Gospel Story Finder

I’ll never forget an experience I had at a mission conference in Australia a few years ago. One young man had such a special glow upon his face that my wife said to me, “I’ve never seen anyone sparkle with the truth as he does.”

When the meeting finished, before I could even leave the stand, this young man came up to me and said, “Elder Asay, may I speak with you?” I said to the young man, “Go down to the bishop’s office and wait; I’ll be there shortly.” He turned and walked down the aisle.

When I arrived at the office, he looked at me and said, “Elder Asay, you have forgotten me, haven’t you?” That made me feel terrible. I said, “Yes, I guess I have; please forgive me.”

Then he said, “Several years ago, I came to your office with my bishop and stake president. I came because I had done foolish things in high school; I had made myself unworthy of my priesthood, and I required some special cleanup and a special clearance before I could serve. In fact, you may recall that when I gave you a listing of my transgressions, you said, ‘I will never allow you to serve.’”

Then I remembered. He was the only one I had ever said those words to. But he cried, and his bishop cried, and his stake president cried, and they pleaded and they pleaded; and finally I weakened. I said, “Yes, you may, on two conditions: first, that you go and live every commandment strictly; you will cut no corners; and second, that you will seek to become the best missionary in your assigned mission.”

Well, after he had recalled all of that to my memory, he said, “Elder Asay, it thrilled me to know that you were coming. You see, next week I go home, and I just wanted to tell you that for two years now I haven’t stretched or bent or broken a single rule or commandment.” Then he added, “I may not be the best missionary in this mission, but I’m awfully close.”

I loved that. I embraced him and thanked him, and then after a tear or two, he turned to leave. As he stood there, he looked at me again and said, “Elder Asay, for the first time in many, many years I feel perfectly clean morally.” “You are,” I said. “You have been sanctified by your service. Now, please go home and stay clean.”

He has since been married in the temple; he is now a father, and is completing a professional degree.

