Gospel Story Finder

The love between David and Daniel is real—a love anyone in their presence can feel. They met in the fall of 1988 when David was assigned as a peer tutor to Daniel. David joined the peer tutoring program at Viewmont High School because he likes to help people. “We were instant best friends the first time we met,” says David. “Yep,” adds Daniel, “best friends, just like that.” And he snaps his fingers.
Most teens want to do all the “cool” things to be accepted by their peer group. David is obviously “cool.” He’s very popular—after all, he was elected student-body president. He’s handsome, outgoing, a good student, and a triathlete. And yet he befriends a youth who is mentally handicapped and even asks him to be his campaign manager in the school elections. Didn’t he wonder what the other kids would think? He answers, “People get too caught up in what others think. I only worry about what one person thinks. What the Lord thinks of me is most important.”
He continues, “I wanted Daniel to be my campaign manager because he’s so friendly and will talk to everybody. I wanted people to know that handicapped people have feelings just like everyone else and they want to be accepted. That’s exactly what I got.”

After Elder Kimball had surgery on his vocal chords, he traveled with fellow Apostle Elder Harold B. Lee.
Elder Lee: I’d like to invite Elder Kimball to bear his testimony.
Elder Kimball: I’m too embarrassed to keep speaking. I rasp and make terrible noises. Maybe in our next meeting I shouldn’t speak.
Elder Lee: Spencer, your testimony needs to be heard. You better get your voice back.
Elder Kimball did all he could to regain his voice. He followed his doctor’s orders, received priesthood blessings, and took voice lessons.
Elder Kimball: Camilla, I realize I cannot quit for anything, though the temptation is terrific when I stumble and stammer and halt.
The true test came when Elder Kimball returned to his home—the Gila Valley in Arizona.
Elder Kimball: Forgive my voice. While in the East, I fell among cutthroats.
Woman: His voice is different, but he still has the same sense of humor!
President Spencer W. Kimball never stopped preaching. In fact, his soft, deep, mellow voice became something people loved about him.

Since my Primary days, I have known that the Book of Mormon is the word of God. I also knew I should read it every night. Unfortunately, I somehow missed out on the search, ponder, and pray aspect of scripture study.
During my junior year of high school, a nonmember friend, Jennifer Cotton, handed me several sheets of paper titled, in bold letters, “Questions for Lani.” I stuffed the sheets of paper into my backpack and rushed off to class.
Later that week, the questions surfaced in my backpack. There were exactly 100 questions about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—100 questions!
I felt overwhelmingly inadequate. I pleaded with Heavenly Father to help me answer these questions. I felt prompted to open my scriptures. The first verse I read was, “Therefore, ask, and ye shall receive; knock, and it shall be opened unto you; for he that asketh, receiveth; and unto him that knocketh, it shall be opened” (3 Ne. 27:29). Tears welled up in my eyes, and I knew that with Heavenly Father’s help I would find the answers.
I spent hours studying the scriptures. I was amazed to find verses answering questions that had seemed so intimidating hours before.
The next day, I handed Jennifer her answers, along with a copy of the Book of Mormon. She tearfully expressed her gratitude.
Jennifer called that night to say she had finished reading 1 Nephi. I cannot explain the joy I felt. Mosiah 18:9 tells us that true believers are willing “to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things.” Jennifer gave me an opportunity to stand as a witness—and later an opportunity to see her baptized into the Church.
I now have a strong testimony of the Book of Mormon. No matter what my need or problem, I can turn to my scriptures. Through searching, pondering, and praying, I know I will find the answer.

As the Simarróns shared the gospel with Chachi friends and neighbors, however, a serious conflict developed. Some Chachis felt that Virgilio Simarrón’s beliefs made him a heretic and even considered violence against him. Others felt that, as a governor, he should not participate in a new faith that might divide the people. With this concern, they took him to be tried by the communal council. It would be one of the most difficult experiences of Virgilio’s life.
Wilson relates what happened: “The council, in full assembly, told my father, ‘You will remain as our governor if you renounce the Church of Jesus Christ; you must retract.’ My father said, ‘I made a commitment to God, and when a man makes a commitment to God, it is not retractable. I cannot give up the Church. If you think I’m a governor who has divided the Chachi people, then oh my people, choose you this day another one in my place.’ Then I saw the scene of my father crying. The council was in total silence for more than five minutes—nobody said anything. Then someone said, ‘Then Governor, leave.’ Slowly my father stood, so my mom, my sister, and I went down and left the council.”

