.

One of the most memorable lessons was learned by those who left the path. They felt disappointed as they had to wait in “spirit prison” and watch their brothers and sisters walk by them on the path.

Jackie Haws, 18, said: “Because I was on the youth committee, one of my jobs was to try to lead others astray. Because of this, I ended up going to ‘spirit prison’ and being separated from the others. I felt such shame in prison. But I’m so grateful for repentance. I need it every day.”

Let’s hurry along to Redwood Road. There is a much larger home here where many widows reside. Most are seated in the well-lighted living room. But in her bedroom, alone, is one on whom I must call. She hasn’t spoken a word since a devastating stroke some years ago. But then, who knows what she hears?—so I speak of good times together. There isn’t a flicker of recognition, not a word spoken. In fact, an attendant asks if I am aware that this patient hasn’t uttered a word for years. It made no difference. Not only had I enjoyed my one-sided conversation with her—I had communed with God.