Gospel Story Finder

Teenagers from the priests quorum of the Kansas City North Ward are brightening the lives of some elderly inner-city residents by helping repair their homes. Since last winter, the group has rebuilt steps and added porch railings to several older residences.
“It was hard, grueling work at times, and my toes nearly froze,” said David Nielsen, one of the young men. “But it makes me feel good to help people who can’t keep up their homes just because they are elderly or too sick.”
The boys came up with the idea when the group’s leader, Matt Kessler, read about the Metropolitan Lutheran Ministry’s need for volunteers to help weatherize inner-city homes for the disadvantaged. The following Sunday in priesthood meeting he suggested the young men volunteer. The priests decided it would be a great service project. They contacted the ministry, which provided them with home referrals for the group to get started. A local lumber company provided the materials for the project.
Most of the boys had little or no experience in carpentry before the project began. Brother Kessler taught them the basic skills they required and supplied the tools the young men used. Most of the work was done by hand. “The project gives the boys an opportunity to serve people and see another part of life which they are not accustomed to,” said Brother Kessler. “We also wanted them to know how to build something when we finished.”
Most of the people the boys help are elderly widows. One 80-year-old woman, Mrs. Sara Chagoyan, has been unable to take care of her home since her husband died ten years ago. “My new steps are perfect,” she said. “I was afraid to go out my back door because the steps were so unsafe. Now I think how wonderful they are every time I go in and out of my house. I really appreciate the boys helping me.”
“I felt like I was on a mission,” said Brett Van Fleet. “We’ve actually been able to reach out and change somebody’s life.”

“One time my mother told me that I could have a birthday party and invite anyone I wanted. We decided that eight children would be about right. But when I got to school and looked at all the children in my class, I couldn’t decide whom not to invite, so I invited all of them without saying anything to Mother. Instead of eight children at the party, there were forty-four! She just laughed about it and put some cupcakes into the oven. By the time we had played our games, she was able to serve them all something. A lot of mothers would have been upset over the situation, but not mine.”

When an LDS classmate invited Horváth Attila, 16, to sacrament meeting, Attila liked what he saw.

“Then, when my friend told me the Church was very family-centered, I became even more interested.”

Within weeks, Attila was baptized.

Three months later, his father asked to hear the discussions. “I knew enough about the Church by that time,” says Attila, “that I could help my father learn about it. The knowledge I had received in seminary helped me explain the scriptures to him. But since he smoked and drank coffee a lot, I didn’t have the faith that he would be baptized. I was amazed when I saw how—with the help of our Heavenly Father—he was able to rid those things from his life. Two months later, I baptized my father!

“Then when my mother saw how happy my father and I were in the Church, she also started to be interested. I baptized her three months after baptizing my father! The next day, my whole family came to church and bore their testimonies. It’s not possible to describe what kind of feeling it was for me.”

That heritage lies in a somewhat complex story that stretches back about 20 years, to the city of Angoulême, France. There, full-time missionaries were guided to a man named Michel Menardin, who had come from Guadeloupe, an overseas department of France, to perform his military service. Michel accepted the gospel and was baptized and confirmed.
That same year in the same town, missionaries left a pamphlet in a mailbox. It triggered interest from a single mother, Claudine, who was raising a 19-year-old daughter, Delphine. They both gained testimonies and were also baptized and confirmed.
Michel and Claudine met at church, decided they were meant for each other, and married. (They are Coco’s grandparents.) When Michel’s mother, Marthé, came for the wedding, she stayed in Angoulême, became acquainted with the Church, and joined.
Later, Delphine was called on a mission to Seattle, Washington. While she was serving, her parents and grandmother moved back to Guadeloupe. After her mission, Delphine came to visit them, and while in Guadeloupe she met Claude Gamiette, who had recently returned from the Florida Jacksonville Mission. He was serving as a counselor to Delphine’s stepfather in the branch presidency. The two returned missionaries dated and were married a short time later. Claude and Delphine are Coco’s parents. Now, 14 years and five children later, Claude, whose own family goes back years in the Church, is president of the Basse-Terre Guadeloupe District.
So with all of that, Coco is a fourth-generation Latter-day Saint. “I’ve grown up in the Church,” she says. “I’ve heard about it my whole life, gone to Primary and now to Young Women, and heard my parents and their parents and their parents bear their testimonies. I’ve always known the gospel is true. When I read in Mosiah about the promises the believers made when Alma baptized them, that’s what I’ve seen and felt my whole life.”