Charles helped Mary Fielding Smith, Hyrum Smith’s widow, move her belongings across the river. He and Sarah and little Charles Edward spent the winter at Winter Quarters, then, in March, fit out for the trip West. In fitting out, Charles bought a yoke of oxen, a wagon, a cow, food, and other supplies. They left Iowa City in March, joining Isaac Higbee’s company, and entered the Salt Lake Valley in September, 1848.

At the age of eight I was baptized in borrowed white trousers. They were too long, but my mother tucked the legs up and fastened them with a few stitches. This worked fine until they got wet. As I stepped out of the water the weight of the wet cloth broke the stitches. I tripped over my borrowed pants and fell to my knees. The thought immediately came to me that this was a reminder to always kneel and pray for the help of our Heavenly Father in everything.

The day after my baptism, I was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was during a fast and testimony meeting, and I decided, for the first time ever, to bear my testimony. As I spoke, a wonderful, warm feeling filled my heart. It was a confirmation of the Spirit that joining the Church was the right thing to do. That warm feeling was the beginning of my small testimony, which grew as I grew older. I know that children can gain testimonies of their own and that even small testimonies are enough to help us choose the right.

Just about four months ago a missionary was released from one of our Australia-New Zealand missions and in the following report talks about the Lord’s interest payments or dividends received following an investment of two years in His service. The missionary writes:

“First and foremost, I learned the importance and power of prayer—I learned to communicate with the Lord, and how to recognize His answers—even when He says no. I learned about having implicit faith and trust in the Lord, something I never had before. I learned to heed the promptings of the Holy Ghost. I also developed the gift of discernment. I had this to a degree before, but in the mission field I learned how to use it properly. Most important of all, I learned about myself, what I could really do.

“I found an ability to communicate with other people,” he continues, “and that has been a major milestone in my life. Since finishing my mission, I can walk across campus with my head held high, and look others in the eye. I am now at ease with people; I can face situations. I am not afraid to speak my piece—and I can do it appropriately. I find myself much more organized and tidy—Mom can’t believe it’s me! I can work harder and accomplish more. I have always cared for others, but now I know how to show my concern. I don’t fall apart as easily as I used to; so you could say without question, I have changed significantly, thanks to my mission.”

Now listen to this part: “As I awaited my hour of release, I received a witness that the Lord was pleased with my effort. It was thrilling when I talked to the mission president, especially when he looked me in the eye and said, ‘I am proud of you.’ That was reward enough for me. What a great feeling to look back and know that I gave the Lord the best that was in me! It brings a satisfaction and a peace that can come in no other way.”

Here’s another choice bit: “I was very nervous about my homecoming talk in sacrament meeting. I wanted to say the right things. Since that special Sunday evening, my bishop writes me down here at the “Y” [Brigham Young University] and tells me that there are three young people in the ward beginning to plan for missions as a direct result of my talk!”

And finally: “Not once have I ever regretted accepting the call to go on a mission. It is the most worthwhile thing I ever did. I am even thankful for the hard times, for they strengthened my character and helped me to at least begin to be the person my Heavenly Father would have me be. I learned so much more than I could have learned if I had stayed home. The Church is true without a doubt, and I am so thankful just to be a member. I am so thankful for the relationship which I have developed with the Savior, for it is an outgrowth of my mission and nothing else.”

Sometime after our mission, we felt prompted by the Spirit to leave our home in Minnesota and to move to Utah. There, I started a new business with two of my friends. We decided to buy some land to develop into lots for homes that we could sell. It had been an excellent real estate market. We were quite happy with how the business was going. But it was short lived. The great recession came. Land values crashed. We were in debt and I had no good way to resolve the situation except to go back to my old field of consulting. It was not a good time as the whole economy was in deep trouble.
I was not sure what to do. But I had learned in my life that I could turn to my Heavenly Father for guidance, no matter what the situation might be. Not long after, an opportunity came to me to move to Abu Dhabi in the Middle East. I did not want to move there, but it seemed that it was the only way out of my current difficulties. We took the opportunity and left Utah. Just before departing, I was called to be an Area Seventy in the Middle East. Once again, though I did not understand at first, I was grateful to have kept trusting the Lord—to let Him prevail in our lives.

Melanie learned this important point. “As I grew up I was always looking at my older sister who could play the piano beautifully, sing, dance, paint, write, and draw. I kept trying to think of something she didn’t do that I could excel in. But because she did so much, I never thought of anything. So I just didn’t try.

