Gospel Story Finder

Youth in the Manly Ward, Sydney Australia Greenwich Stake (above), celebrated by researching the Prophet’s life and teachings and then compiling a book about their findings. They used Mutual time to do the project.
The book has 13 chapters, each based on an article of faith, and is titled Praise to the Man (see Hymns, no. 27). The youth and their families plan on using their copies of the completed work to share the gospel with friends. They will also send copies of the book to missionaries serving from the Manly Ward.
The youth learned more than facts from writing their book. “I learned that when we have trials we need to trust in God like Joseph Smith did,” says Losi Motuliki, a teacher.
“Joseph Smith was a really great man,” says Antoinette Hilario, a Mia Maid. “He was able to translate the Book of Mormon, which is another testament of Jesus Christ. We are so blessed to have this scripture in our lives today.”

These words reminded me of the story of the famous American heavyweight boxer Joe Louis Barrow. Known to the world as Joe Louis or the Brown Bomber, he is one of the most storied champions in heavyweight boxing history. Even early in his career, his rise to becoming the heavyweight champion looked inevitable. But, after a streak of wins against top contenders, Louis became complacent and began to stray from the daily routine that made him excellent. In 1936, in New York City, he faced a fighter named Max Schmeling. The stakes were high, as the fight represented the conflict between American democracy and German fascism. Schmeling won the fight in the twelfth round by knockout. The loss devastated Joe Louis and many in the United States. One attendee noted the reaction,
“I walked down Seventh Avenue and saw grown men weeping like children, and women sitting in the curbs with their heads in their hands. All across the country that night when the news came that Joe was knocked out, people cried.” [1]
Sadly, Louis was “unprepared or unqualified for what could have been his finest hour.”
He regrouped, rededicated himself to a productive daily routine, and set out for redemption. The following year, he became the heavyweight champion. And a year later, he beat Schmeling with a first-round knockout. He remained the champion for nearly 12 years and had a streak of 25 successful defenses of his title. Louis’s later life was difficult and tragic, but he is credited with a quote that has great meaning.
He said, “A champion doesn't become a champion in the ring, he's merely recognized in the ring. His ‘becoming’ happens during his daily routine.”

May I comment briefly on one other point in President Hinckley’s talk: He encouraged the students in 1985 to save, protect, and preserve the facilities on this campus. I believe his counsel continues to be heeded by many of you students today. Let me relate a recent experience.

I was walking toward the Wilkinson Student Center last summer. A group of visitors had finished eating lunch, but not all of their garbage had been properly disposed of. A pile of trash was conspicuously in the patio area and needed to be removed. As I reached down to grab an armful of boxes, I noticed a BYU coed next to me picking up the rest of the boxes. She looked at me and said with a smile, “Some of our visitors don’t appreciate what it takes to keep this campus clean.” I think her mother and bishop would be pleased with the kind of student she had become. Her actions showed the gratitude and appreciation she had for the tithing funds allocated to BYU.

