Gospel Story Finder

Illustrations by Scott Peck
Go past my house again, and I’ll hose you down!
What’s he mad about?
We weren’t even doing anything!
Let’s play basketball instead.
If that ball goes in my yard, you’ll never see it again!
Uh … I think I’m gonna head home.
Me too. See ya!
The next day, Dad and Carter go on a hike.
Whew, I’m tired! Let’s take a break.
You OK?
Mr. Maurice is really mean.
Well, his wife just died. Maybe he needs a friend. Try to be kind, OK? Jesus taught us to love everyone.
It’s easier to love some people than others.
Maybe. But everyone needs love.
Later …
Jesus would be nice to Mr. Maurice. Maybe I can try.
I want to help him. …But what if he gets mad?
Um … do you need some help?
Oh. Thank you. I’m planting my wife’s favorite flowers. You could help bring the rest from the garage.
If you want, we can try to get it running later..
Cool! I love trains.
How’s it going?
Great! Mr. Maurice showed me his electric train. We’re going to fix it later.
Later that day …
How about we build the track tomorrow?
Want to give it a try?
Whoa!
You know … Mr. Maurice isn’t so hard to love after all.

There is a better gift, but it will take effort now. My dad, when he was a boy, must have tackled the rowboat problem and lots of others. That was part of the equipment he needed to become a scientist who would make a difference to chemistry. But he also made a difference to me. Our family room didn’t look as elegant as some. It had one kind of furniture—chairs—and one wall decoration—a green chalkboard. I came to the age your boy or girl will reach. I didn’t wonder if I could work the math problems; I’d proved to my satisfaction that I couldn’t. And some of my teachers were satisfied that that was true too.

But Dad wasn’t satisfied. He thought I could do it. So we took turns at that chalkboard. I can’t remember the gifts my dad wrapped and gave to me. But I remember the chalkboard and his quiet voice. His teaching took more than knowing what I needed and caring. It took more than being willing to give his time then, precious as it was. It took time he had spent earlier when he had the chances you have now. Because he had spent time then, he and I could have that time at the chalkboard and he could help me.

John Taylor stayed with the Prophet Joseph Smith, his brother Hyrum Smith, and Elder Willard Richards at Carthage Jail. John sang to help comfort the prisoners.
John: “A poor wayfaring Man of griefHath often crossed me on my way …”*
After John had sung it once, the Prophet Joseph asked him to sing it again.
Joseph: Sing that song again, will you, John?
John: I do not feel like singing.
Hyrum: Yes, please sing that song again.
Joseph: You’ll feel better once you begin, and so will I.
John: “A poor wayfaring Man of griefHath often crossed me on my way …”
Then a mob of men with painted faces and guns stormed up the stairs to the room where the Prophet and the other prisoners were staying.
Mobster: The Mormon Prophet is up here!!
Elder Richards tried to keep the mob out of the room with a hickory cane, but could not. The mob killed Hyrum. Then Joseph ran to the window and was shot by more members of the mob from below.
Elder Taylor was shot five times. One of the bullets was stopped by the watch in his vest pocket. That saved his life.
Later, he wrote this about Joseph Smith.
John: “Joseph Smith, the Prophet and Seer of the Lord, has done more, save Jesus only, for the salvation of men in this world, than any other man that ever lived in it.”**