“I was married and had two children when I began analyzing my feelings and discouragement at my lack of talents. I had always wanted to play the piano, but I had never wanted to take lessons because my sister played so well. Finally one day it hit me. Why should it matter that Jean plays piano well? What difference should that make? If I want to play, then I should go ahead and play because I want to learn.

“So I did. At first it bothered me that I was working on simple tunes while Jean was learning heavy classical pieces. But soon my enjoyment of music overcame that. Maybe I don’t play as well as my sister, and maybe I never will, but it matters less every day as I find fulfillment in my music. I’m so glad I finally stopped letting somebody else’s accomplishments slow my own progress.”

“There’s never anything in this house to eat!” I complained as I surveyed our half-empty refrigerator. in desperation I opened the meat keeper and then pulled out the vegetable drawer. There I saw it. Between the folds of the plastic bags containing the asparagus and the cabbage, someone had attempted to hide a cream-filled, golden yellow sponge cake, a Twinkie.
“It’s my lucky day,” I said for the benefit of that someone—my nine-year-old sister, Valarie. There was little doubt in my mind that she was the one who had hidden the Twinkie because she is the sneakiest member of our family and had been hiding things ever since I started my growth spurt.
Just as I expected, she immediately swooshed over, jumping and screaming, “That’s my Twinkie!”
“Yours?” I said. “Who says?”
“You know you ate yours,” my sister shouted. “Now give me that!”
Technically speaking, of course, she was right. Mom had bought six packages of Twinkies and had given each of us a package. I had done away with my two Twinkies in a matter of seconds. Valarie had apparently eaten one and then saved this other one. Yes, technically, I had eaten my portion. But why should a kid who is barely over four feet tall receive the same food allotment as someone who is destined to play varsity basketball? I needed nourishment. I walked casually, though swiftly, down the stairs and to my room.
I knew what would come next. Within six seconds Valarie was pounding on my locked door. “You’ll be grounded! I’ll tell Mom and Dad! You won’t be able to drive until you’re 18! I’ll take your tapes! I’ll … I’ll tell everybody you like Becky Fitzgerald!”
Now I knew I was pretty safe when it came to the first few threats. I could plead innocence. How was I to know that the Twinkie belonged to Valarie? It was just right there in the vegetable bin. The mention of Becky, however, did bother me slightly. But then I realized that since Becky already knew I liked her, it wouldn’t matter if Valarie blabbed. No, nothing Valarie said or did could affect me. Nothing.
So, as she pounded on the door, I opened the wrapper slightly and squeezed the Twinkie. Sure enough, it was perfect. Along the seam line, I could see the slightest hint of the cream filling.
To me, there is no greater treat than a Twinkie for your everyday, put-it-in-your-mouth variety of junk food. And this particular Twinkie would be especially satisfying because my sister was pounding on my door.
In fact, the sheer delight of the moment made me grin. I knew I was grinning because I could see my reflection in the mirror on the medicine chest in the bathroom adjacent to my room. The reflection of myself with that Twinkie poised near my mouth and ready to go in would normally have been a fine sight if at that moment my eyes hadn’t shifted to the picture in the corner of my mirror. It’s the picture of Christ that Sister Engright gave me. I can’t even remember the exact circumstances, except that there had been an article of faith involved and that CTR song.
Something was causing me to hesitate before stuffing the Twinkie into my mouth. I looked back at myself in the mirror again. It was always startling to see that I didn’t look the way I pictured myself. The rash that had developed when I’d started shaving hadn’t disappeared yet like Dad had said it would after my skin toughened up. Just looking at myself made me want to stuff a hundred Twinkies in my mouth out of sheer discouragement. What a contrast this adolescent face was to the face of the Savior’s in the picture. The Savior had always been my idea of a true hero. Here was someone who hadn’t buckled under when the going got tough. That’s why I’d put his picture on my mirror and not on my wall between the sports and car posters.
My sister was hitting the door so hard now that I was afraid she’d bang a hole through it. Dad had talked about that recently when he and Mom were discussing the possibility of getting some new doors. “Let’s wait until Chuck is out of the terrible teasing stage,” I’d heard him say.
“You mean when he’s 43,” Mom had answered.
“Yes, or on his mission,” Dad had said. “Let’s get new doors when he’s gone and no one feels a need to tear after him and pound on his door.”
I looked at the picture of the Savior again. It wouldn’t be that long before I’d be out there somewhere trying to convert people to the gospel of truth and light and peace.
Peace? What was peace? I didn’t feel peaceful these days with my body changing and all kinds of forces exploding in me, making my insides feel like they were going to pop right out. Take this Twinkie, for instance. I wanted it so badly I could hardly stand it. Sometimes I wanted to eat and eat and eat and never stop. And why shouldn’t I have this Twinkie? It wasn’t as if I was about to take drugs or commit a felony. I wasn’t doing half the stuff I knew some of the kids at my school did. Hey, I’m your basically good guy, and Mom and Dad had every reason to feel fortunate that my only vice was teasing my sister once in a while.
But now looking at the serene and peaceful expression on the face in the picture, I could see a contrast. “Ah, I don’t care,” I thought as I lifted the Twinkie again. “I’ve got to have this. I’m a growing boy.” I could again smell the sponge cake and I was pretty sure I could even smell the cream filling. “I’ll get her another one sometime. I’ll give her the whole package the next time I get to a store.”
But I knew that wouldn’t do it. I knew that the issue came down to right now and this minute. Anybody could repent later, but it takes a big man to make the correct decision at the very moment that temptation is beckoning him.
Good grief, it’s only a Twinkie, I thought. But I also knew that life is a combination of all kinds of small decisions and acts. Yes, it was just a Twinkie, but it wasn’t mine.
I moved the Twinkie a little further away from me where I couldn’t smell it quite so well, and then I found myself pulling the wrapper back around it.
The next part I knew would be the most difficult because it involved the swallowing of pride. Besides, if I opened the door, my sister would rush me. Oh well, it had to be done.
“Here,” I said, opening the door a crack and pushing the wrapped Twinkie through it. The look of astonishment on her face deserved to be put on film. Then her eyes narrowed.
“All right, what did you do to it? What did you put in it?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “It’s yours, isn’t it?”
My sister examined the Twinkie carefully. “I know you did something to it.”
I was finally able to convince her that the Twinkie hadn’t been tampered with, and she scrambled from the door.
I sat down on my bed and felt the pang of withdrawal. The Twinkie was gone. This particular Twinkie would never be mine. But something funny was happening. As much as I could almost taste that Twinkie, I was glad—glad I hadn’t eaten it. In fact, as I went back to the mirror to check my smile, I was feeling satisfaction of a different, more substantial kind. The truth is, I was feeling pretty good.
I turned on the tap, patted down my hair, checked my teeth one more time, stretched my neck to see if there were any whiskers I’d missed, and glanced again at the picture of the Savior. Then, whistling, I left my room to go out into the world—a better man.