My boy graduated from high school at the age of 17 with plans to attend Brigham Young University-Idaho, 3,000 miles away from home before serving a full-time mission.
When he turned eighteen, he received his patriarchal blessing that mentioned the blessings that would come to him from serving a mission. Shortly after, my son shared with me that he had put in his mission papers. I cried. In part because I was proud that he had come to that decision on his own, but also because I was terrified. You see, Rayshawn was my only child and since my divorce, it was just the two of us.
Life intervened and some pretty trying things happened that tested my son’s faith. It is the hardest thing in the world to see one’s child struggle and not be able to do anything but encourage and pray unceasingly for them. My son turned eighteen, then 19, and by this time he was adamant that he would never serve a mission. He turned 20 and COVID hit. He came home from school because the isolation was doing things to his mental health.
By this time, he attended Church sporadically. He and I are the only members of the Church in our family, so I depended heavily on the temple prayer roll, personal and family prayer, and spending quality time together. We would sometimes read his patriarchal blessing together because I think the adversary works very hard at making the youth feel unworthy, unloved, unappreciated, worthless, and unable to do anything that presents a challenge or even anything that does not bring them instant gratification. We must help them see themselves as their Heavenly Father sees them and then living up to their potential will be much easier.
My little branch in the Caribbean is guided by a mission president and when a new president moved into our area he reached out and began counseling with my son via Zoom. By the time my son turned 22 years old he submitted his mission papers for the third time. Third time’s the charm, right? I should let you know that he taught himself Japanese because he really wanted to go to Japan.
Of course, our plans are not God’s plans, and he was called to the Trinidad Port of Spain Mission. He has been out on his mission for 10 months and he is zone leader. I have seen a mighty change in my son, and this young man who always thought the glass was half-empty is able to keep things positive even when confronted by someone with a knife in the streets while training a new missionary. He would later encourage other missionaries to always look for the positive perspective in similar situations.
As a mother, I still pray without ceasing over my baby boy, Elder Rayshawn N. Gibson, but I see that he has received His image in his countenance and the Light of Christ indeed shines in his eyes. Can a mother ask for anything more?

by Janet Stowell
Take almost seventy-five New York City seminary students, let them make pita bread and baklava, study Greek history, and make some new Greek friends. Then have the students set sail on a boat as they sing songs in a foreign language. What have you got? Greek Super Saturday for the New York New York Stake.
In March 1979, President Kimball told a Regional Representative seminar: “I continue to be impressed that we should do more to reach the large groups of language minorities in our major cities. For instance, there are … in New York City … 75,000 Greeks. As you can see, there is still much to do right here at home.”
Taking the prophet’s words seriously, the stake youth decided to spend the time and energy usually devoted to the annual spring cultural event—in the past a road show or dance festival—to explore Greek culture and gain new perspectives that might eventually help the missionary effort.
At a Super Saturday in April, a Password game introduced the Greek cultural event by using words with Greek roots. The noisy contest ended in a tie and so everyone was invited to continue studying Greece until the Greek Super Saturday the following month.
Booklets distributed to each student encouraged certain activities to be done in preparation during the month: finding a Doric column in New York architecture, becoming acquainted with the Greek-speaking missionaries recently assigned to the area, making a new Greek friend, studying statues of figures from Greek mythology at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, or touching a Cypress tree.
The young men and young women of the Manhattan First and Second wards joined together for an “Olympic” decathlon (one event used Frisbees instead of a discus) and afterwards adult leaders in the wards drove the young people around in a van to visit Greek sections of the city, including a visit to a pastry shop. The seminary students also visited a Greek Orthodox church several times and learned about its emphasis on youth leadership and strong homes.
Young women in the Staten Island Branch sat in on a Relief Society lesson on Greece and then invited the young men in their Mutual to a Greek dinner. “We had souvlaki, pita bread, salad, and baklava,” said Denise Kuehne, a 16-year-old branch member. “It was wonderful food.”
Finally, on May 17, the stake youth took the train to Greenwich, Connecticut, and met for a mini-Olympics in the city park, running relays, throwing balls, and wrestling much as Greek youth may have done thousands of years ago. The teenagers enjoyed the open spaces of the park located on Long Island Sound, dipping their toes in the bay, playing guitars, and resting underneath blooming dogwoods and azaleas.
In keeping with the Greek tradition of sailing, the youth group felt it would be appropriate to eat their special Greek dinner aboard ship. A Mississippi-type riverboat was all that was available, but it was amply decorated with appropriate posters. The meal included additional samples of Greek cuisine, including meatballs in pita bread with yoghurt sauce and onions. Shaun Bushnell, a professional singer and actress, then taught the group Greek songs and dances, and each ward showed slides of their cultural enrichment experiences held during the previous month.
The entire experience, said Wady Cruz, 17, of the Manhattan Spanish Ward, “left us with something when it was over. It enriched us.” Not only that, but the Greek-speaking missionaries now have some member friends to lend them a hand.