Striving to follow the example of the Saviour Jesus Christ in all areas of their lives, especially socially and physically, about 70 youth in Ethiopia, Addis Ababa united in planting 200 fruit trees.
This effort came after the Ethiopia, Addis Ababa Mission president, Robert J. Dudfield, and the president of Meganagna Branch, Birhanu Molla, reached out to the local government for an opportunity to serve.
“We reached out to see if there was a service opportunity in the local area and they came back with the desire [for us] to plant fruit trees,” said President Dudfield.
President Dudfield and President Molla proceeded to organize a youth conference, where the youth of the Church, full-time missionaries, and Church leaders from various branches in Addis Ababa, motivated by the yearning to help their communities, put forward their gardening tools and got their green fingers to work.
About six weeks’ worth of planning and planting under the scorching Ethiopian sun resulted in 200 planted apples, limes, mango, and avocado trees.
“[With] fruit much harder and much more expensive to get in Addis Ababa, the local government met our efforts with delight and gratitude. The fruit trees will feed the homeless in the local community,” President Dudfield said.
Testifying of the fruits of service, Elder Dylan Gilman, a full-time missionary serving in Addis Ababa said that the opportunity had helped unify the youth.
“It was amazing to see the youth come together to help the community. Planting fruit trees was [such] an uplifting experience, particularly seeing the youth have an opportunity to be united while serving others. Ethiopia is truly blessed with an amazing group of youth,” Elder Gilman said.
Hana Debebe Hailu, a youth from the Megenagna Branch, expressed her gratitude on the impact of service during the project.
“I liked how we were in a group during the activities, it was also great to see each of us helping one another. I met a lot of people and saw my friends. I was very happy about the experience and lessons too. The lessons made me feel great because it was about God, serving and loving one another. I will never forget this experience.”
Another youth, Moti Tegegn Lemma from the Summit Branch, opened up about how the fruit tree service helped him grow socially.
“In the service activity I have learned a lot of things, I can’t count how many. I have been able to meet many friends and I am very grateful to God for helping me to be able to spend time doing service and helping others,” Moti said.

It was a time of learning and testing one’s fortitude. Once Joseph Smith counseled the men not to kill any animal except for food. “When men lose their vicious dispositions and cease to destroy the animal race, the lion and the lamb can dwell together.” (Documentary History of the Church, 2:71–72.)
Brigham Young listened to the Prophet Joseph and learned. Once when Elder Young spread his sleeping blanket on the tall, thick prairie grass, a rattlesnake coiled and threatened. Brigham called to a nearby friend and told him, “Take this snake and carry it off and tell it not to come back again; and to say to its neighbors do not come into our camp tonight, lest some one might kill you.” His companion faithfully picked up the snake and carried it without injury a good distance from the camp. (Journal of Discourses 17:40.)

Lakhran Surjdeen, known as Michael, moved to Barbados at age 21, just before the COVID-19 pandemic. Spending an extended period indoors during the pandemic prompted him to embark on a cruise. Each day when he awoke, the thought came to him, “When you go back to Barbados, get baptized.”
Upon his return, Michael turned to Facebook to search for a church where he could be baptized. The church he decided to call was The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Soon, missionaries reached out to him to arrange an appointment, but before he met with them, he decided to walk to the church to see what it was like. While standing outside the property’s fence and looking at the building, Michael felt the quiet peace that he had been searching for.
The missionaries asked Michael to meet them at the church for his first lesson. He was so eager to be baptized that he asked if he could have that done right away. However, the missionaries helped him understand that he needed to have a few more lessons to strengthen his faith in and commitment to Jesus Christ before he could be baptized. Finally, the day came that he had been waiting for: Michael was going to be baptized. Even though this was his wish, he was very nervous; he could feel his heart beating quickly. He walked to the font, all dressed in white, and as soon as his toe touched the water, Michael felt completely calm; he felt as light as a white feather.
When Michael returned home, he felt happy inside. He felt like he was glowing, but as soon as he walked into his home, his tears began flowing. Michael knew that his Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were happy for the big decision he had made on his own.
These days, Michael looks forward to church each week to renew the covenant with Jesus Christ he made at baptism. He knows that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints has the restored and living gospel. He still finds peace when he attends church and loves to share the message of the gospel so that others can feel the love that he feels.