The mission home became the organizing point for many of the Saints. By mid-morning the Pacific elders arrived there and found the structure relatively undamaged but waterless due to severed water mains. After consuming sandwiches and bottled fruit (to quench their thirst), they went two by two with local elders to survey the condition of branch members. By noon, reports on all the Saints were in: to the joy and gratitude of the group, not one branch member was missing or seriously hurt.

Before I had bone cancer, I was quite impatient. When I came home from the hospital, I suddenly needed a lot of patience. I had been right-handed, and now I had to learn to do everything left-handed.
One Sunday morning when I was in my bedroom with my tie in my hand, I thought, How am I going to tie this? I thought about getting a clip-on tie. I thought about asking Mom to help me. But I couldn’t take her with me on my mission just to tie my ties. So I decided I had to learn how to do it myself. I finally figured it out by using my teeth. I still do it that way, even after having tied it thousands of times. I have learned that with a positive attitude and the Lord’s help, I can do what I have to do.

One night the “mules and horses took a notion they would go and accordingly they went.” The boys started in pursuit “but the night was so dark that we had to take the advantage of the lightning to tell us which way we were going.” When Zeb saw something move in the distance he tried to run to it. “At last I got lost in a swamp but managed, after much trouble, to get back to camp without finding the animals.” Next morning, on foot, the boys found the animals more than nine miles from the camp.

I am only 11 years old, but for the past few years I’ve received a lot of opposition for my decision not to watch PG-13 movies. Several friends, and even some of their moms, have tried to convince me that a particular movie would be OK for me to watch because they had seen it and thought it was good. Once I chose not to attend a birthday party because they were going to see a PG-13 movie. At another party, out of 20 girls ages nine to twelve, only one other girl and I didn’t want to watch a PG-13 movie.
In My Gospel Standards it says, “I will only read and watch things that are pleasing to Heavenly Father.” There are reasons why a movie is rated PG-13. So even though I’ve been laughed at and made fun of, I feel good knowing that I am choosing to do what I feel Jesus would want me to do.

