Gospel Story Finder

I was living up in Canada. I had purchased a farm. It was run-down. I went out one morning and saw a currant bush. It had grown up over six feet high. It was going all to wood. There were no blossoms and no currants. I was raised on a fruit farm in Salt Lake before we went to Canada, and I knew what ought to happen to that currant bush. So I got some pruning shears and clipped it back until there was nothing left but stumps. It was just coming daylight, and I thought I saw on top of each of these little stumps what appeared to be a tear, and I thought the currant bush was crying. I was kind of simpleminded (and I haven’t entirely gotten over it), and I looked at it and smiled and said, “What are you crying about?” You know, I thought I heard that currant bush say this:
“How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. I was almost as big as the shade tree and the fruit tree that are inside the fence, and now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me because I didn’t make what I should have made. How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.”
That’s what I thought I heard the currant bush say, and I thought it so much that I answered. I said, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and someday, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down. Thank you, Mr. Gardener.’”

We all had great faith. We had initiative too and soon decided we needed a means of transport. Winter was approaching and our little group of pioneers had no wagons or oxen. We decided on the modern day equivalent… a minibus. We already had a willing driver, Sidney Kitt. Now we needed money. All of us sisters could sew and had sewing machines, so we decided to sew us a bus!
We found the best places to buy cheap fabric and simple patterns for children’s clothes, but most of all we sewed peg bags - novelty bags that looked like little dresses on a hanger. We sewed what seemed like hundreds of them! We got our menfolk selling them and got many orders as our fame spread.
We were beginning to get a little weary, and sales were beginning to drop off, but we were still short of our target when our prayers were answered. Someone sent us a sum of money anonymously, just enough to make up the balance we needed.
We named our old minibus Peggy because of all the peg bags. Peggy wasn’t the most beautiful or the most functional minibus, but she got us over our Welsh mountain. There was always a spot near the top where she stalled, but all except the little ones would get out and push Peggy the rest of the way to the summit. We would then all scrambled back in and Peggy would sail down the other side.
One day, the inevitable happened. Peggy died on the mountain! It was a sad day for us when Peggy expired and was left to an unmarked grave at a car dealership. However Heavenly Father saw the plight of the Caerphilly pioneers and prompted Merthyr Tydfil Stake to start a Caerphilly Branch, renting rooms in Caerphilly, with Brother Kitt as branch president.
We were shortly joined by more members - all pioneers of faith and humour. We had so much between us – it was the golden thread that kept us going through difficult times and increased the love between us.
Our wards and branches have grown now and so have our families. From one seed can come a whole forest of oaks and every member is a seed. We are all pioneers in some way, in some wilderness, are we not? And Peggy had helped us over our not-so-rocky mountain.

Kali walked into the lunchroom and looked around. All the other kids were running straight to their friends and gathering at tables. The room was noisy with excited voices and happy laughter. It was only the second day of school, but it seemed like everyone had someone to sit with but Kali.
She squeezed the handle of her lunchbox and walked to one of the tables. “Can I sit by you?” Kali asked.
A girl with a long, brown braid looked up. She huffed and shook her head. “No. It’s taken,” she said.
“OK.” Kali moved to another empty seat and set down her lunchbox.
“You can’t sit here! I’m saving that seat,” a boy in a green-striped shirt said. He pushed Kali’s lunchbox onto the floor. His friends all laughed.
Kali bent down and picked up her lunchbox again. She walked across the lunchroom and sat at an empty table. She saw someone from her neighborhood and tried to wave, but he looked the other way. Kali frowned. Why didn’t anyone want to be her friend?
Kali looked down at her food. She didn’t feel like eating anymore. She wiped her eyes, closed her lunchbox, and walked outside.
Everyone was already playing with their friends. Kali sat by herself on a bench and watched the other kids having fun without her. Then Kali noticed a boy about her age sitting alone on the grass. He was wearing a stained yellow shirt, and his hair stood up in the back.
Kali looked away. She saw a group of girls from her class playing foursquare. She wished they would invite her to play with them.
Kali looked at the boy again. His head was hanging down, and he was picking the grass around his feet. Kali remembered something Mom sometimes said: Look for the kids who are lonely.
Kali frowned. She was lonely too. Nobody was trying to be her friend!
But then Kali thought about when she got baptized last year. She promised to listen to the Holy Ghost. Maybe the Holy Ghost was helping her remember what Mom told her. Maybe the Holy Ghost was trying to tell her to play with the boy in the yellow shirt.
Kali sighed and got to her feet. A warm feeling spread in her heart. She walked over and sat next to the boy in the grass.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” he mumbled back.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Um … green.”
“That’s cool. I like pink,” said Kali. “Do you have a favorite animal?”
The boy sat up a little straighter and looked at her. “Yeah. I really like dinosaurs.”
“Oh, me too. My favorite is a triceratops.”
The boy smiled.
Then the bell rang. Kali got to her feet and waved goodbye to the boy. She smiled as she walked back to her classroom alone. She might not have a best friend, but she felt happy knowing she had made someone else’s recess a little better.