Both Elder and Sister Christofferson graduated from BYU in 1969. Elder Christofferson went on to pursue a law degree at Duke University. When he completed his schooling in 1972, he was hired as a law clerk to federal judge John J. Sirica, the judge who would later preside at the Watergate trials. Time magazine named Judge Sirica Man of the Year and called the Watergate affair “the worst political scandal in U.S. history.” The scandal and its legal trials pervaded the U.S. news in 1973 and 1974.
Elder Christofferson had planned to clerk for one year and then work for a prominent Washington, D.C., law firm, from which he had received an employment offer. Elder Ralph W. Hardy, now an Area Seventy, has spent his career as a member of that firm and remembers that in those difficult Watergate days, Judge Sirica called the firm’s managing partner and said, “I can’t let Todd go. He is too valuable. He is the only person I can talk to.” As a result, Todd assisted Judge Sirica throughout the Watergate proceedings.

Susan, baptized into the Church at age 28, had always lived the law of chastity. “My parents had integrity and expected me to have high moral standards, to be honest and chaste, so I just did it,” says Susan, who was raised in the midwestern United States. “Now I realize I was responding to the light of Christ. I never dated a Latter-day Saint until I met Tom. When I heard the gospel, I was glad I had never given in to sexual temptation. Later, Tom and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple. One year later our baby daughter died at birth. We were devastated but grateful we had been worthy to be sealed in the temple when we were first married. Knowing that our baby was born in the covenant brought us understanding and peace.”
Susan and Tom still live in the Midwest after 24 years of marriage and five children. “Several of our friends and cousins have divorced,” says Tom. “We have had our share of financial and family challenges, yet we both want to be true to our temple covenants, so we just work things out.”

April was here at last. The all-night study sessions and final exams were over and most of our belongings packed into a closet in the old house we had lived in for the past year. Tearful see-you-in-Septembers echoed through the empty rooms as we locked the front door. My roommate, Lanell, and I lugged our bursting suitcases through the slushy snow and into the yellow Renault.
“What a dumb time for a snowstorm,” Lanell grumbled, slamming the car door shut.
“Oh well, we’ll soon be winging our way to Europe,” I consoled, reminding her of our exciting summer plans. We had schemed all year for this two-month vacation, and because we were trying to save money by driving to Chicago and flying from there, it looked as though this sudden spring snowstorm might threaten our plans.
I switched on the radio. Another weather bulletin, this time with bad news. “All interstates in Utah are closed,” the deejay stated blandly. “Students are advised to remain in Provo until further notice.”
“No way,” I declared. “A little snow won’t stop this Canadian!”
I pulled out the road map, and Lanell and I discussed all the alternative routes. We finally chose one that went south of Provo and then east into Colorado. Since it wasn’t an interstate and didn’t seem to be too mountainous, we reasoned that it would be open and fairly safe.
We headed out as the last rays of sunlight filtered through the gray storm clouds and disappeared over the top of the western range of mountains. It was a bad time to leave, I knew, but we were anxious to be on our way.
I drove cautiously on the snow-packed highway and wasn’t too alarmed when snow began falling. We soon noticed, however, that the highway was ascending into the mountains. Lanell checked the map and to our dismay found, in tiny print, the mountain pass we thought we wouldn’t have to cross. To make matters worse, the storm had increased in fury, the snowflakes splattering so thickly on the windshield that the wipers could barely keep up. As the wind howled through the canyon, I realized that conditions were perfect for a blizzard. We considered returning to Provo for the night but were encouraged by the steady stream of cars creeping toward us on the highway.
“They made it over the pass so we will too,” we told each other.
“And the other side probably won’t be so icy,” I said, trying to sound confident. Inside, I was beginning to wonder what we’d gotten ourselves into.
The road was now glare ice and we were steadily climbing. I grasped the wheel lightly as I’d learned to do on icy roads, but as the minutes passed, I felt a knot growing in my stomach and perspiration dampened my ski jacket. I wanted to turn back now but could find nowhere to do so safely. And what would Lanell think if “this Canadian” turned back? On the other hand, what would the downhill side be like, and would I have the nerve to drive it? I mentally tightened my grip on the wheel, silently begging the Lord to help us. If ever I needed a guardian angel, it was now.
Somehow, we reached the summit and I nearly shouted for joy at what I saw in the bright yellow beam of the headlights. Parked across the road, blocking the traffic, was a pickup truck, and standing beside it, a stocky man in a cowboy hat, coveralls, and a heavy parka. He was waving a flashlight, signaling for the cars to turn around and go back.
“The road’s closed. You kids would never make it down the other side,” he said, prying my hands off the steering wheel and kindly suggesting that he turn the car around for me.
As we headed back in the direction we had come, we alternately laughed and cried and prayed. We now knew the truth about all the cars that supposedly had made it over the mountain. All those cars had simply turned around and were coming back as we were now doing. How foolish we had been to ignore the weather warnings and how foolish were those in the approaching cars. Now that the storm had abated somewhat, we could see the ribbon of their lights for miles as we drove carefully down the mountain.
“Bet they’re thinking the same thing we did,” Lanell said with a grin. I grinned back, but silently I wondered, How many times do we make decisions without knowing the whole picture? How many times do we ignore the warnings? And how many times do we continue to tread dangerous paths just because it appears as if everyone is doing it?
We reached Provo late that night, and though I was shaken by the experience, I was grateful for the many insights it had given me. That Utah mountain pass and the angel in the cowboy hat who said it’s never too late to turn around, and who offered to help, will remain forever in my memory.