Barbara Matovu from Uganda. Sam Basnet from Nepal. And Elisabeth Olsen from Norway. Three different people, three different countries. Yet Barbara, Sam, and Elisabeth have all gathered in one place, the center for young adults in Oslo, Norway, under one truth: the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.
These three joined the Church in Oslo, receiving the missionary lessons at the center for young adults. Facilities like the one in Oslo are dedicated to providing a place to socialize at activities, learn in institute classes, enjoy computer and Internet access, study for school, and even cook dinner.
Barbara moved from Uganda to Norway in 1998, when she was nine years old. Ten years later, while living in Oslo, two missionaries invited her to learn about the restored gospel, telling her that they could meet in the center for young adults. Barbara was skeptical, at best.
“I thought to myself, ‘Yet another youth center,’” she admits. “I had been to plenty of places like that before, and I honestly never felt comfortable being in any of them.”
But this center proved to be different. “My mind was blown away when I took the first step into the door,” Barbara remembers. “I stood still for a moment, trying to figure out the feeling I had. I felt warmth and love. I felt assured that I was in the right place, with the right people, for the right cause.”
The initiative to build centers for young adults started in 2003. Centers expand the reach of institute by offering more than just religious education classes; young single adults also have opportunities to serve on a center activities council, work with full-time missionaries to help teach and activate their peers, and associate with a senior couple who keep the whole operation running. Local priesthood leadership, under the direction of Area Seventies, determines the creation of centers in their respective areas.
The first 4 centers were in Copenhagen, Denmark, and in Berlin, Hamburg, and Leipzig, Germany. Those initial 4 have since blossomed into 141 in 2011, in locations as diverse as Sweden and Cyprus. Many more are in various stages of development in other parts of the world, including the United States and Africa.
Gerald and Nancy Sorensen served at the center for young adults in Trondheim, Norway. There they met young adults from countries all across the globe, including Afghanistan, China, Ghana, Iran, Iraq, Mozambique, the Netherlands, Nigeria, Russia, Turkey, and Ukraine.
“There were many languages, customs, and educational and religious backgrounds,” observes Brother Sorensen, “but all these young adults had a common bond in wanting to know more about their Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. As we got to know them and their personal dreams and challenges, it was easy to look at each one as a child of God. It was plain to see that God answered their prayers and guided their steps, showing His great love for them.”
President Armand Johansen of the Norway Oslo Mission feels that the young adults are being guided to the center for a purpose, including being trained for responsibilities in the future. “The Church in Norway is going to become more and more diverse,” he says. “The centers help the young adults know how to deal with that, to recognize how important the Church is as the common bonding element of all cultures and people,” says President Johansen. “I see the centers as great unifiers, places where you find a lowering of social barriers and biases.”
Barbara Matovu remembers the first time the missionaries brought her to the center for an activity to meet other young single adults. She thought she knew what to expect.
“Throughout my life I’ve always had a group that I belonged to,” explains Barbara. “And the groups were always stamped with something—you were the sporty group or the international group or some other group. So when people started coming into the center, it was so strange because no one seemed to have the attitude of ‘I’m in the popular group, so I can’t talk to you.’
“At first, I thought, ‘Are they acting? Is this a show?’ But after a while I realized it actually doesn’t matter who we are or where we come from or which language we speak. The love of our Heavenly Father is for everyone. Usually it takes me a bit of time to find my group, but this time I felt like I didn’t need a group. I was just Barbara, and I could be Barbara for everybody.”
Elisabeth Olsen says she feels humbled to see her place in her heavenly family. “When you meet people from a different culture or society, it’s so easy to label them. I’ve learned to open up my eyes more and to see people through the eyes of Christ,” she says. “At the center we all have different cultural backgrounds, but we all have one thing in common: we want to be with Jesus Christ and God again.”
Some might be wary of the idea of unity because they think it must come at the cost of sacrificing individuality. “A lot of people are scared of religion because they think that it makes us all the same, because we live by the same commandments,” explains Elisabeth. “But that’s not how it is at all. God made us all individuals. We may have the same beliefs, but we have different qualities and gifts, and that’s what makes us individuals. God wants us all to be different because we all have different missions.”
Sam Basnet has also fielded concerns from friends who believe religious rules are restrictive. “One friend told me, ‘If you go to church, you have to follow the rules of others,’” he reports. But Sam follows the standards of the Church because he has prayerfully sought personal revelation to confirm his actions.
And it’s by individually speaking to His children that God is unifying them, explains Sam. “God says that all nations and all tongues will worship Him” (see Mosiah 27:31), he says. “By meeting different people, I learn to appreciate different cultures. But experiencing such diversity also makes me feel that, yes, God has a great plan to unite us in peace.”
As much as these young adults appreciate the power of gathering to a center for young adults, these future leaders of the Church understand that it’s just the beginning. As Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught, one of the most important gathering places is the temple.1
Sam has prepared to enter the house of the Lord by surrounding himself with good friends at the center. “By getting to know people from so many different places, it has helped me to feel positive about the world,” he says. “I want to be a good example for my friends, and this has made me more fit for God and more fit to enter His temple.”
One month after her baptism, Barbara first started thinking about attending the temple while she was at a family home evening lesson at the center. After the lesson, she started asking questions.
“Having friends who understood what the temple meant for them helped me understand what the temple might mean for me. As they explained to me about the temple, I felt the Holy Spirit,” Barbara recalls. “I realized that all the places I’d been thinking about getting married—a nice church or the beach—couldn’t even be compared to the temple. From that moment the temple was no longer just a building. It was something I wanted to look forward to and a place to one day enter with my future husband.”
Elisabeth has also included the temple as one of her most important goals. “Whenever I get to travel to a temple, I just smile like I won a million dollars,” she says. “I know that God wants everyone to go there and receive all the blessings and gifts He has in store for us. Going to the temple and being temple worthy are true success. I can enter the temple and be the closest to God—the closest to home—as I can get on this earth.”
The celestial kingdom is, of course, the ultimate gathering place, one where Barbara doesn’t want any empty seats. “Christ says that it is only through Him that we can come to Heavenly Father, but He also says that one of the biggest things we can do in life is to serve one another [see John 21:15–17]. And serving one another is helping somebody come home to Heavenly Father, because you don’t want to go alone.”

Eleven-year-old Beth Burroughs pulled the reins gently but firmly to the right and guided her horse, Ebony, down the side of a rocky dry wash. The homemade wreath of flowers she had slung over the saddle horn bounced as she maneuvered her animal down the little zigzagging ravine. By taking this route, Beth would save herself a good mile and a half of riding time on the road. She had to get to Heaven’s Gate Cemetery and back home so that she could help her mother with the wash.

The predawn light had turned the mist that hung over Hampton Lake into silver lace as Beth galloped along its south shore. Her horse was starting to show signs of strain, so she decided to pull up and let him rest.