Anne had lived in Japan only about a year. Today she was excited about going to her first Tanabata (Star Festival) party at the home of Masanari.
It was a rainy afternoon and Anne held up her umbrella as she walked along through the puddles on the narrow lane. The tiny trinket shop was selling gilded paper comets and streamers for Tanabata. Down the passageways between houses were bamboo branches decorated for the Star Festival.
Masanari’s mother slid open the door of their house when Anne arrived.
“Irasshaimase, Anne-chan (Welcome, little Anne),” she said.
Anne sat down on a step in the entryway and pulled off her boots before entering the house.
Then she put on some tiny, pink slippers and hurried down the hall. Her friends from school were all there. Keiko, Jiro, and Masanari sat on the woven tatami (straw) mat floor in the middle of a rainbow of colored papers making origami (paper folding) decorations for Tanabata. Some of the other mothers, who had been invited, were busy making decorations too.
“Come, we’ll show you how, Anne-chan,” said Jiro’s mother as she finished folding a tiny red crab. First, she showed them how to make two familiar animals. (See last page of this story.)
1. Take a square of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold one corner down.
3. Fold the other corner down.
4. Fold the bottom and the top back.
5. Draw a few pencil lines for the face.
1. Take a square of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold tips down.
3. Fold one corner up.
4. Fold the other corner up.
5. Turn the paper over and draw a face.
The children folded red dogs and purple cats and blue dogs and orange cats. They drew happy faces on some and fierce faces on others.
“Have you sometimes heard insects singing in the trees?” asked Jiro’s mother. “Those are cicadas. We can make origami cicadas too.”
1. Take a square piece of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold up the top flap first.
3. Then fold up the bottom flap.
4. Now it looks like this.
5. Turn it over and fold back the two sides.
“Watch me fold an elephant,” said Jiro.
1. Fold two corners of a square of paper so that they meet in the center to form a kite shape.
2. Fold the kite shape in half down the center.
3. Fold the longest tip forward.
4. Then fold it back to the left.
5. Open out the inside corner of the top flap and spread it back.
6. Fold the top half down behind the figure.
7. Open out the tip of the elephant’s trunk and tuck it down inside itself.
8. Cut out the legs and tail and draw on tusks and eyes.
“Look at my lantern,” said Keiko.
1. Fold two sides of an oblong piece of paper in until they meet at the center.
2. Fold each corner forward to the center.
3. Fold the tips back.
4. Fold each corner forward again and then turn the paper over.
5. Gently push the top tip up and the bottom tip down and open them out.
“The most famous of all is the sacred crane,” said Jiro’s mother as she took a square of metallic gold paper. “The crane is a beautiful white bird with red-tipped head and black-edged wings. It comes every summer to our islands. To the Japanese it means long life and happiness.”
Her skillful fingers moved so quickly that Anne could not see how she made the tiny, complicated folds. A delicate creature with graceful spreading wings was soon completed.
She set the lovely bird on the palm of her hand and held it out to Anne. “This is the orizuru or folded crane,” she said. Keiko, too, worked very fast and knew how to make many folds. Soon she had a great pile of origami figures spilling over her lap.
“Here, Anne-chan, take some of mine,” she said.
Origami cranes and turtles and canoes and frogs and lanterns covered the floor. Masanari’s mother entered with bamboo branches and helped the children tie their bright origami creations to the boughs.
“They are truly beautiful!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t it fun to have Tanabata to celebrate every year?” Then, Masanari’s mother told them a legend of the stars.
“Up in the sky there are two sad stars who love each other very much, but they are separated by the heavenly river, the Milky Way. Only on this one night of all the year can they cross the Milky Way and meet.
“However, if it rains, then the Milky Way will be flooded, and the poor, lonely stars will not be able to meet after all,” she said as she bowed her head sadly.
Anne listened quietly to the story. She remembered the puddles in the lane and her wet umbrella drying in the entryway.
“I think it’s raining,” she said somberly.
“But we can hope it will stop, can’t we?” said Jiro’s mother as she ushered everyone in to dinner.
They sat on cushions on the tatami-covered floor around a low-legged lacquer table. For the mothers there were hashi (chopsticks) to eat with. For the children there were hashi and spoons.
They were served bowls filled with haddock and rice, fish soup, tofu (soy bean curd), sashimi (raw tuna), and little pickled salads. Gelatin from the sea and crushed pineapple and handsful of rice candy were served for dessert.
It was dark now, and as the children ran out of the house, Masanari shouted, “It’s stopped raining! It’s stopped raining!”
“Now the stars can meet after all!” cried Keiko.
There were green and blue and white sparklers for everyone. With the mothers’ help, the children lit the sparklers and swung them in the darkness, making circles and spirals while they laughed and talked.
When the sparklers were gone they picked up their Tanabata branches. Holding them above their heads, they waved them slowly against the night sky as they sang a farewell song.
“The party is over. Our Star Festival is ended,” said Masanari’s mother.
Masanari could not let the evening end just yet. “Let’s walk with everyone on their way home, Mama-san,” he begged.
When they reached Anne’s apartment, everyone bowed and said, “Oyasuminasai” (Good night. Please rest).
Note: Although origami figures are ideally folded of special origami paper that is colored on one side and plain on the other, they can also be made of any lightweight paper. Follow the illustrations carefully; the dotted lines show where the folds should be made.