When our youngest daughter returned home after her first day of school, I asked, “How did it go?”
She answered, “It was good.”
The next morning, however, when I woke her up for school, she folded her arms and firmly stated, “I already went to school!” Apparently I had not prepared her or explained that going to school was not a onetime event but that she was expected to go to school five days a week for many, many years.

Children are uncomfortably adept at seeing through insincerity, and sometimes startlingly open about stating it. I remember taking my son with me to the grocery store once when he was about four years old. At the checkout counter when he wanted a candy bar, I responded, “I’m sorry, Matt, I don’t have enough money for a candy bar.” I thought it was a clever response—I was telling him I didn’t want to while hiding behind words that suggested I didn’t have enough money. That night, when I told him it was time to go to bed, he responded, “Sorry, Daddy, I don’t have enough money to go to bed.” He was not fooled by my words in the grocery store. He knew I was saying that I didn’t want to buy the candy bar, and so he used my manipulative tool, words, to say that he didn’t want to go to bed.

I would like to begin with a personal story. In 1988 I was visiting with my brothers and sisters when the conversation drifted to our father, who had passed away many years earlier. We shared our memories of Dad: his ways of doing things, his favorite sayings, our fishing trips (where all he did was bait hooks), and so forth. After enjoying the discussion for 10 or 15 minutes, I was surprised when my youngest sister started to cry. When her emotions settled down, she reminded us that she had been only six years old when our dad passed away. Though she was happy to hear us talk about our memories of Dad, she was saddened because she herself had very few memories of him.

That experience bothered me for several weeks. Being the oldest child in the family, I had many memories of my father and could not imagine life without those memories. It bothered me further when I realized that my wife and most of my siblings’ spouses would never meet my dad and that my children and their cousins would never know their grandfather. So I enlisted my wife’s help, and for the next several months we set about compiling a book about my father. We contacted extended family, found former friends, and called work associates and Church leaders who had interacted with Dad. We asked all of them to write down their memories of him. We made copies of pictures, news articles, and documents that showed his special achievements, trying to put everything we could find about my father in a book. After many months of effort, the book was finished, and we printed copies and gave them to family members as our Christmas gift.

As it turned out, I did marry. I was thirty-four, and my husband was thirty-seven. We wanted to begin our family quickly, but children did not come easily. We told Heavenly Father that if he would give us a child, we would dedicate that child to his service. When I was thirty-seven, our first child, a daughter, was born. We asked our Heavenly Father for another child and again promised that we would consecrate this child to his will. When I was almost forty, we had a son. We asked for more children but did not receive them.
Emily is now almost ten and Danny is seven, and we are trying to raise them in fulfillment of the promises that we have made. Like Latter-day Saint parents everywhere, we acknowledge that God has given us our children, and we are trying to help them learn to love and serve him.