One hot summer day our family decided that the best way to enjoy the afternoon would be to go to the mountains. Long on our list of things to do together was a trip to a nearby cave. After we had gotten our hiking gear together, a lunch was packed.
We set out on our journey with anticipation and soon found ourselves in the refreshing coolness of the mountains. At the cave we were greeted by a park ranger, who became our guide. He told us that originally there were three caves, discovered separately, but that now the caves were joined together by man-made passageways. We noticed that there were many levels of interesting rock formations, some of which remained unexplored. Pointing to a slight opening at the side of the trail, the ranger commented that there were two unpenetrated caverns below the path on which we stood. He said, “We hope to explore both of these some day, but as yet we haven’t found a satisfactory way to get in and out of those lower caves.”
Ducking our heads to avoid contact with sharp-edged rocks, we walked along a narrow, slippery path with the unknown leading off in every direction. In order to keep our balance, it was often necessary for us to grip an iron pipe attached to the cave wall alongside the trail.
I had fallen to the end of the group to take some pictures with my camera, when suddenly the electric lights in the cave went out. Whether this was part of a demonstration to a group ahead of us or an unexpected power failure, I don’t know. Far ahead of me our guide raised his voice and it echoed back along the narrow passage. “Be calm, everyone; I’m sure the lights will come on momentarily. Everybody please stay on the trail and hold onto the railing.” His flashlight made only a tiny spark of yellow in the distance.
I had a strong mental image of the many jagged holes and side passages breaking off and down from the place where we stood. A person could get lost in one of these and never be seen again, I worried. To relax, I leaned against the slanted wall of rock. Feeling along the wall with my fingers, I found the iron railing. With the park ranger ahead and by holding onto the railing, we should be able to get out of here, I decided, even if the power isn’t restored.
An excited murmur of voices rose from the group ahead of me, but it soon subsided. We all seemed to sense that as long as we stayed on the trail and followed the advice of the guide, who had been over the path before, there would be no danger. There was no fear because we could hear his voice and feel the railing firmly fixed to the rocky wall of the cave.
After a few minutes the lights came on and we were able to continue our tour and view the wondrous beauty of the cave. But what would have happened if someone had abandoned the trail or let go of the railing? What if anyone had tried to get out by himself by feeling his way along the cave floor in the dark? What chance would any of us have had of getting out without the railing or without the ranger?
There have been many other exciting and memorable family outings, and each one has taught lessons of love, understanding, and cooperation. But on that long-ago day when I held tightly to a damp iron railing in a dark cave, I learned a lesson in faith that I have never forgotten.

The next step was to go to Ch’ungpoong to try to locate my father and brother. Ch’ungpoong is southwest of Jechon, in a secluded part of Korea. Many days later we took a country bus over dirt roads and rice fields to get there. When we arrived, we asked at the records office, but the officials had never heard of Kim Chin Ku. We also went to the school to check its records. The school had no record of the son, but we met a person there who knew of the family. He told us that they went by other names (not unusual for Koreans). We checked again and found a reference to a high school in Taegu, another city in southern Korea.
Back in Seoul, President Ch’oi consulted with some Church leaders in Taegu, and they were able to locate two addresses among the school records: one in Young Duk, where Kim Chin Ku had lived before his marriage to my mother, and one in Taegu. We decided to check them both. President Ch’oi’s son, who went with us, felt that we ought to go to Young Duk first. When we arrived at the village, we went to the police station. The men on duty knew of the family and offered to take us to meet them.
We rode into another secluded part of Korea through rice fields and mountains before we came to a little village at the foot of a canyon. We got out of the taxi, and Brother Ch’oi talked with one of the villagers. The man told us that Kim Chin Ku lived in the village and was working in the fields. The taxi driver offered to go find him and bring him back to us. As we waited, I felt panic. What if this man really was my father?
The taxi approached. In the back seat were two people—a little boy and an old man. We greeted each other. The elderly man was wrinkled and aged from the sun, but he had a sweet, sincere air. I felt confident that he was my father.
His real name was Kim Hong Suk, but he was also known as Kim Chin Ku. He invited us to his home. We walked up a dirt road and entered the yard, where an ox was tied to a tree. On the other side of his house was a barn. Inside the house, a straw mat was spread on the floor. We sat down, and this man—my father—sat next to me. He stared at me, and I at him. One by one, the villagers came to see us. We told him the story of our search, and he confirmed the account Mr. Ko had given.
Next we asked about the son—my brother. His name was Kim Do Yun, and he was attending a technical college in Taegu. My father indicated that he would telephone and arrange a time for us to meet. While he was telephoning, I asked the other family members if they had any family records. They brought out a huge published book of their lineage.
My father made arrangements for us to meet Kim Do Yun at a restaurant in Pohang that evening. When I met him, I had a sweet, peaceful feeling. I knew that this was the right family—my Korean family. My brother was very nervous. He trembled with emotion as we told him the story and showed him our papers. Up to now he had never known that the woman whom he had thought was his mother, was actually his stepmother. But after overcoming the initial shock, he seemed excited to be my big brother.