My younger brother was going on his first date. I had called home from college to talk to Mom, and she told me that Chris was preparing to leave soon. I insisted on talking to him, and Chris and I visited for a few minutes. I told him I loved him and was very proud of him, and we said good-bye.
That was the last time I spoke to my brother. Less than two weeks later, I received the news that Chris had died in a car accident, and I needed to come home.
A flood of memories washed over me as I made the long journey of more than 3,200 kilometers home.
As I settled into my seat on the airplane, I remembered fondly the day we picked up my mother and baby Chris from the hospital. I was only three and a half years old, but I remember that moment clearly. Mom had wrapped him in a yellow blanket she had made for him, and he was with her in the front seat as we drove home in our old station wagon. I was sitting in the backseat with the rest of my family, but I couldn’t help leaning as far forward as I could to see my new baby brother.
I remembered the time one of my older brothers and I wrapped five-year-old Chris in bathroom tissue until he looked like an Egyptian mummy. His blond hair was barely visible through the white tissue covering his entire body.
About a year later, Chris fell and broke his arm because he was following my lead and jumping on and off Mom and Dad’s bed. Mom quickly let me know that it was my fault, too, for being such a bad example. I felt so bad for him that I decided right then that I would try to be a better sister to my younger brother. And I was. Chris really looked up to me, Mom said.
Before long I was looking up to him. When I came home for Christmas after my first semester at college, I was surprised to find that Chris had outgrown me by a couple of inches. I looked up to him, but not just because of his height. Chris had turned into an impressive young man.
He often shared his spiritual experiences with me. One night when I was in high school, Chris and I were outside on the driveway looking at the stars. It was a beautiful, clear night, and we were reluctant to go inside. We started to talk about the beauty of the earth and all of God’s creations. Chris bore his testimony to me, and I remember thinking how proud I was of him.
Chris and I were friends, and although we didn’t always get along, we were always glad to be brother and sister. I took my job as older sister very seriously. I taught him how to dance, how to drive a car with a manual transmission, and how to be a gentleman. Every year after I got my driver’s license, we would go shopping for Christmas gifts together and talk about anything and everything.
As the memories flooded my mind, I wished with all my heart that I could have had one more chance to hug my little brother and tell him how much I loved him. Tears streamed down my face as I heard an answer to my heartfelt desire. “You will,” a clear voice spoke comfort to my mind. “You will.”
I knew it would be a long time before I would see Chris again, but the sweet peace of the Comforter had now filled me with hope. I knew with certainty that Chris’s spirit was not dead. Because of the Savior, I could someday see Chris again. Jesus Christ died for us that we might live, that through our faithfulness we might return to our Heavenly Father, that families might be together forever. I could be with my younger brother again because Jesus Christ had provided the way!
As I stared out the airplane window at the clouds and sky, I prayed that both Chris and the Savior would know how much I missed and loved them. And I prayed for strength to do what is right so that I might be able to be with them again.
When the airplane landed for refueling, I wiped away my tears. I knew that the rest of the journey home to my family would be difficult, but with the Lord’s help, I would make it. And I know, too, that with the Savior’s help I can make it home to my Father in Heaven to be with my family and loved ones there.