Today was Kvitka’s baptism day. She had been thinking about this day for a long time. She had imagined it all. Wearing a special white dress. Tato (Dad) baptizing her. And all her friends and family there, smiling proudly.
But today was going to be a bit different than Kvitka had imagined.
Some things were the same. She was wearing a special white dress, just like she imagined. Babusya (Grandma) had sewn this dress for Mama to be baptized in when she was young. And now it was Kvitka’s turn.
Tato was going to baptize her. Just like she had imagined. Kvitka watched him dip his hand into the water in the font.
“Nice and warm,” he said. He smiled at Kvitka. She smiled back. Then she looked at the chairs that she had helped Tato set up.
There weren’t many. That was the biggest difference. Kvitka had always imagined that many people would come to her baptism. But there would only be a few.
Ever since COVID-19 had started making people sick, many things were different. She and her little brother, Vlas, had school at home. They wore masks when they left their apartment. And nobody met in big groups. Not anywhere. Kvitka wanted to help keep people safe, but sometimes it was hard.
Like when you couldn’t invite everyone to your baptism.
“Kvitka! You look beautiful!”
Kvitka looked up to see Babusya walking through the door.
“Hi, Babusya!” Kvitka hopped off her chair and ran over.
“You look just like your mama did,” Babusya said. She touched the white flowers in Kvitka’s hair. They matched the lace flowers on her dress. Kvitka liked flowers. Her name meant “flower” in Ukrainian.
“Are you excited to get baptized?” Babusya asked.
“Yes,” Kvitka said. “Only, nobody is here.”
“Nobody!” Babusya said. She looked around. “But I see Mama, Tato, Vlas, and little Melania. And there’s the bishop. And even two missionaries. That’s not nobody.”
Kvitka shrugged. “But none of my friends are here.”
“That must make you sad,” Babusya said. “But we do have two surprise guests.”
Kvitka perked up. “Who?”
“Your aunt Pavlina,” Babusya said. “And your cousin Emma!”
“Really?” Kvitka asked eagerly.
Babusya smiled. “When they get here, will you do me a favor?”
Kvitka nodded. “What?”
“Well, when you get baptized, one thing you promise is to stand as a witness of Jesus Christ. Do you know what that means?”
Kvitka did know. Her family had been studying baptismal covenants for weeks!
“It means to be a missionary!”
“Very good,” Babusya said. “Your aunt and cousin have never been in one of our Church buildings before. Will you be a missionary and help give them a tour?”
“Yes!” Kvitka said.
When Aunt Pavlina and Emma arrived, Kvitka and Babusya did just that. They showed them the Primary room, her classroom, and the chapel. Then they came to the baptismal font. Kvitka told them she wanted to be baptized to follow Jesus Christ. She felt a light, comforting feeling as she spoke. Aunt Pavlina and Emma smiled at her. She hoped they felt the same feeling.
Soon it was time for the baptism. Kvitka held her breath as Tato dipped her all the way under the water—just like she had imagined. There may have only been a few people watching, but they were smiling just like she had imagined. And she was sure Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were smiling down at her too. That was easy to imagine.

I remember well the insecurities I felt as a teenager with a bad case of acne. I tried to care for my skin properly. My parents helped me get medical attention. For years I even went without eating chocolate and all the greasy fast foods around which teens often socialize, but with no obvious healing consequences. It was difficult for me at that time to fully appreciate this body which was giving me so much grief. But my good mother taught me a higher law. Over and over she said to me, “You must do everything you can to make your appearance pleasing, but the minute you walk out the door, forget yourself and start concentrating on others.”

There it was. She was teaching me the Christlike principle of selflessness. Charity, or the pure love of Christ, “envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own” (Moroni 7:45). When we become other-oriented, or selfless, we develop an inner beauty of spirit that glows in our outward appearance. This is how we make ourselves in the Lord’s image rather than the world’s and receive His image in our countenances. President Hinckley spoke of this very kind of beauty that comes as we learn to respect body, mind, and spirit. He said:
“Of all the creations of the Almighty, there is none more beautiful, none more inspiring than a lovely daughter of God who walks in virtue with an understanding of why she should do so, who honors and respects her body as a thing sacred and divine, who cultivates her mind and constantly enlarges the horizon of her understanding, who nurtures her spirit with everlasting truth” (“Understanding Our Divine Nature,” Liahona, Feb. 2002, 24; “Our Responsibility to Our Young Women,” Ensign, Sept. 1988, 11).