“Do any of you know about a new family down on that block by the river?” Bishop Barton asked. “They are new converts from Brazil, and I think the oldest boy should be old enough for Scouts.” The cold air of the bishop’s office kept me, the Scout leader, awake.
“John,” said the bishop. The slumbering deacons quorum president raised his head, showing red lines where the heater he was using for a pillow had left a mark. “Glad to see you again,” observed the bishop, laughing. “I need you to get with Brother Wood and Brother Tolson and go see who this boy is and invite him to Scout meeting.”
“Okay,” John said. But I feared the assignment would turn into one of those we’ll-get-around-to-it kind of things that somehow never happens.
“Maybe you’ll need an address.” The bishop was already writing it out. “His name is Rurik Janiszewski.”
That is how we came to stand before a dilapidated door at the Janiszewski home one night.
“Guess they aren’t home,” John said after one timid attempt at knocking. Brother Wood, John, and I turned to go, but I saw a small face at the window. It quickly disappeared. The door then opened slowly, and a little girl in pajamas stood there among a pile of newspapers.
“Missionero?” she asked. Brother Wood broke into his mission Portuguese, and they talked for a few minutes. Then the door closed.
“She said something about everybody delivering newspapers,” he said. We looked in the carport and saw stacks of thick papers. Right then a beat-up minivan pulled up, and a smiling man emerged from the car. Inside the house a woman said a few things and a cascade of children hurried about, grabbing papers. I could tell that the subject of the bishop’s query was the big kid who looked at me suspiciously from the dimly lit house.
Brother Wood explained the purpose of our visit and then spoke to me. “They are new to the Church; he’s never heard of Scouts,” he said. Somehow we got the point across.
I’d like to say it was easy for Rurik in the Scout troop, but it wasn’t. His English was pretty good, but his winter camping skills weren’t. He was often late, and he sometimes missed our meetings. Unfortunately, some guys teased him about his lack of preparation and camping gear. Despite this, he kept coming and earned a few merit badges.
One day after a troop meeting, Rurik’s dad approached me, seeming a little nervous.
“Would you like to earn some money?” he asked, catching me off guard. He explained in broken English that he did a newspaper route and that he had a problem that he could only take care of by leaving with his family for two weeks. I said something noncommittal, as it was still a few weeks away.
He called again, however, and after some persistence on his part I reluctantly accepted and quickly enlisted a few Scouts in the effort. We decided to go out a couple of times and learn the route. I was unprepared for what we saw.
As I watched that little family scurrying about, dodging traffic to deliver 300 newspapers all over town in the hardest places while negotiating lots of stairs, I was humbled to realize this was how they made a living.
I called the newspaper supervisor, who in a gruff way explained that the Janiszewskis would lose the route if they didn’t obtain a substitute. That was pretty motivational to our effort. The Scouts battled and struggled, and lots of people came to help. It nearly turned into a ward project, and we were really dragging by the end of two weeks. I realized what a sacrifice it had been for Rurik to come on trips and to meetings held during times when he was delivering papers. That’s when I decided in the future we would wait even if Rurik was late to troop activities.
I knew how my perspective had changed, and the Scouts’ reactions didn’t disappoint when Rurik returned from his trip.
“Rurik, how do you do that whole paper route every night?” asked Jason. “Even when it rains?” questioned Kevin. Rurik nodded, flashing a rare smile, basking in his new popularity with the troop.
“Every day,” he said. “Why do you think I come to campouts? I don’t have to do the papers then.” There was a newfound respect for Rurik and his family. It was obvious we had come to love them when the troop refused Brother Janiszewski’s attempt to pay us.
Rurik and his family moved back to Brazil not long after that. Rurik asked for some pictures of our snow camps and igloos, as he was sure no one in Brazil would believe what he had experienced.
We hope he won’t forget us, for we will never forget how much we learned from a thing as simple as a paper route.