When I was 11 years old, I had a wonderful Primary teacher. One day in class, she walked in on a discussion among us 11-year-old boys about our mothers and how tough they were on us. Our mothers would insist that we make our beds, help with the dishes, take out the garbage, and even help with other housework.
Our teacher said nothing but went ahead with our lesson. At the end of the class, she said that on the coming Saturday morning we were going to have a special activity at her house.
That Saturday, we peddled our bicycles to her home. She gathered us around her dining room table where she had some liquids in bottles. She also had small, empty bottles for each of us. We poured so much of this and so much of that through a funnel into our bottles. We learned that we were making hand lotion for our mothers.
When we finished, our teacher gave us a small piece of paper on which she had written a verse. We each copied it down and taped the verse onto our bottles. We proudly took the lotion home to our mothers as a gift.
My mother was wise so, instead of using the lotion, she put it on the middle shelf of our bathroom’s medicine cabinet. It remained there through all my teenage years. Every day, as I opened that cabinet to get my toothbrush or comb, there on the shelf was the bottle with that handwritten verse. It was still there the day I combed my hair before leaving for my mission.
That verse impacted my life permanently. It said, “Bless the hands that never tire in their loving care for me.” That message, which I read every day, drove deep into my heart love, respect, and appreciation for my mom.

Linda Bradshaw of the Sutton Coldfield Ward, Lichfield England Stake, travelled to St. James’ Palace in London to meet His Royal Highness the Duke of Edinburgh. She was one of a group of young women and young men from all over the country chosen to receive the Duke of Edinburgh Gold Award.
Requirements for the gold award include participation and excellence in five areas—physical activity, a skill, community service, residential outward-bound course, and an expedition. Linda became proficient in art and crafts, playing the flute, aerobics, swimming, and self-defence. She completed her community service serving as an assistant junior school teacher during her free school periods. Her experience as a teacher’s assistant helped her decide to make teaching her career.
Her outward-bound experiences included abseiling (like rappeling), canoeing, fencing, and orienteering. Her four-day expedition was hiking and camping across the Cader Idris Mountains in North Wales.
“As each stage became progressively harder,” said Linda, “I appreciated the way completing seminary booklets and setting goals to memorize scriptures helped me to overcome hurdles and learn how to complete my goals for these awards.”