Scott Miller, 14, of the San Leandro First Ward, San Leandro California Stake, was in the unique position to help a friend who was seriously hurt.
Scott watched as his best friend, Kevin Freund, fell into a stream from a rope swing and was knocked unconscious. Scott lifted his friend out of the stream, and after Kevin regained consciousness, Scott kept him talking to keep him from lapsing into unconsciousness again. Scott then carried him home where his mother called for medical help.

Brady insisted, however, that he was going to be baptized. He had been looking forward to it for a long time, even though his disease had caused him to be so weak that much of his life had been spent in hospitals. His father prayed and had a calm feeling that somehow Brady would be able to be baptized without drowning. So when Brady turned eight, Brother Blaser didn’t ask if it could be done, he just gave me the job of figuring out how to do it. Not able to get any information from Church headquarters about anyone with a tracheotomy being baptized, we tried waterproof tape on Brady’s skin, and it seemed to stick even when wet. The baptism was scheduled.
Because my faith was not as strong as Brady’s and his parents’, we took resuscitation equipment to the baptism. After the spiritual talks, everyone waited while we took the plastic tracheotomy tube out of Brady’s throat, leaving a hole which the tightly stretched layers of special tape held together to keep the water out. Brother Blaser carried his son into the baptismal font, where I was waiting dressed in white. A doctor isn’t often needed in the baptismal font, but my job that day was to help Brady keep water out of his nose and mouth and to be there in case something went wrong. Nothing did. The spirit was there as Brady was baptized a member of the Church.
Medically, the baptism was impossible. But it was accomplished because of the faith and determination of Brady Blaser and his parents.

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

I once listened to the experience of an engineer who had recently joined the Church. The missionaries had called at his home, and his wife had invited them in. She had eagerly responded to their message, while he felt himself being pulled in against his will.

One evening she indicated that she wished to be baptized. He flew into a fit of anger. Didn’t she know what this would mean? This would mean time. This would mean the payment of tithing. This would mean giving up their friends. This would mean no more smoking. He threw on his coat and walked out into the night, slamming the door behind him. He walked the streets, swearing at his wife, swearing at the missionaries, swearing at himself for ever permitting them to teach them. As he grew tired his anger cooled, and a spirit of prayer somehow came into his heart. He prayed as he walked. He pleaded with God for an answer to his questions. And then an impression, clear and unequivocal, came almost as if a voice had spoken with words that said, “It’s true.”

“It’s true,” he said to himself again and again. “It’s true.” A peace came into his heart. As he walked toward home, the restrictions, the demands, the requirements over which he had been so incensed began to appear as opportunities. When he opened the door, he found his wife on her knees praying.