In early July 1829, with manuscript in hand, Joseph knew the Lord wanted him to publish the Book of Mormon and spread its message far and wide. But the publishing business was unfamiliar to him and his family. He had to keep the manuscript safe, find a printer, and somehow get the book in the hands of people willing to consider the possibility of new scripture.
Publishing a book as long as the Book of Mormon would also not be cheap. Joseph’s finances had not improved since he started the translation, and all the money he made went toward providing for his family. The same was true for his parents, who were still poor farmers working land they did not own. Joseph’s only friend who could finance the project was Martin Harris.
Joseph set to work quickly. Before he completed the translation, he had filed for the book’s copyright to protect the text from anyone who might steal or plagiarize it.1 With Martin’s assistance, Joseph also started looking for a printer who would agree to publish the book.
They went first to Egbert Grandin, a printer in Palmyra who was the same age as Joseph. Grandin declined the proposal at once, believing the book was a fraud. Undeterred, Joseph and Martin kept searching and found a willing printer in a nearby city. But before accepting his offer, they returned to Palmyra and asked Grandin once more if he wanted to publish the book.2
This time, Grandin seemed more willing to take the project, but he wanted to be paid $3,000 to print and bind 5,000 copies before he even started work. Martin had already promised to help pay for the printing, but to come up with that kind of money, he realized he might need to mortgage his farm. It was an enormous burden for Martin, but he knew none of Joseph’s other friends could help him with the money.
Troubled, Martin began to question the wisdom of financing the Book of Mormon. He had one of the best farms in the area. If he mortgaged his land, he risked losing it. Wealth he had spent a lifetime accruing could be gone in an instant if the Book of Mormon did not sell well.
Martin told Joseph his concerns and asked him to seek a revelation for him. In response, the Savior spoke of His sacrifice to do His Father’s will, regardless of the cost. He described His ultimate suffering while paying the price for sin so that all might repent and be forgiven. He then commanded Martin to sacrifice his own interests to bring about God’s plan.
“Thou shalt not covet thine own property,” the Lord said, “but impart it freely to the printing of the Book of Mormon.” The book contained the true word of God, the Lord assured Martin, and it would help others believe the gospel.3
Although his neighbors would not understand his decision, Martin obeyed the Lord and mortgaged his farm to guarantee payment.4
Grandin signed a contract and began to organize the massive project.5 Joseph had translated the text of the Book of Mormon in three months, assisted by one scribe at a time. It would take Grandin and a dozen men seven months to print and bind the first copies of the 590-page work.6
With a publisher hired, Joseph returned to Harmony in October 1829 to work his farm and be with Emma. Oliver, Martin, and Hyrum, meanwhile, would oversee the printing and send Joseph regular updates on Grandin’s progress.7

I remember as a young missionary in New Zealand seeing men who stood way above the other people in that country because they had testimonies of the gospel and lived the way they should. One of them was a rugby player for the All Blacks (the equivalent of being an all-American football player in the U.S.). He had played rugby all over the world and told me that he always knelt down and prayed in the locker room before going out to play in any game. When I met him, his rugby career was over, but he was strong in the faith and a good, hard worker who could shear sheep with the best of the Maori men. He has always been one of my heroes.

One of your friends has use of the family car. In a few minutes it is packed with six young people, all active in the Church. Merely riding around doesn’t seem to furnish enough excitement or challenge. Someone suggests that it would be a good Halloween trick to harass a local restaurant owner. Two of them enter the restaurant while the others wait in the car. Suddenly they come running out with a pizza—unpaid for. They scamper into the car and a getaway is attempted. There is that grizzly bear again. Wouldn’t it be easier for you to cast the fingerlings into the bushes than to utter a silent prayer for sufficient courage to speak up and put a stop to the whole affair?

Initially, I hesitated to re-engage with the Church, but I overcame my doubts with my ward’s genuine love and support. I especially appreciated my brothers and sisters in the gospel who ministered to me with love. Their teachings awakened a testimony within me that I now share with others. I have shared the knowledge of the gospel with my friends, and they have been baptized and now serve in the Church and the temple. I believe the greatest gift one can give another person is a testimony of Jesus Christ because it brings light into our lives.

I rest for a moment and watch the pink sky brighten. Early mornings are so special that I wonder why I hated them as a child. I spent my thirteenth summer at my grandmother’s house in Preston, Idaho. I wanted to eat raspberries, swim in the canal, and read books, but my stern grandmother insisted that I tend the roses, pick the strawberries, and learn to sew. I used to hide under the covers and pretend to be asleep as I heard my grandmother making breakfast. She called to me to come outside and work in her garden, but I ignored her when I could and let the clicking of her pruning shears and the rustling of the bushes lull me back to sleep.

When I had to work in the garden, I complained. Yet talking to my grandmother as the sun spun its way across the sky, I came to love her. In the garden, she didn’t seem so austere and forbidding as she usually did. She told me of her love for my grandfather and how she had never given up on him, though for years he was not a member of the Church. Her eyes grew misty and she smiled as she told me that the happiest day of her life was the day Grandfather took their family to the temple to be sealed.