Softball season was approaching, and we had just enough girls in our ward for a team. Our coach, Sister Bowman, was a busy mother who had been asked to make an unlikely group of girls into a team. Sister Bowman turned out to be the best coach I ever had.
At the first practice, Sister Bowman went over the rules of the game. Then she laid out the “new rules.” She said, “This year we will not only be scored for our runs; we will also be scored for our sportsmanship. I want you to do your best. But win or lose, I want you to have the highest sportsmanship score possible at every game.”
Sister Bowman’s rules went something like this:
Before each game, greet the opposing team and wish them luck.
If a girl on your team makes an error, encourage her. Do not criticize.
If a member of your team or the opposing team falls down, help her up and make sure she’s all right.
Do not say unkind things to any member of your team or the opposing team.
Each girl who shows up for the game will have an opportunity to play, regardless of her ability.
Win or lose, enthusiastically cheer the opposing team and shake each competitor’s hand.
Sister Bowman regularly emphasized these rules.
The first game went well. Though we weren’t the best players in the world, we discovered that encouraging each other boosted the confidence and abilities of the entire team. When we won that first game, we found it was easy to cheer the opposing team. After all, it’s easy to be a good sport when you win.
Our real test came the first time we lost. One of the girls cried because she felt responsible for our loss. We gathered around her and assured her it was all right. We were surprisingly enthusiastic as we cheered the winning team and shook their hands. Even though we lost, we realized we’d had fun. Most importantly, our sportsmanship score was high.
As the season progressed, our focus shifted. We liked winning, but we became as interested in our sportsmanship scores as we were in the game scores. What started as a list of rules was becoming second nature to us.
At the end of the season when the stake leaders reviewed our record—games won as well as sportsmanship scores—we were the stake champions. We would be representing our stake at the regional playoffs.
When the big day arrived, we were ready to play our best. The team we were playing was undefeated, and when we went over to wish them luck, they didn’t seem as friendly as the other teams we had played. As the game progressed we began to realize that these girls were not playing by our rules. It seemed to us that they intended to win at any cost. They laughed at us. They ran into us and knocked us down every chance they got. If one of the girls on their team made an error, they yelled at her and called her names. Even their coach was yelling at them.
In the dugout Sister Bowman continued to encourage us, and we hung in there. Near the end of the game, and only one point behind, we were up to bat. With runners on, we had a hit. One of our teammates came around third base and headed for home plate. In an attempt to keep us from scoring, the catcher stood across home plate. But her efforts didn’t prevent our runner from crossing home plate safe. The score was tied.
Our team was excited, but then we noticed that our teammate was still at home plate. She didn’t get up. She just sat there crying and holding her ankle, which had been cut by the catcher’s cleat. The girls on the other team were too busy yelling at each other to apologize or help her up.
As our injured friend sat on the bench, we scored another run and to everyone’s astonishment, including our own, won the game.
We gathered on the grass for the awards ceremony. First we received our medals for winning the playoffs, then waited for the next award. We were excited. The sportsmanship medal, the award we had worked so hard for all season, was within our grasp!
But we sat in shock as the sportsmanship medal was awarded to the other team. Our faces fell. Our hearts sank. How could this be? We felt we had earned that medal! Had the region leaders felt they could not send the other team home empty-handed? This turned out to be the greatest test of what we had practiced all season. Could we show true sportsmanship by graciously accepting this decision, despite our disappointment? It was difficult, to say the least.
Afterward, Sister Bowman took us out for pizza to celebrate our “victory.” Any casual observer would never have guessed that we had just won the region softball championship.
I still have that medal. I keep it in a box with other treasured keepsakes. It reminds me of what we won. More important, it reminds me of what we deserved to win and of the lessons Sister Bowman taught me that summer. She taught me how to compete and still have fun. She taught me that everyone has value. She taught me that winning is not, and should never be, the most important thing. I suppose she taught me the true meaning of the saying “It’s not whether you win or lose; it’s how you play the game.” That philosophy, I have found, applies in life as well as in softball.