Some of Karen Sharp’s friends claim she has rocks in her head. After all, a look into her room reveals rocks everywhere. Boxes filled with sorted stones are neatly laid across the floor. More rocks are sitting on a paint-splattered table. Some of these are glued together, and close observation reveals distinct shapes beginning to form. Some resemble bears, lions, and hippopotamuses. Others take a shape almost human in nature—bishops, missionaries, skiers, doctors, golfers.
A 19-year-old member of the Bountiful [Utah] 21st Ward, Karen first began painting rocks a little over three years ago. She experimented gluing together different shapes and sizes of rocks and came up with some unique ducks and fish, which won her a Best of Show award in Bountiful’s Handcart Days craft contest. People came next, so for Christmas Karen put together a “portrait in stone” of her family, including the dog. A pebble zoo and a small village full of shops followed next. Karen’s stony craft is now selling in stores and shops throughout her home region and as far away as North Dakota and Seattle.
She has also taught art to children in her home. Taking over a bedroom as a studio and classroom, Karen organized her course into eight lessons on different artistic skills. Her miniature artists liked the lesson on rocks best of all. Rock art has proven so popular, in fact, that Karen is writing a book she hopes will be published.
To make her rock figures, Karen selects stones of just the right sizes and shapes. These are sorted into “heads,” “trunks,” “shoes,” whatever she happens to need. From there she glues them together and adds ski poles, golf clubs, or whatever, with a fast-drying epoxy. When the glue is dry, she paints the solid colors, then adds eyes, mouth, and perhaps a tuft of hair out of colored yarn.
Rock art is fun, imaginative, and not too complicated for you to try. With if you can capture your dad’s big feet, brother’s big grin, and sister’s freckles—and they’ll love it too.

Sister Mireille Van Tonder of Bordeaux, France, also speaks five languages—Afrikaans, French, Dutch, English, and German. She recently spoke with a young woman visiting from South Africa. Sister Van Tonder, who was born in South Africa, was able to tell the visitor about the Church in her native language. The young woman was surprised and excited to learn that the Church was in her own country and that she could be taught by missionaries when she returned home.

Why was Brother Saraiva, the president of the Guaratingatá Branch, successful as a missionary? He heard Elder Gordon B. Hinckley at a stake conference in Brazil, in which Elder Hinckley challenged the people to bring one hundred people into the Church that year. And so Brother Saraiva said, “Why not? If a member of the Twelve says it can be done, I will obey.” The last time I spoke with Brother Saraiva, he had baptized more than two hundred fifty people.

I want to especially thank this missionary choir. I had an experience I think they may be interested in, and you may find it interesting also. Many years ago I had a desperate call from the head of the missionary training center. He said, “President Monson, I have a missionary who is going home. Nothing can prevent him from quitting.”
I replied, “Well, that’s not singular. It’s happened before. What’s his problem?”
He said, “He’s been called to a Spanish-speaking mission, and he’s absolutely certain he cannot learn Spanish.”
I said, “I have a suggestion for you. Tomorrow morning have him attend a class learning Japanese. And then have him report to you at 12:00 noon.”
The next morning he phoned at 10:00! He said, “The young man is here with me now, and he wants me to know he’s absolutely certain he can learn Spanish.”
When there’s a will, there’s a way.

Years later, when my daughter Hannah was about four, she picked up some crayons from the store. We did not notice that she had them until we were home. Hoping for the same kind of help in teaching the principal of honesty, my wife took her to see the manager of that store. The manager was a nice lady. She could see that Hannah was quite upset, so she said something like, “It is okay, sweetheart. I know you did not mean to do it.” It did not have the same effect as my meeting with Mr. Hayward, so we needed to be Mr. Hayward ourselves, so she could learn the lesson. She did, and she in turn had to teach it to her son Carson years later when he pilfered the fruit snacks. This shows to me how important it is for parents and others to teach correct principles. Four generations here were involved in teaching the lessons of honesty. You wonder what would have happened if my mother had done nothing?

In addition to the badges, there are other projects a Scout must complete to earn his Springbok. One of these is a construction project. Rocco chose to build a bridge. He had to first design and build a scale model of the bridge. Then, with a team of six other Scouts, Rocco had to build it full size, about 20 feet tall (6 m) and 30 feet long (9 m). It took nearly nine hours to build the bridge and then disassemble it.

Then there’s community service, which is a big part of earning both the Springbok and the Duty to God Award. For his Springbok service requirement, Rocco visited more than 40 homes of seniors to help them with various chores and repairs. “The only big thing that overlapped was the 40-hour service project I was able to use for both Scouts and the Duty to God Award,” says Rocco.

Of all the requirements Rocco has fulfilled to earn his various awards, he points to one in particular as most valuable for his personal growth: “Reading the Book of Mormon,” Rocco says without hesitation. “That was the biggest and most rewarding challenge.”

“I had read the Book of Mormon once already, a year or so ago, but I was just reading to get it done,” Rocco explains. “When I started reading it again, I really wanted to learn and gain a testimony of it.” He approached reading the Book of Mormon in a completely different way his second time through. “Every time I read now, I pray before to ask Heavenly Father’s Spirit to be with me as I read.”