Then before the congregation to whom he told this, he spoke of the gladness that had come into their lives. Tithing was not a problem. The sharing of their substance with God, who had given them everything, seemed little enough. Time for service was not a problem. Responsibility was not a problem. Out of it came growth and a new outlook on life. And then this man of intellect and training, this engineer accustomed to dealing with the facts of the physical world in which we live, bore solemn testimony with moistened eyes of the miracle that had come into his life (from Ensign, July 1973, 50).

One Church member received this gift—and the joy promised—when reading the Book of Mormon for the second time. The first reading had been quick—simply to finish the book as fast as possible. But the second reading was motivated by a desire to understand what the book taught.
“As I read, new ideas flowed into my mind, and I began to make connections between what I read and experiences I was having. I recognized ways I needed to improve. But rather than feeling chastised, I felt loved. My heart swelled with joy.”

In such a dream, my grandfather’s ears were opened and instruction was given, or sealed, that would change our family for eternity.
Brígido Becerra grew up in Puebla, Mexico. Sadly, he grew up without a father, and at the age of 11, Brígido’s mother died in his arms. He was left alone to live his life as best as he could. At the time, there were no social programs or opportunities to assist an orphan boy like Brígido. Without any guidance or someone to care for him, Brígido became addicted to alcohol. That addiction negatively affected almost every aspect of his life.
At one point his addiction become so severe, he felt he was going to lose his wife and children. In desperation, he decided to pray. He had not been raised with any religion and so offered a prayer in his own way. He pleaded for help to overcome his addiction and sincerely sought to find an escape from his problems.
Sometime after he uttered that sincere prayer, sister missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints visited his home. They had met his wife, Julia, and had told the children about Primary at the local ward. They now sought Brígido’s permission for the children to attend.
The sisters began to teach Brígido and his family about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Back then, missionaries taught using flannel boards to show pictures while they were teaching. During this lesson they showed a picture of the Prophet Joseph Smith. Brígido immediately recognized the man in the picture. He told the sister missionaries he knew this man. They were puzzled by what Brígido said. He was from Mexico and Joseph Smith had lived and died in the United States many years before Brígido was even born. There was no way Brígido knew Joseph Smith.
My grandfather then shared his dream with the missionaries. He told them he dreamed that he was working on his small ranch cutting alfalfa with his machete and gathering other food to feed his chickens and pigs. As he was busy working, a large serpent attacked him. My grandfather fought the serpent as best he could, but it wrapped itself around him, opened its mouth, and was about to swallow him whole.
At that very moment of peril, a man dressed in white, and with a sword in hand, cut off the head of the serpent. As it fell dead at Brígido’s feet, he looked up to see who had saved his life. He did not recognize the man but noted he was dressed in white. Then he explained that the man in the picture the sisters were sharing was the man in his dream. Brígido had immediately recognized that this was the man in his dream, the man who saved him. Now he knew the man’s name was Joseph Smith.
This dream was a vivid learning experience for my grandfather. He felt it was a direct answer to his prayers and pleadings. He said he felt that the serpent was a representation of his addiction to alcohol. And he understood, through the powerful teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith and the doctrine of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, that he would be able to overcome his addiction. He knew he would find relief and receive the full blessings of the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
Elder Becerra’s grandfather, Brígido Becerra and his wife, photographed on their only visit to the United States.
Photograph courtesy of the author
Shortly after sharing this experience with the sister missionaries, my grandfather Brígido Becerra was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He loved the gospel of Christ. He had a special love for the Book of Mormon and all the prophets, especially Joseph Smith.
My grandfather’s dream led him to the true gospel of Christ and not only saved him from a life of addiction and sorrow but also blessed generations of faithful members of the Church. When my grandfather passed away at the age of 98, he left approximately 120 descendants—children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren. Each one has been affected by his dream and by his legacy of testimony and faithfulness to the Church and to the Savior, Jesus Christ.

It wasn’t until after my first business venture broke down and my second one burned to the ground that I wondered if I would be able to take my fiancée, Beny, to the temple. We had heard that getting there would be a trial of faith, but when we made temple marriage our goal, we had no idea how thoroughly our faith would be tested.