I hear Jon’s motorcycle as he roars off to work, and I rest for a moment. My tears drop like rain as my heart follows him. Then I remember my grandmother. I remember watching her graft a branch from one of her most beautiful rosebushes onto an old, half-dead bush. Her voice echoes to me from years ago. “I won’t give up on this bush without a fight,” she had said to me on that long-ago morning. “It’s too precious not to try to reclaim.”

The letters, diaries, and autobiographies of past Church leaders contain many descriptions of this baptism of the Spirit. One of these was written by Lorenzo Snow, later an apostle, and still later a president of the Church. Elder Snow wrote that immediately following his immersion in the waters of baptism at the age of twenty-two, he expected to receive the Holy Ghost, and to have the promise fulfilled that he would “know of the doctrine, whether it be of God.” (John 7:17.) But Elder Snow did not receive this assurance immediately. He began to worry whether he had done wrong—whether God was displeased with him. Several weeks later, while studying the scriptures, he felt depressed and disconsolate. He left the house and walked outside, tormented by uncertainty and enveloped by “an indescribable cloud of darkness.” He had been in the habit of going to a small grove every evening to have secret prayer. On this particular day he was so dejected that he “felt no inclination” to pray. “The heavens seemed like brass over my head,” he wrote. Nevertheless, he forced himself to pray, and soon he heard a sound “like the restling of silken robes” above his head:

“… immediately the Spirit of God descended upon me, completely enveloping my whole person, filling me from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and O the joy and happiness I felt! No language can describe the instantaneous transition from a dense cloud of mental and spiritual darkness into a refulgence of light and knowledge … I then received a perfect knowledge that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the Holy Priesthood, and of the fulness of the gospel. It was a complete baptism—a tangible immersion in the heavenly principle or element, the Holy Ghost; and even more real and physical in its effects upon every part of my system than the immersion of water.”

God had conferred upon him, he concluded, “that which is of greater value than all the wealth and honors worlds can bestow.”1
Lorenzo’s sister, Eliza, author of some of our favorite hymns and later the president of the Relief Society of the Church, had a similar experience:
“On the 5th of April, 1835, I was baptized by a ‘Mormon’ Elder, and in the evening of that day, I realized the baptism of the Spirit as sensibly as I did that of the water in the stream. I had retired to bed, and as I was reflecting on the wonderful events transpiring around me, I felt an indescribable, tangible sensation … commencing at my head and enveloping my person and passing off at my feet, producing inexpressible happiness.”2

The night Mom broke her leg, I slept through the whole thing. She fell down the stairs. Dad telephoned for help. The ambulance driver didn’t use his siren.
“Kenny, my boy, your mom and dad asked me to spend some time with you,” Granddad explained when I woke up the next morning. “They’ll be back when the doctor has your mom all fixed up.”
I stood by my bed in my pajamas with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Granddad said, giving my shoulder a pat. “She’s going to be just fine. You and I are having a very special breakfast.”
“What are we having?”
“Toast from outer space,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
The lump in my throat disappeared as I followed Granddad to the kitchen. He took four slices of bread wrapped in foil from a packet inside his jacket.
“That looks like ordinary bread to me,” I said.
“Oh, no. This bread was baked fresh this morning by real live aliens from Pluto!”
We both laughed. I opened a cupboard to get the toaster.
“No way!” Granddad exclaimed. “You can’t make toast from outer space in a toaster. We have to zap it in the oven.”
Granddad turned the oven knob to broil. Next he used a fork to scoop some soft yellow stuff from a wooden bowl. “This is softened sunshine from a galaxy far, far away. It had to travel six million years at the speed of light to get here!” He used the fork to spread the sunshine over the bread.
“Why don’t you use a butter knife?” I giggled.
“There’s a right way and a wrong way to make toast from outer space,” Granddad said with a grin. He cut each piece of bread into two triangles. Then he arranged them in a circle on a cookie sheet turned upside down. “I’m just following the directions,” he told me.
He slipped the upside-down cookie sheet into the oven. “You can’t use an ordinary earth timer for this,” he said. “We have to count, ‘One from Pluto, two from Pluto, three from Pluto,’ and so on.”
So we counted together. We got clear up to ‘ninety from Pluto’ before the toast was brown and bubbly.
When Granddad pulled the cookie sheet from the oven, he burned a finger. He dropped the toast on the countertop and yelled, “Jackrabbits!” before he stuck his finger in his mouth. We laughed again.
Then, from his shirt pocket, he took a small plastic bag.
“Sugar and cinnamon,” I said.
“This is star dust,” he whispered as he carefully sprinkled it onto the triangles of hot toast.
I quickly took my seat at the kitchen table because I was really hungry.
“We can’t eat toast from outer space at an ordinary kitchen table,” Granddad told me. “We must sit on the floor.”
He spread a clean bath towel on the floor and placed the pan with the toast, and a pitcher of orange juice, by the towel.
So Granddad and I sat on the ordinary kitchen floor, drinking ordinary orange juice, and eating toast from outer space. We talked, and Granddad laughed at my knock-knock jokes.
We had almost finished our unusual breakfast when the door opened. In came Mom and Dad. Mom walked with crutches. She had a big white cast on her foot and leg.
The lump in my throat came back.
“Don’t worry,” Mom said. “I’m all right. But I’m going to need your help for a while.”
Many weeks passed. I helped my mom. When the doctor finally cut her cast off with a little saw, things at our house were pretty much back to normal.
Then one day I walked around the block to see Alonzo, my best friend. I found him sitting on his front porch with his mom. They looked really sad.
“My dog, Poco, was hit by a car,” Alonzo told me. “My dad took him to the vet.” I could hear the lump in his throat.
“I have a great idea,” I said. “Let’s all go inside and make toast from outer space.”