“I can’t take another day of the rowdiness and disrespect of those young people on our tour!” The American woman introduced herself as she sat down across the table from me.
“I don’t know what has happened to this younger generation. They have absolutely no regard for the beautiful or the sacred. We have some teenagers in our group who sit in the back of the bus smoking, drinking, and disrupting our whole tour with their rowdiness.”
We arose and walked through the rose garden behind the hotel, viewing the Holy City across the Kidron Valley. She continued: “Only yesterday in Bethlehem the obscenity and vulgarism of their language was a desecration of those sacred shrines.”
As she spoke, I thought of the eight young people who made up nearly a fourth of our tour group.
“What do you do with all those teenagers you have with you?” she asked. “I noticed that you have quite a number of them with your group. How do you control them?”
I thought of the way Melvin Bushman and Bonnie May Hiatt had been so concerned about Mrs. Foster as we all ascended the narrow, age-polished stone steps to the “Upper Room,” which tradition identifies as the site of the Last Supper. And wasn’t it Carolyn Bushman and her cousin Virnell Bushman who had made sure that Mrs. Turley wouldn’t miss the view from the minaret? Diane Hess was the very essence of sunshine and cheerfulness, always a bright spot in our group. And Shelley Crane, quiet and somewhat shy, was always concerned for others before herself.
Then there were Jerome and John Horowitz. Jerome was a typical 17-year-old and as typically unpredictable. I was a little annoyed when he appeared so zealous to board the plane that day when we didn’t have seat assignments, but a few moments later I realized that he was trying to reserve seats for some of the older members of our group.
“What do you do about them when you are visiting these sacred sites?” she asked.
“We take them with us, or rather they take us, and we share in their enthusiasm. You see, we’re Mormons, and—”
“Oh yes, I’ve heard about your church and the marvelous programs you have for young people,” she interrupted. “You have some sort of youth activity program, don’t you?”
I explained that the quality of our young people is the result of more than just activities and programs; the gospel is a whole way of life. It is the influence of the gospel of Jesus Christ and his priesthood in the lives of Mormon young people that makes the difference. Because of their own feelings for their Savior, their own spiritual strength and testimonies, and in many cases, their own sacrifices, this journey to the Holy Land meant as much to the young people of our tour group as it did to the adults.
My conversation with this lady came back many times during the subsequent events of our tour, events that vindicated my defense of LDS youth.

Brigham Young was also identified for leadership early in life. As a young convert to the Church, thirty-one years of age, he came to visit the Prophet Joseph Smith in Kirtland, Ohio. Brigham met Joseph initially in the woods near Kirtland, when Joseph was chopping and hauling wood. That evening a special meeting of these famous men of history took place. Brigham Young later recounted:
“In the evening a few of the brethren came in, and we conversed together upon the things of the kingdom. He (the Prophet) called upon me to pray; in my prayer I spoke in tongues. As soon as we arose from our knees the brethren flocked around him, and asked his opinion concerning the gift of tongues that was upon me. He told them it was the pure Adamic language. Some said to him they expected he would condemn the gift Brother Brigham had, but he said, ‘No, it is of God, and the time will come when brother Brigham Young will preside over this Church.’ The latter part of this conversation was in my absence.”
Thus the Lord had shown his hand twelve years before the event, and his eyes were already upon Brigham, watching and guiding him in his life. But Brigham Young had many lessons to learn, and the following twelve years were filled with trials and difficult decisions, all of which led to a purposeful end.

I have a friend named Sveta who lives in Russia. She lives in a shelter because she doesn’t have a mom or a dad who can take care of her. My family is helping her so that she doesn’t have to live on the streets. I decided that I wanted to help her, too, so I decided to sell lemonade and send the money to Sveta so she could stay in the shelter.
With my family’s help, I made a sign and made fresh lemonade to sell to our neighbors. Before I set up my stand, I prayed that I could sell a lot of lemonade to help Sveta. I stood on the corner next to my stand and waved at cars as they went by. When people stopped, I told them about Sveta and how I was trying to help her. People were so nice! They gave me extra money to send to Sveta. I sold all my lemonade in less than an hour and had to make more! Even though I got hot standing in the sun, I was very happy that I could help my friend.