Beny and I met in our native Panama after serving missions. Because of the laws in Panama, couples who wanted to start their married lives in the temple were married civilly just before traveling to the nearest temple, the Guatemala City Guatemala Temple. It would be an expensive and difficult trip, but being sealed was a blessing we did not want to live without.

The day after I proposed, I lost my job. Undaunted, I decided to earn money by giving bus tours. My bus broke down the first night. Concerned but determined, I next decided to sell T-shirts. The morning I went to pick up the shirts from the manufacturer, I found that the building had burned to the ground the night before. It seemed that my hopes had gone up in smoke too.

It was only a few months before the next scheduled temple trip, yet to this point, every effort I had made to raise money had ended in abrupt failure. I left the smoldering rubble and went to find Beny.

“I have nothing,” I told her. “Maybe you shouldn’t marry me.”

“If I were marrying for money, I’d be married already,” she said. “But I’m not marrying for money. I’m marrying you because I love you.”

That was a turning point. We felt that we had passed an important test. As we pushed ahead with faith, doors began opening. I found work making furniture, though the pay wasn’t enough to meet our needs. Then a kind bishop offered to help us with our bus fare. As exciting as his offer was, it didn’t feel right. We were intent on being self-sufficient. But seeing that he truly desired to help, we asked him if he could give Beny a job instead. He did.

After earning enough money to travel to the temple, we married civilly and were at last on our way to Guatemala with 10 other Church members. But our test wasn’t over yet.

Widespread transportation strikes stopped us at the border of Costa Rica. After waiting at the border for two days, our driver decided to turn back. But Beny and I, along with two brothers and one other couple, decided not to give up. After watching our bus turn around and leave us, we walked into Costa Rica. We kept walking, sleeping in roadside shelters, until we reached the Nicaraguan border. From there we managed to take a taxi to the capital city, where we purchased a bus ticket to the Honduran border. Two days—and two more buses—later we finally arrived at the temple. We were dirty and tired, and we had spent far more than we had planned, but we were happy.

The next day, after all our trials and delays, we were finally sealed eternally as husband and wife. Our joy—worth the working, the waiting, and the worrying—was full!

Not everyone getting married in the temple will face such challenges, but for Beny and me (and the others who went to the temple with us), these experiences were a refining process. It was one of the greatest experiences of my life.

If our goal to marry in the temple had been only for worldly love, we wouldn’t have made it. But because we believed in the sealing power of the priesthood restored in our day, we didn’t give up, knowing that our temple marriage—for time and all eternity—was worth whatever sacrifice we had to make.

Delphine, a convert from Paris, France, has a difficult family situation, so when the missionaries taught her that families can live together in the celestial kingdom, she wasn’t sure she wanted that. As the missionaries continued to teach her about the three degrees of glory, however, she was comforted. She learned that she will get to be with those she loves who chose to follow the gospel. With a better understanding of the plan of salvation, she said, “I found it much more just, and that reassured me.”

During the height of cross-country season, Heather Frushour, a two-time Utah state champion who graduated last June, used to be so busy that she barely had time to eat. She would wake up at 5:30 in the morning to run three miles with her teammates. After the 30-minute run, she rushed home to get ready for her first class that started at 7:40. Cross-country practice began at 1:00 P.M., and lasted for about three hours. Then it was time for the ice pack on sore muscles. Often Heather didn’t get home until 5:30. And by 7:00 on Mutual night, she was at the church. Then there was homework, and—finally—bedtime at 10:00 or 10:30.
“I may have been busy, but I felt incredibly organized. I definitely don’t feel like I wasted my day,” she says. “I would feel great.”