Ouch! Have you ever been caught by a jumping cactus? Cholla cactus segments “jump” off to stick to your clothes, skin, or whatever else they can get their spiny claws into.
The LDS youth of New Mexico know how difficult it is to detach themselves from a prickly cactus. They got some extra practice though, as they cleaned the temple site in preparation for the Albuquerque Temple groundbreaking. Armed with shovels, rakes, and gloves, youth from four stakes assembled on a hot Saturday morning to rid the property of sagebrush, garbage, and cholla, so the weeds could be mowed and the ground would be safe to walk on for those attending the groundbreaking.
“It was hard work, but it was totally worth it for the temple to come,” says Robyn Sampson, 15.
Before the temple plans were approved, the youth fasted and prayed for a solution to the problems the temple’s project manager faced when he presented the plans to city officials. Now they say they are fasting and praying for the temple builders. But the prayers and the cleanup are only part of the work the young people of Albuquerque are doing in preparation for the temple. They are also working to make certain their own lives are clean.
Despite the burrs on their socks and an occasional scare from a snake or lizard, the Albuquerque youth succeeded in clearing the future temple site of every spiny cactus and broken bottle in sight. It might seem strange, but the youth actually enjoyed pulling cactuses and loading trucks full of sagebrush.
“We’re just so happy we will have a temple here. We thought it would never happen,” says Rosalie Campbell, 12.
Amber Chee, 17, looks forward to doing baptisms for the dead and getting married in the Albuquerque Temple someday. “It was really fun coming here. I felt the Spirit,” she says.
Both Rosalie and Amber have been to the temple to do baptisms for the dead before, but opportunities for trips to out-of-state temples come only once a year for the Albuquerque youth. They have to travel for at least eight hours to get to a temple in Denver, Colorado, or Mesa, Arizona, so they can do baptisms for the dead.
“Temples were always a faraway thing,” says Neil Peterson. As 16-year-old Neil wipes his brow, he says he enjoys helping out with something so important, even if it’s hard work.
Michelle Williams, besides concentrating on the cactus plants, was also thinking about what it will mean to have a temple in her area and about why she was cleaning up the temple site. “It’s very symbolic,” she says. “You have to be clean yourself to go to the temple.”
Logan King just turned in his mission papers and is waiting for his call. He won’t be able to go to the Albuquerque Temple before his mission, but he realizes the importance of having a temple close by and being worthy to attend it. “We need to clean all the cactuses out of our lives before we can go to the temple,” he says.
Researching family history is another way the Albuquerque youth are preparing for the temple. Many of them are more excited about doing family history now since they will soon have a temple in their area. Albuquerque’s Family History Center missionaries, Sister Wilcox and Sister Hatfield, say the temple will really strengthen the youth. Sister Wilcox says with the large number of young people in the area, there’s a “big push for genealogy.”
Sarah Sego, 17, loves doing baptisms for the dead and can’t wait for the temple to be built so she can continue to do baptisms. “I know it’s the right thing to do, because all those people are waiting,” she says.
Sarah is also helping others to learn more about why she loves going to the temple so much. She tells her friends about the temple and even tactfully shared her testimony of temple work with her high school current events class.
Sarah is not alone in her missionary efforts. Many Church members are having more and more opportunities to explain the gospel to others because of the temple.
“I think the temple will make people notice us more,” says Lisa Willis, 14, who also says she’s been telling her friends all about the temple. “The best part [of building a temple] is having people ask about it.”
Albuquerque’s full-time missionaries were also at the cleanup working hard. They say members in the area feel the temple will bring many blessings to them and to all the people of Albuquerque.
“While tracting, we stopped by a house and a woman opened the door and said, ‘Hey, I heard you guys are building one of those temples.’ That allowed us to get in the door and talk to her about the Church,” says Elder Moyer, from California. Many of the missionaries had similar stories.
The temple will actually be built in a valley where it can still be seen from faraway. In fact, it’s the same valley the Mormon Battalion came through on its famous march from the Missouri River to California. Coincidentally, the number of youth at the cleanup was about the same as the number of men who were in the Mormon Battalion.
At the groundbreaking ceremony, many young people who had been at the cleanup also sang in the youth chorus. The strains of “High on the Mountain Top” and “Holy Temples on Mount Zion” rang out over the crowd of thousands which gathered to see the temple ground dedicated.
“We all joined together to celebrate our temple,” says Tyler Lindsey, 16. “I knew that it was right and the ground was holy. I don’t know if we sounded good, but the Spirit was there.”
The Spirit is there. The spirit of service, of missionary work, and of love can be felt strongly in Albuquerque. Whether pulling cactuses or doing baptisms for the dead, the youth of Albuquerque are carrying out the Lord’s work with His Spirit to help them. The youth don’t know all the ways the temple will continue to change their lives, but they are looking forward to that day in the year 2000 when they can visit the Lord’s house in their own city.