I returned home from my mission in Arizona, USA, just as the pandemic started spreading across the globe. During the last few weeks of my mission, I had been creating a vision for where I wanted my life to go once I returned home. I made specific plans and goals and was ready to get started! I planned to go to nursing school, to start new hobbies and find new friends, and to seize so many opportunities that come during young adulthood. I felt a sense of peace and assurance that God was guiding me and had great things in store for me after my mission.
That changed soon after I got home.
One by one, my plans were canceled because of COVID-19. I began to question and doubt the decisions and goals I had made. I chose to start looking for a job while waiting for online classes to start instead of moving to another state to begin school like I had originally planned. After a while, I felt I had lost my purpose and was wasting so much time. I was used to always having a jam-packed schedule as a missionary, and so I suddenly felt lonely, bored, and useless.
I wasn’t looking forward to the future. I didn’t want to face this life transition. I wanted to go back in time, to return to past friendships and places that had once made me happy. The vision and plans I had for my life just a few weeks before had disappeared, and I felt like I was paralyzed by darkness, fear, and discouragement. I didn’t feel like myself at all. I had just finished the most amazing experience of serving the Lord for 18 months, but now I felt lower than I ever had in my life.
I wondered why everything was going wrong and where the Lord’s promised blessings were. The reassurances I had felt in the final weeks of my mission seemed to have disappeared.
Then general conference came, and I realized how much I was lacking in one specific area of life—hope.
Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles gave a talk titled “A Perfect Brightness of Hope” (April 2020 general conference), and it especially stood out to me. I realized that because of my faith in Christ, I could and should hope for better things to come. Because Christ lives and is constantly working in my life, I realized my future will be just as miracle-filled and bountifully blessed as my past has been.
Because the Savior felt and overcame everything I will ever face, I could believe, despite every reason not to believe, that things were going to get better—even if my plans were sometimes skewed.

Some people might think that a 50-mile hike is a challenge meant only for Boy Scouts—but not the girls and leaders from the Priest River Ward in the Sandpoint Idaho Stake. They recently challenged themselves to hike through snow and hail in Montana’s Lee Medcalf Wilderness.
The trip included a few surprises—like a bear eating some of their food out of a tree—but all the girls report that they wouldn’t trade their hike for anything. Eight days in the high country might be enough to last some people a lifetime, but these girls are already planning their next trip.

I also told this young brother that one day I asked my mother what she feels at the end of each year of institute when she does not receive a certificate: “Mom, don’t you feel bad when they don’t award you a certificate?” I told my young friend that I was surprised by her answer when she said, “My son, know that what I receive in these institute of religion classes is more important to me than the certificate.” And then she added, “Some young people come to institute just to get a certificate, but they forget what is important. I would rather lack a certificate than the knowledge of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.” I thanked my mother for her inspired words.

I once visited a family in Chile. Their father had died in an accident a month before I came. One of the children was a boy named Benjamin. He was 10 years old.
Before his dad’s accident, Benjamin gave a family home evening lesson. It was about the stripling warriors from the Book of Mormon (see Alma 53:16–22; 56:42–57). He talked about how brave they were and how they trusted God.
When Benjamin’s mom heard about the accident, she thought of Benjamin’s lesson. She told her family, “We need to be brave like the stripling warriors. We have another battle to fight.”
It was hard for Benjamin’s family. It felt like their lives were turned upside down. They had to move to another house to live with their grandma. And they really missed their dad. But they knew they would be together with him again someday. They decided to be a stripling warrior family. Benjamin told us, “I’m being brave.”
I walked into their house wanting to comfort them. But I was the one who left feeling blessed. Benjamin and his family are fighting this battle so bravely. Their faith is inspiring to me.

Georgia Portlock in the Drennan’s ward gave out many books. “I love to talk about the Church, and it made me feel great to give the books to people,” she said. “At least they’ll have a copy of the Book of Mormon, and I don’t care if it sits on their shelf for a while. One day something will come up and they’ll read it and understand it. That’s what happened to me. My son gave me a Book of Mormon, and it sat on the shelf for ten years until I read it. When I did, it. was like I was burning up, and in three weeks I asked to be baptized.”