I had the chance to sing in the women’s session choir. I invited a nonmember friend to come watch. When all of the people started coming in I felt nervous, but the Spirit really calmed me down. I was also not feeling great because of a hurt finger and was super hungry, but I still made it, and it was fun! One cool thing was that I was a few feet away from the prophet. I loved listening to all of the speakers. All the choir practice was worth it.
Jadyn T. (left) with her sister, Lauren, ages 10 and 14, Utah, USA

“We asked the stake youth committee what they wanted to do,” explained Richard C. Humpherys, second counselor in the stake presidency. “They said, ’something to help someone else,’ and something to build our testimonies.’ Since they asked for it, we took them up on it.”
Inspired by a story in the New Era special issue on service (see March 1988, p. 46), the youth committee looked around for a community they could help. They settled on Granby for three reasons: it was nearby; a slumping economy had hit the area hard; and the mayor, town council, and chamber of commerce seemed genuinely interested in providing projects for the youth to work on.
There was an added benefit, too. The small LDS branch in Granby, with a total of five active families, had a youth program that would love some company. In fact, while the youth from Aurora were there, they could help paint the Granby chapel.
Great entertainment, right?
Buses left Aurora at 7:00 on a Thursday morning. By 10:30 A.M., 84 young people divided into eight teams were scurrying all over Granby. Since they were all wearing identical T-shirts, they were fairly conspicuous. And a local radio station advertising the LDS youth’s free car wash also let people know who they were and what they were doing.
“We went into a store to buy some pop,” said Andy Clapton, 18, who had been shoveling gravel all morning at the train depot. “The clerk said, ‘Are you the Mormon kids? You’re doing a great job.’”
“Lots of people have asked what we’re doing,” said Sandra Hilborne, 15, as she leveled out tree bark in a planter box on Main Street. “We tell them we’re helping others and having fun at the same time.”
And that, really, is what began to happen.
“I wasn’t very excited at first,” said Liza Zmolek, 14. “But then I saw people watching us. I felt like somebody was counting on me, so I started working hard, and it felt good.”
Angelica Velez, 15, wiped her forehead, then smiled. “When we first got to the cemetery,” she said, “you couldn’t even see the tombstones. Then we brought in lawnmowers and weed whackers and raked it up and carried out a lot of wood. Now it looks nice.”
Ginny Stafford, 14, spent the morning on her knees, pulling weeds till her fingers were stained green. She said out loud what a lot of people were feeling: “It’s dirty work, but when you’re done, you feel happy, not dirty.”
Besides sprucing up Main Street, washing cars, tidying the cemetery, spreading gravel at the train depot, and chopping weeds at a main intersection on the highway into town, the youth painted the city’s historic log church, landscaped its grounds, and polished the benches and the organ inside.
“I thought that was neat,” said Daphne Motto, 17. “It didn’t matter that it’s not an LDS church. It’s like we were saying, we’re all brothers and sisters and we need to help each other.”
And of course, that’s very much what the youth were saying over at the LDS chapel.
“It was kind of scary when two full buses drove up,” said Corey Trial, 13, one of four active LDS teens from Granby.
“I’ve lived here all my life,” said Mark Bickmore, 14, “I’d never seen that many kids before with the same religion as me.”
Soon Ray Beaty, 16, of Granby, was working side by side with Aurora youth he’d met only that morning. “We get lonely up here, and sometimes we think we’re all alone. But working together like this, I think we’ve formed some friendships that will last.”
And Vickie Adams, 13, the only Granby girl active in Young Women, said, “I’m not used to this many people. It helps me feel like there are other Mormons around.”
The Granby youth and the youth from Aurora did everything at the conference together, not only the service projects, but the other activities as well. They played volleyball together. They played football together. They even played soccer with an oversized ball.
Other activities included a luau with a floor show, a swimming party, and a dance. But the main activity was conversation, a sharing of ideals and fellowship.
“I found out the Church is a lot smaller here,” said Fred Tanquary, 17. “I mean, there are only four kids in the branch. But I think we all had the gospel in common, and they just became a part of us.”