No matter what our spiritual condition, time spent alone with our Heavenly Father in prayer and meditation can lead to insight and personal growth. Like looking in a mirror, we may discover things about ourselves that need changing. At other times, we may find that our reflection does indeed mirror the Lord’s image. One sister recently described such a personal experience:

“One evening, during fervent prayer about some serious difficulties in my life, I felt the comforting warmth of Heavenly Father’s love radiating through my body. As I gratefully closed my prayer and arose to dry my tears, I glanced into the mirror. At that moment there was no doubt that the Spirit had, at least briefly, touched and refined my physical features, as well as my heart. Its visible effects faded within seconds, but the feeling of absolute love remained with me for a time. This experience has deepened my desire to be more worthy of the Spirit’s companionship.”

Everyone knew the house—the one on the corner across from the school, the one you avoided, the one you feared. Any careless child straying from the pavement in front of that house would get a rough and sudden rebuke from the old man who lived there: “Get off of my lawn!”
Some of the young men in the Hillcrest First Ward, Logan Utah East Stake, knew that house well. It belonged to Brother Jacobsen, a less-active member of the ward. After they moved on from elementary school, the boys no longer had to pass by his house every day. But they weren’t done with that house yet.
One day the deacons quorum adviser for these boys challenged the quorum president to select a service project—one that would require a long-term commitment from the quorum.
“We had prayed and fasted about it as a presidency,” says David Shirk, 18, who was deacons quorum president at the time. “One afternoon as we drove by that certain house, I just kind of had that thought pop into my head about who we could serve. And I thought, ‘It would be cool if we could mow a lawn or something.’”
As David and his father drove by the same area later, the thought struck David again, and he told his father about it. “My dad said, ‘That was the Spirit working,’” says David. “And he said, ‘Well, how about Brother Jacobsen here?’ And he pointed to the house.”
Brother Jacobsen had recently had some health problems, so the boys in the quorum decided to help him by mowing his lawn. But asking him wasn’t easy.
“We were pretty scared,” says Michael Althouse, now 18, one of the quorum members. “We had walked past his house every day on the way to school since we were young. The only time we saw him was when he was telling us to stay off his lawn. We never saw him other than in that context, yelling at us. So we were always scared to touch his lawn, and now we were going to be asking to mow it!”
When his wife answered the door, the boys felt some relief, but then they heard a gruff voice call from within, “Who’s at the door?” The fear returned. Though Brother Jacobsen was hesitant, his wife was willing to let them mow the lawn, so they made an appointment.
During the first few visits that summer, the boys still felt a little tension, but they soon felt more and more comfortable. Of course, going home laden with Sister Jacobsen’s homemade brownies or cookies didn’t hurt. After a time even Brother Jacobsen began warming to them, coming out to talk to them about his experiences in World War II or about his favorite hobby: remote-controlled model airplanes.
Eventually Brother Jacobsen asked the boys to do various other chores, all the while telling them stories from his life or talking about his interests. After the next summer the appointments became less regular, though they continued to visit and help where needed. They felt that they had made a friend rather than just performing a service project.
Then Sister Jacobsen died. She had been diagnosed with cancer not long before, and Brother Jacobsen had started worrying that he wouldn’t see her again, because they had never been sealed in the temple. He had just recently begun to reach out to his home teachers and other members of the ward, and he later began attending church for the first time since he was a boy.
Soon after Sister Jacobsen died, Brother Jacobsen was placed in an assisted living center, but he still attended the same ward, and the young men of the Aaronic Priesthood still played their part in helping him where they could.