What you do when you are alone is generally a good indication of the kind of person you really are. The same is true when you find yourself to be the only Latter-day Saint in a crowd of people who are not members of the Church.
Although it may be tempting to rationalize that no one knows you’re a Mormon, that no one will ever know if you decide to relax your standards, don’t give in! Someone is always watching you, and if you have the courage to be a good example, you may guide someone else who is searching for the truth.
Years ago, when I was in the military, my family and I were stationed at Charleston Air Force Base in South Carolina. There we met Willis Hepworth, who was serving in the navy. Willis taught us some important lessons about being a good example even when there are no family members or Church acquaintances nearby.
Willis was active in the Church and had been involved in its youth programs. He had musical talents and had participated in a variety of activities.
When he graduated from high school in Magna, Utah, he had decided to join the navy. One of Willis’s naval assignments was aboard a minesweeper operating off the east coast of the United States. As far as he knew, there were no other Church members among the crew.
When the ship put into port at New Bern, North Carolina, for repairs, Willis looked up the address of the local branch and attended services. He found out that the next Saturday there would be a dance at the branch. Excited at the prospect of going to a dance, Willis asked two of his shipmates, Kenneth Kinzel and John Archer, to go with him. The two liked the idea of going to a social function where there would be some single girls, so they accepted the invitation.
They attended the dance and thoroughly enjoyed themselves. Ken was particularly impressed that they had such an enjoyable time without drinking and without the other activities usually associated with “hitting the beach.” He wanted to know more about a church that would sponsor that kind of activity and asked Willis how he could learn more. Willis contacted the missionaries. They taught Ken and John, and in a few weeks both were baptized.
After his baptism, Ken wanted his parents to know about the gospel. “I doubt that my parents would ever be interested in becoming Latter-day Saints,” he said. After all, his father held a prominent position in his own church.
But when Ken was home on leave, he asked his parents if they would be willing to have the missionaries tell them about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Being the fine, open-minded people they were, they agreed. Later, Ken had the privilege of baptizing and confirming them. They later became temple workers.
Don Dewey, a nonmember, was one of Ken’s friends stationed aboard a sister minesweeper. He wanted to discover the inconsistencies in the Church’s doctrine so that he could point out to Ken the error of his decision to be baptized. So when the three men returned from sea, Don decided to join Willis and Ken at sacrament meeting in Charleston.
But Don never did find the inconsistencies he sought. Instead, after months of intensive study, he also chose to become a member of the Church.
One night shortly after his baptism, Don was tending the ship’s engines and reading the Book of Mormon in his spare time. Burt, one of the crew, came up behind him and asked what he was reading.
“It’s the Book of Mormon,” Don replied.
“Are you Mormon?”
“Yes, I am.”
Burt ground out his cigarette and said, “So am I.” He had been brought up in the Church but had stopped participating when he joined the military. Don convinced him to join the others at sacrament meeting the next Sunday. But began the process of repenting and getting his life back in order.
Just before Don was released from military duty, he wrote to my wife and me.
“As you know,” he said, “I am the only member of the Church in my family. I had been saving part of my paycheck so that when I get out I would be able to pay cash for a new car. But now I’ve decided to use the money for something better—to support myself on a mission.”
Ken also decided to serve a mission. After their missions, both Ken and Don were married in the temple, and both have served faithfully in many Church callings.
We asked Ken and Don what it was about the gospel and the Church that attracted them most. Without a moment’s hesitation, they each said that it was Willis’s life, his example.
What if Willis had thought no one was watching him? If he had abandoned his beliefs, would Ken and Don and their families be members of the Church today? Where would Burt be? What would have happened to Ken’s parents? And how about others who also joined the Church because of Ken’s and Don’s efforts?
This great cycle of service, conversion, and good works was generated by Willis’s quiet yet powerful, consistent example as a righteous young Latter-day Saint. Willis was willing to face the challenge of living up to his standards, even when he found himself alone and when he may have thought no one else was watching.
The truth is, people do watch. Your friends and associates, both within and outside of the Church, watch you all the time. They look for the light the Lord said that you should be to the world.
May each of you be blessed to be strong in setting a proper example, even—and maybe especially—when you think you are all alone.