Over the three-day period, the youth from Granby and the youth from Aurora grew comfortable discussing common goals—missionary work, reading and sharing the Book of Mormon, morality and standards, maintaining faith when the world’s full of doubt. That closeness was also reinforced at nightly devotionals, where leaders stressed themes such as “Little Decisions Made Now Have Big Consequences Later,” “Gospel Tips on How to Be Happy,” and “Your Most Important Possession is Your Testimony.”
But of course, as it always is, the final meeting of the conference was the highlight. In a sunlit room at the YMCA of the Rockies, the LDS youth met Granby’s mayor, Jerry Roberts. They presented him with framed historical photos of Granby, and with a Book of Mormon, which they hope he will read. They listened while he expressed the community’s gratitude.
Then the youth and their leaders spent an hour or two talking to each other, speaking from the heart.
One young man who has been struggling to keep the commandments told the rest of the group they had helped him.
“I’ve known for a long time that I need to change some things,” he said. “And being here has helped me see how happy you can be just doing what’s right. I’m making a change. I’m starting over.”
Darla Evans, 17, said she thought it was great to do something at a youth conference besides entertain yourself. “Even the pioneer trek we went on last year—it was challenging, but it was still just for us. This has all been for other people.”
Another young man, a priest, said that he’d only been active in the Church for a year. “This is the only youth conference I’ve ever been to,” he said. “But I’ve really felt the Spirit here.”
Others, like Holly Mattison, 16, talked about living the gospel in a high school where, as a Latter-day Saint, she’s outnumbered. “It’s not always easy,” she said. “There are lots of challenges.” But she said a talk at one of the devotionals reminded her that the Savior loves her, that he knows her by name and will help her to be strong.
Of course, as they talked, the youth also offered an evaluation. “If my mom had asked me to do the same thing in my backyard, I know I wouldn’t have enjoyed it,” said Adriana Velez, 17. “In fact, before we left, I told one of my friends what we were doing, and she said, ‘My parents would never make me do that!’”
Then the president of the Granby Branch, Gary M. Cooper, spoke.
“The branch was formed 15 years ago,” he said, “and I can honestly say that this is the neatest thing that’s ever happened to us. We appreciate that you took the time to come up here and bring us into the limelight in our community. It’s something we’ve wanted to do for a long time. You did a lot of work and you cleaned up the community, and that’s important. But what I really hope is that because of your example, someone will accept the gospel. That would be the greatest service of all.”
The Aurora Colorado Stake hasn’t been around that long. It was formed when another stake divided, several months before the Aurora youth went to Granby. Before the stake was divided, the planned youth conference was a river trip. When plans for three days of hard labor in Granby were announced, some of the youth thought they were losing out.
But talk to the youth now, and they’ll rattle on and on about their “service conference.”
You know—the time when they went to Granby, where they learned that work can be a lot of fun.

A 15-year-old son of a mission president attended high school with very few members of the Church.
One day the class was given a true-or-false test. Matthew was confident that he knew the answers to all except for question 15. It read, “Joseph Smith, the alleged Mormon prophet, wrote the Book of Mormon. True or false?”
He could not answer it either way, so being a clever teenager, he rewrote the question. He crossed out the word alleged and replaced the word wrote with translated. It then read, “Joseph Smith, the Mormon prophet, translated the Book of Mormon.” He marked it true and handed it in.
The next day the teacher sternly asked why he had changed the question. He smiled and said, “Because Joseph Smith did not write the Book of Mormon, he translated it, and he was not an alleged prophet, he was a prophet.”
He was then invited to tell the class how he knew that.

Before Elder Ethan Glines left on his mission to Concepción, Chile, he thought his video-editing talents would have to be put on hold for two years. But when he was reassigned during the pandemic to Omaha, Nebraska, USA, his new mission president asked him to bring his camera gear to create social media content for the mission. When Elder Glines returned to Chile, he was able to continue using his video-editing talents through his assignment in the new role of social media specialist. Elder Glines saw this as another witness that God truly is in the details of our lives and “wants us to use our talents because He gave us our talents.” Missionaries around the world are using their skills to further the Lord’s work.