“When he was at church, we always tried to talk to him,” says Jacob Harrison, 18. “He would recognize us at church and say hello to us. We were asked by the bishop to go to the center and teach him out of Preach My Gospel every Sunday. Two of us would go every week.”
On these visits the boys also learned some new things about Brother Jacobsen. “They had an organ down there at the center,” says Kody Klaassen, 17, “so he would play the organ for us every time. He had once owned a music shop, so he did that kind of stuff.”
“When he was young, he used to write and record a lot of music,” says Jared Larsen, 17. “He could play any instrument. It was pretty cool. I didn’t know that about him until later on when we’d go down to the center and he’d play for us.”
Brother Jacobsen even started serving others by sharing his musical talent at other rest homes for a couple of hours a week. But most importantly, he rekindled his testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ, received the Melchizedek Priesthood, and eventually went to the temple to receive sacred ordinances and be sealed to his wife for eternity.
As the young men prepare for missions and a lifetime of priesthood service, they know that small things, such as overcoming fear or performing simple service, can lead to something great. Their experiences have also taught them a number of other important lessons.
David says he now has a better understanding of the priesthood. “It’s God’s power. We have to use it righteously. And when we hold the right priesthood keys, He has entitled us to revelation for our responsibilities. I also realized the importance of service and sustaining our priesthood leaders. Without the quorum’s support, this would never have succeeded.”
Through Brother Jacobsen, Michael saw the power of the Atonement. “You could tell that he was making an effort to make a change. And then when we started seeing him at church, there really was a big change. He seemed to have a different light or countenance about him. I think that was when I first started to understand the power and effect of the Atonement and the way it can change a life.”
“I gained a greater testimony of service and how much it can affect somebody,” says Kody. “It was really neat to see how he opened up to us through service. I don’t think any of us really knew the effect that it had on him. When I was mowing his lawn, I never thought he would be sealed to his wife. It was cool to see him gradually open up through our just doing service and the power the Spirit had then.”
“We could see that week after week we were having an effect,” says Jacob. “Our leaders kept saying, ‘When you serve your fellowmen, you serve God’ [see Mosiah 2:17]. This showed me what service can do, because Brother Jacobsen started becoming my friend.”
Jared agrees. “Becoming friends with a man you first know as the scary guy that wants you to get off his lawn and yells at you to leave—you know, there’s always a friend in someone. It just takes time to become that friend.”
Less than a year after fulfilling his goal of being sealed to his wife, Brother Jacobsen died. The boys were asked to be pallbearers at his funeral, saying goodbye to their friend with one final act of service.

One of the most challenging things I’ve ever overcome was my “I don’t care” attitude. If I wasn’t passionate about what I was doing, I was cold and impatient with people.

This all changed one school break when I was asked to care for my 76-year-old grandfather. “Dadi,” as we called him, had suffered a stroke, which left him half-paralyzed. When my family asked me to care for him for two months, I couldn’t even imagine how!

I had to wake up early to prepare his breakfast, his bath, and his medicine. I helped him walk around for his daily exercise. Since he had difficulty moving, I was by his side at all times, including during his bath and his toilet. As an 18-year-old girl, this was the hardest part.

Aside from all this, he was difficult to be with. He is not a member of the Church and has different principles than I do. He was a man full of regrets—always shouting, never smiling, and constantly saying, “I’m dying!” Because of this attitude, it was hard for us to share a good bond.

At first, I did all I could to avoid my tasks, but that didn’t work. So I decided to change my attitude and give my best effort.

After a week of this new attitude, serving Dadi became a joy to me. My patience grew, and I came to understand his affliction. As I served him, I stopped thinking of being with him as a burden but rather as an opportunity to create good times with him.