Rocco’s already begun on his next big project—to more actively share his testimony with others as he prepares to serve a full-time mission. His Scouting experiences and earning the Duty to God Award have helped him in his personal development and in becoming a missionary. “To spread the gospel, I needed to know what is in the Book of Mormon, and I needed to know that it is true,” he says. “After reading the Book of Mormon for the second time, I received a testimony of it.”

Even if there was not a Duty to God Award to earn, Rocco says he would have fulfilled most of the requirements simply because he wanted to prepare for missionary service. Attending church, reading the scriptures, praying daily, and giving service are just part of who Rocco is, of being what a Latter-day Saint is supposed to be.

Now that he has received his call to serve as a full-time missionary, the testimony Elder du Plessis has built is proving much more useful than the rope-and-log bridge he built for his Springbok construction project. However, some of the backwoodsman skills he learned as a Scout may come in handy as he serves in Zimbabwe, Zambia, and Malawi.

A woman was referred to my office for a blessing for the restoration of her health. She had been ill for seven years. She had had exploratory surgery three times, had been in the hospital a number of times, and had switched doctors more often than annually. And I declined to give her a blessing when the Spirit said there was nothing wrong physically. Brothers and sisters, you can imagine what an awkward position I found myself in, having to say no.

She said, “What do you mean?”
As we talked, she mentioned that several years earlier, during a very difficult time in life, her husband had not given her the attention that she needed, and he was sitting next to her. She had not been pleased with his behavior and had carried with her a scarred heart, emotions that had been disrupted and confused, and she was bitter. I asked, “When did this happen?”
She said, “Seven years ago. Now wait just a minute, Elder Pinnock. You don’t mean to tell me that I have been sick for seven years because I can’t forgive my husband.” And there he sat.
I said, “I would be happy to give you a blessing for what is wrong.”
Well, she was there; the moment was awkward. She said, “All right, go ahead.”
I placed my hands upon her head and gave her a blessing that she could love and forgive, at that time not sure if it was her husband, but it seemed to be. As we walked the few steps to my door, I pointed to the door and said, “That door will always be open to you.” And in a huff and with some discomfort, she left.

About ten days later the telephone rang. “Is that offer still good to come and see you?”
I said, “Yes.”
She came in, “Do you mean to tell me that the reason I’ve been sick for so many years is because I can’t forgive my husband for the way he treated me seven or eight years ago?”
I said, “Yes. I have thought a great deal about it since then, and I believe that is your problem.” We talked for almost an hour. As she stood up to leave, I pointed to the door again and said, “The door is always open.”
The phone rang several weeks later. “May I come and talk to you, Elder Pinnock?”
I said, “Certainly.”
She walked in a changed woman. She didn’t even look the same. She said, “I haven’t felt this good for years. I can’t remember having ever felt as good as I feel now, and I love my husband so much.” Well, think about it, think about it, think about it.

I love to read books that show temples from around the world. When I had a friend ask me about temples, I knew that my explanation wasn’t enough to help her understand. So I brought my books on temples and showed her what the temple is, the purpose of the temple, and how thankful we are to visit the temple. I decided to invite her to church on Sunday, where the missionaries and Sunday School teachers could help her learn more.
Jessica A., age 18, Indonesia