Ryan tossed Matt the football and asked, “So, what should we do?”
Matt tossed the ball back and leaned against the bright blue wall.
“I don’t know,” he said.
The boys sat on Ryan’s top bunk, surrounded by his favorite books and magazines. Matt looked around. He picked up a black book with gold letters. “What’s this?”
“Haven’t you seen that before?” Ryan asked. “That’s my Book of Mormon.”
“Oh, yeah!” Matt nodded. “That’s kind of like your Bible, right?”
“Sort of,” Ryan said. “It’s scripture, like the Bible, but it talks about a different group of people. They lived in the Americas when Jesus was alive. And He visited them too.”
“Cool,” said Matt, flipping through it.
“I actually have an extra copy,” said Ryan. “Do you want to take it home?”
“Sure, why not?”
The boys walked downstairs to the bookshelf. Ryan found the copy and handed it to Matt.
“Thanks! I can check it out when I get home,” said Matt.
“Wanna go jump on the trampoline?” Ryan asked.
“Definitely!”
The boys raced outside and kicked off their shoes. They climbed on the trampoline and bounced until it was time for Matt to go home. On his way out, he picked up his new book and said goodbye.
Later that night, as Ryan was reading scriptures before bed, Mom came in to say good night.
“Guess what, Mom?” said Ryan. “I gave Matt a Book of Mormon today.”
“Really?” said Mom, sitting on the bed. “That’s great! Do you think he’ll read it?”
“I don’t know,” said Ryan. “He might just put it on his dresser and forget about it.”
Mom nodded. “That might happen, but you never know. Sometimes doing one little thing can have a ripple effect, like when you throw a rock in a lake. The ripples from one small rock can get surprisingly big.”
Ryan remembered throwing rocks into Silver Lake last month and watching the ripples grow bigger and bigger.
“Did you know that on Dad’s mission in Japan, every person he baptized told him that another Church member or missionary had talked to them about the Church before?” Mom said. “Even though they didn’t get baptized the first time they heard about the Church, they remembered the people who had talked to them, and it helped them choose baptism when they were ready.”
Ryan wondered if Matt remembered the times Ryan had invited him to church. Matt had come twice, but he was usually busy doing other things with his family on Sundays.
“I hope Matt at least opens it,” Ryan said. “Maybe not now, but someday.”
Mom stood up to leave. “Remember, you can’t always see the impact right away, but little actions make a big difference.”
The next day before school, Ryan found Matt. “So did you check out the book?”
Matt nodded. “I read a couple of pages,” he said. “But the funny thing is, my older brother Sam found it. And he read the whole first chapter.”
“Really?” said Ryan. “Cool!”
The bell rang to go inside. As Ryan walked to class, he smiled. I guess I just saw my first ripple.

Robert spun around the living room like a tornado, picking up the blocks and pillows scattered around the floor as he raced from one side of the room to the other.
He checked the clock on the wall. 4:59! He had only one minute left until the new show he wanted to watch was going to start, but he knew his chores needed to be finished before he could watch.
With a final rush of energy, Robert picked up his socks, hurried to his room, and tossed them into his clothes hamper with the precision of a three-point shooter. Perfect shot! He raced back into the living room just as the show started.
“Phew!” Robert thought. “Made it!”
Mom sat down with Robert and his brothers, Walter and Michael, to watch the show. Dad would be home in about half an hour.
The show started off pretty funny. Even Mom was laughing!
Then there was a mean joke. Then a gross joke. Robert looked at Mom. She wasn’t laughing any more.
Mom picked up the remote and turned the TV volume all the way down.
“Mom!” Robert exclaimed. “Why?”
Even though Robert asked the question, he already knew the answer.
“Do you think we should keep watching this show?” Mom asked.
Robert looked at the floor. “No,” he sighed.
“Why not?” Mom asked.
“Because they’re saying rude things,” Robert answered.
Mom and Dad always encouraged Robert and his brothers to be happy and enjoy good humor, but they said that jokes that were rude or gross didn’t count as good humor. Dad always told Robert and his brothers that it was important to keep their speech “above the line.”
Robert wasn’t exactly sure what “above the line” meant, but he had a pretty good idea of what Dad was trying to say. Language that didn’t make people feel good was below the line. Language that did make people feel good was above the line.
Robert jumped up from the couch and turned off the TV. He was disappointed the show had some rude language, but he knew it probably wasn’t a good idea to watch it.
The next day at recess, some of Robert’s friends were using the same kinds of words that had prompted Mom to turn down the volume on the TV. They weren’t curse words, but they still made Robert uncomfortable.
As Robert walked away to go play somewhere else, he imagined a horizontal line in the air in front of his friends. He imagined the words his friends were saying dropping like bricks from their mouths and immediately falling below the line.
Robert decided to go play basketball with some of his other friends. After rebounding the ball, Robert made his first shot. Then his second! Then his third!
“Great shooting!” his friend Zach said. “You’re on fire! But not for real. That would hurt!”
Zach laughed. So did Robert.
Those words made Robert feel good about himself. He imagined these were the kinds of words that would float up above the imaginary line Dad always talked about.
“Thanks,” Robert said. “You’re shooting really well today too.”
Zach smiled. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ve been practicing.”
Robert could tell his words made Zach happy. Just saying the words made Robert happy too.