Dadi changed too. This frowning old man became a smiling, gentle grandpa. He even came to like listening to Especially for Youth songs!

One night I heard him making some noise, so I looked into his room to find out what he was doing. He was praying for the first time. I’m inspired every day by this change.

Now I’m back at college, but I still go twice a month to visit Dadi with my family. We eat with him and sing for him. His health has worsened, so now the most powerful help that I can give is prayers on his behalf.

I’m grateful for the opportunity to watch over Dadi because it helped me see what I’m capable of giving. Love is a very powerful thing—it softened both my heart and Dadi’s. I have learned the meaning of sacrifice and compassion. Truly, charity enlightens every heart!

As a boy, David O. McKay was one of the youngest players on his baseball team. They played their rivals on a holiday—American Independence Day—so the grandstand was packed.
During the game, one of David’s teammates was injured.
David: Hey, are you OK?
Coach: He’ll be fine, but you’ll take his place at bat.
David was excited and nervous. The score was tied. When it was his turn to bat, the crowd cheered. But David soon had two strikes. One more strike would put him out.
Umpire: Strike two!
The pitcher stormed toward David and picked up a baseball bat.
Pitcher: That was strike three. Get out of here, kid, or I’ll hurt you!
The field went silent. David stayed calm.
David: The umpire called only two strikes. Go back to your pitcher’s mound and try to get me out; you still have one more chance!
The pitcher saw the determination on David’s face and returned to the pitcher’s mound. David’s bat smacked the ball, and he ran to second base. The next batter sent David to home plate; it was the deciding run of the game.
Even though the crowd cheered David for his winning run, he knew they were also cheering for his courage in standing up to a bully.

The other story I should like to tell is about another prodigal son in similar circumstances who also became involved with companions who persuaded him to leave home and family for the so-called freedom from the shackles of what they call “the establishment.” He too went the whole route—alcohol, tobacco, drugs, immorality.

The difference is between the endings of these stories. Something deep within kept the boy in touch with his family. Something stirred his memory of the teachings learned in his youth, and as his family strained to the breaking point to reach out and express their love on those occasions when he made contact with them, he eventually reluctantly consented to attend a family reunion, which was being held during one of his trips home. Unshaven, unkempt, long hair and all, he went.

Although disapproving, the family extended their welcome and their love. The boy felt their deep affection and knew that this was better than the superficial expressions of friendship from his other associates. He later accompanied his family to church and there met a sweet, young girl who showed an interest in him. Soon he was bathed, shaved, properly groomed, and living as he should.

It is honoring one’s parents and conforming to the standards of decency of a well-ordered and God-fearing society that will keep one from wandering into some of the forbidden paths. Generally speaking, we behave in accordance with the way we look and speak. If we want to be a part of a clean, refined group or organization, then we must accept their rules and standards.

President Kimball told a story at the dedication of the St. George Temple of a mother with three boys. Their father had gone off to sea, never to return. As a reminder of her husband, and to remind the boys not to go to sea, she put up a picture in her living room of a beautiful clipper ship sailing on the ocean. Every day she stood there and told the boys, “Never go to sea.” There isn’t a mother here who doesn’t know what happened. All three boys went to sea. Why? Because when they looked at that picture, they saw the adventure their father saw: the wind and the sails of that great clipper ship, the spray coming up. The visual image had a powerful effect upon the boys’ desires. And so it is that President Kimball has indicated, “Wouldn’t it be well to put up a picture of the temple in our homes and give that same adventure to your children, that they might set the objective for themselves to go to the temple?”

Our hymns can work their miraculous effect even when the chorus of voices is few and even when hardly a sound can be heard. I felt this a few months ago as I participated in a musical performance that was unique in my church experience. I had been invited to speak at the Great Basin LDS Deaf Conference, hosted by the Salt Lake Valley (Deaf) Ward of the Salt Lake Park Stake. Over three hundred deaf brothers and sisters were in attendance. The members of the stake presidency and I were almost the only adults in the congregation who could hear and who attempted to sing audibly. The rest of that large assembly sang with their hands. Hardly a lip moved, and hardly a sound was heard except the organ and four faint voices from the stand. In the audience, all hands moved in unison with the leader as the audience signed, “The Spirit of God like a fire is burning!” (Hymns, 1985, no. 2). As we sang together, the Spirit of the Lord descended upon us, and we were made ready for prayer. Our sacred music is a powerful preparation for prayer and gospel teaching.