My family had a similar experience. My two faithful brothers, wonderful sister, and I were raised by exemplary parents. We were taught the gospel in our home, we successfully made it to adulthood, and all four of us were sealed in the temple to our spouses. However, in 1994 our sister, Susan, became disenchanted with the Church and some of its teachings. She was persuaded by those who mocked and criticized the early leaders of the Church. She allowed her faith in living prophets and apostles to diminish. Over time, her doubts overcame her faith, and she chose to leave the Church. Susan has given me permission to share her story with the hope that it might help others.
My brothers and I and our widowed mother were devastated. We couldn’t imagine what possibly could have led her to abandon her faith. My sister’s choices seemed to be breaking our mother’s heart.
My brothers and I had served as bishops and quorum presidents, and we had experienced the joy of success with ward and quorum members as we left the ninety and nine and went after the one. However, with our sister, our persistent efforts to rescue her and to invite her back only pushed her further and further away.
As we sought heavenly guidance as to how we might properly respond to her, it became evident that we had to follow the example of the father in the parable of the prodigal son. Susan had made her choice, and we had to figuratively let her go—but not without her knowing and feeling our sincere love for her. And so, with renewed love and kindness, we watched and we waited.
My mother never stopped loving and caring for Susan. Every time my mother attended the temple, she placed Susan’s name on the prayer roll and never lost hope. My older brother and his wife, who lived closest to Susan in California, invited her to all family events. They prepared dinner in their home each year on Susan’s birthday. They made sure they were always in touch with her and that she knew of their genuine love for her.
My younger brother and his wife reached out to Susan’s children in Utah and cared for them and loved them. They made sure that her children were always invited to family gatherings, and when it came time for Susan’s granddaughter to be baptized, my brother was there to perform the ordinance. Susan also had loving home teachers and visiting teachers who never gave up.
As our children went on missions and were married, Susan was invited to and attended these family celebrations. We tried diligently to create family events so that Susan and her children could be with us and they would know that we loved them and that they were part of our family. As Susan received an advanced degree at a California university, we were all there to support her at her graduation. Although we could not embrace all of her choices, we could certainly embrace her. We loved, we watched, and we waited.
In 2006, after 12 years had passed since Susan left the Church, our daughter Katy moved with her husband to California so he could attend law school. They were in the same city as Susan. This young couple looked to their aunt Susan for help and support, and they loved her. Susan helped care for our two-year-old granddaughter, Lucy, and Susan found herself helping Lucy with her nightly prayers. Katy called me one day and asked if I thought Susan would ever come back to the Church. I assured her that I felt she would and that we needed to continue to be patient. As another three years passed, with continued love, we watched and we waited.
Six years ago this weekend, my wife, Marcia, and I were sitting on the front row of this Conference Center. I was to be sustained as a new General Authority that day. Marcia, who is always in touch with the Spirit, had written a note to me that read, “I think it is time for Susan to come back.” My daughter Katy suggested that I leave and call Susan to invite her to watch general conference that day.
Prompted by these two great women, I walked to the foyer and called my sister. I got her voice mail and simply invited her to watch that session of general conference. She got the message. To our delight, she felt impressed to watch all the sessions of conference. She heard from prophets and apostles she had loved in earlier years. She found new names she had not heard before, such as President Uchtdorf and Elders Bednar, Cook, Christofferson, and Andersen. During this and other unique heaven-sent experiences, my sister—like the prodigal son—came to herself (see Luke 15:17). The words of prophets and apostles and the love of her family moved her to turn and begin the walk back home. After 15 years our daughter and sister who was lost had been found. The watch and the wait were over.
Susan describes this experience just as Lehi described it in the Book of Mormon. She let go of the iron rod and found herself in a mist of darkness (see 1 Nephi 8:23). She states that she did not know she was lost until her faith was reawakened by the Light of Christ, which brightly magnified the stark contrast between what she was experiencing in the world and what the Lord and her family were offering.
A miracle has occurred over the past six years. Susan has a renewed testimony of the Book of Mormon. She has received her temple recommend. She has served as an ordinance worker in the temple, and she currently teaches the Gospel Doctrine class in her ward. The windows of heaven have opened to her children and her grandchildren, and although there have been difficult consequences, it feels as if she never left.

Abby hadn’t paid much attention when Rachel and her family moved in across the street. Abby already had a best friend. Besides, Rachel wasn’t Abby’s type. Rachel and her older brothers wore the kind of clothes that Abby knew her parents would never let her wear. And the Miller kids stayed up really late at night—Abby knew because she heard them yelling at each other and playing loud music.
Abby saw Rachel every day at school but didn’t bother to introduce herself. She figured Rachel would find her own friends who were more like her. Sure enough, Rachel started hanging around with Kami. Kami bullied some of the other kids, and she swore a lot. Abby thought Kami and Rachel were perfect for each other.
A few weeks later, Abby stepped out onto her porch to go to school. The night before, Abby and her family had placed pumpkins on their front porch. Abby gasped as she saw the remains of the pumpkins smashed to smithereens and smeared all over the porch steps. Abby stared at the sticky, orange mess and wanted to cry. When she looked up, she saw Rachel’s older brother watching her from across the street. Abby knew that Rachel and her brothers had smashed the pumpkins on purpose.
She went inside and told her mom what had happened. “I know it was Rachel and her brothers,” she said.
“You can’t know that for sure,” Mom said.
“I just know,” Abby said. “And I hate them.”
Abby’s mom tried to tell her that hate was wrong, but Abby didn’t listen.
At school, Abby watched Rachel. Would Rachel brag to Kami about smashing the pumpkins? Was she secretly laughing at Abby?
That night after dinner, Mom asked Abby if she would try an experiment.
“I guess so,” Abby said. “What is it?”
“For the rest of the week, I want you to do everything you can to replace your anger with feelings of love for Rachel,” Mom said. “Pray for her. Think about her. Smile at her at school. Do whatever you can think of to show love. Then we’ll talk about it.”
“Five days!” Abby thought. She didn’t think she could have feelings of love for Rachel, but she wanted to do what her mom asked.
“OK,” Abby agreed. “I’ll do it for the rest of the week. But I don’t know if it will work.”
Abby began by praying for Rachel. She didn’t really know what to say in her prayer, so she just said, “Please bless Rachel.” That day she watched Rachel more closely during school. She noticed that Rachel was having a hard time in math. “That’s something I can pray about,” Abby thought.
On day two, Abby prayed, “Please help Rachel do better in math.” During math class, Rachel must have felt Abby watching her because she looked right back at Abby. Abby didn’t know what to do, so she smiled. On the way home from school, Rachel caught up to Abby.
“Why were you staring at me in math?” Rachel asked.
Abby’s heart raced. Would Rachel hit her?
“Um, I was wondering if you needed some help. I’m kind of good at math,” Abby said.
“I don’t need help!” Rachel said, and she ran ahead of Abby.
On day three, Abby prayed that she would be able to help Rachel. At recess, Rachel didn’t play with Kami. She came over to Abby instead. “Are you really good at math?” she asked.
Abby nodded.
“Could you help me after school?”
Abby thought about Rachel’s house. She didn’t want to go there. “Sure,” she said. “Can you come over to my house?”
“OK,” Rachel said, smiling. “How about tomorrow?”
On day four, which was Saturday, the doorbell rang at 7 a.m. Abby wasn’t even out of bed yet, but her father was awake and he let Rachel in. “Abby, Rachel’s here,” he called.
When Abby came into the kitchen in her pajamas, Rachel looked embarrassed. “I guess I came over too early,” she said. “I just didn’t want to be at my house right now.”
Abby was glad Rachel was in their house. She didn’t want Rachel to be feeling sad at her own house this morning. Abby’s dad was making pancakes. Abby smiled at Rachel and got her a plate and a fork.
On day five, Abby took Rachel with her to Primary. After church, she told her mom she had been right about the experiment. It did feel better to love her enemies. “Only, Rachel’s not my enemy anymore,” she said. “She’s my friend.”

Consider Bill, a nineteen-year-old student who had a difficult time deciding whether to go on a mission or continue his studies. Bill’s parents were pressuring him to go, he said, but his best friend, a nonmember, was testily pulling for him to stay and continue to room with him at school. “Look,” said Bill’s Sunday School teacher, “do you know exactly what your role as a missionary would be and what the result of either your going or not going might be?”
After closer examination it became clear that Bill’s perception of missionary life was largely inaccurate. He thought that the drudgery of tracting and the door-slamming he might encounter would far outweigh the genuine experiences he would have, the joy he would see, and the friends he would make. And Bill’s decision to go or not to go would have eternal consequences. (See “D.”) Rewards or punishment result from any decision, regardless of how small it may seem. That is, the hypothesis that we “become what we do” is true. But in a sense, we also unbecome what we don’t do.
Bill had never thought of his mission call this way. Furthermore, he was asked if the motivation of his parents was selfish. He answered, “No, probably not.” Then Bill saw that the motivation of his roommate was selfish. The roommate simply didn’t understand what this could mean for Bill, let alone what Bill could do for others.
Asking Bill these specific questions—what is the role you are assuming, who wants you to do it, and, furthermore, what are the consequences if you comply or don’t comply—made the cobwebs disappear. He was then in a position to decide what he wanted to do.
Thus, Bill became a self-motivator, because he understood his own attitudes about what he should or should not do. He also knew which choice would help him to fulfill his responsibilities and accomplish his objectives.
Bill acquired a new set of values and expectations about his own behavior and abilities, about the nature of the Church, and about the prerequisites for an enlarging role in it. He began to develop a self identity that included the acceptance of legitimate authority and compliance with it. For others this could easily appear to be unreasonable, even silly or naive. Bill’s roommate did not understand.