Looping the reins about a large dead limb that protruded from other woody shore rubble, Beth knelt at the water’s edge and gazed at her rippled, distorted reflection. If it had been someone’s first view of her, she thought, she would have been as badly misrepresented as Rebecca had been.

Ebony lifted his dark head, shook his mane, and went back to drinking. Beth gazed fondly at him a moment, then her eyes returned to the rippling water. She remembered her father talking about the worth of the individual soul, about how each person that ever was, is, or ever would be is a child of God and therefore special in his or her own way. He said that no one should judge anybody else by appearance because his character, like his soul, is inside and can only really be seen by Heavenly Father.

But somehow, Beth painfully recalled, her father’s teachings had been hard to put into practice whenever Rebecca was around—until the day of the field mouse. …

Ebony lifted his head again, his thirst now satisfied. Beth lingered a minute or two, watching her reflection clear and sharpen in the settling water. Then she remounted Ebony and continued down the road.

Mr. Flannagan chugged by in his Model T, waving and honking as he traveled in the opposite direction. Such a noisy, happy machine, Beth thought, then decided she was wrong. Machines might be noisy, all right, but they didn’t have feelings. People could feel happy. She had been happy, very happy in the time she had spent with Rebecca after the day of the mouse’s burial. Beth had made more and more visits to the yellow house on Banberry Road. She and Rebecca had helped Sister Johnson bake cookies, walked the fence in the big grassy field just down from Tucker’s Mill, and lain on their backs, watching the clouds sail wildly by in the yellow sky.
Rebecca had a smile for everyone, a smile, Beth was sure, that could light up the world. She was like a little child. But had not the Savior Himself taught that “of such is the kingdom of heaven”? Beth hadn’t minded the funny looks some of her old friends gave her every now and again after she became friends with Rebecca. Her real friends respected her for her feelings. Besides, she knew Heavenly Father approved, and He was her most valued friend.

As Beth’s horse clip-clopped past the bright red covered bridge a half mile from Heaven’s Gate Cemetery, she couldn’t help but think about Rebecca’s death a year ago. Rebecca had disappeared into a neighbor’s burning house and lowered a small child out a window into someone’s waiting arms just before a section of roof collapsed on her, burying her beneath the fiery timbers.

Beth laid the homemade wreath of flowers on Rebecca’s grave. A couple of minutes later she again climbed onto Ebony’s back and rode out of Heaven’s Gate.

The sun seemed to perch on top of the mesa as horse and rider turned up the little treelined path toward home.

“Did you have a good ride, honey?” Beth’s father asked as he stepped from the barn, leading a plow horse.
“Sure did,” Beth replied, walking her horse toward him. “There’s a lot to see when the sun comes up. First you see a little of this, then a little of that. Pretty soon everything is all lit up as pretty as can be. As pretty as a good memory. As pretty as Rebecca Johnson.”

When I was a student in dental school, the financial outlook of our local economy was not very encouraging. Inflation dramatically decreased the value of currency from one day to the next.
I remember the year when I was to enroll in surgery practices; I needed to have all the necessary surgical equipment before enrolling that semester. My parents saved the needed funds. But one night something dramatic happened. We went to buy the equipment, only to discover that the amount of money we had to buy all the equipment now was sufficient to buy only a pair of surgical tweezers—and nothing else. We returned home with empty hands and with heavy hearts at the thought of my losing a semester of college. Suddenly, however, my mother said, “Taylor, come with me; let’s go out.”
We went downtown where there were many places that buy and sell jewelry. When we arrived at one store, my mother took out of her purse a small blue velvet bag containing a beautiful gold bracelet with an inscription that read, “To my dear daughter from your father.” It was a bracelet that my grandfather had given her on one of her birthdays. Then, before my eyes, she sold it.
When she received the money, she told me, “If there is one thing I am sure of, it is that you are going to be a dentist. Go and buy all the equipment you need.” Now, can you imagine what kind of student I became from that moment on? I wanted to be the best and finish my studies soon because I knew the high cost of the sacrifice she was making.

The worst part of it was the look on Ben’s face as soon as he saw me. No one had ever been afraid of me before, and I didn’t like it. I didn’t blame Ben, though. The kids had been really mean to him yesterday. He had a bandage on his chin, and I wondered if he had cut it on the fence, trying to get away from them. No, not “them”—“us”! I had been there too. I didn’t push him or call him any of the ugly names that had rung in my ears all night. But I hadn’t tried to stop them. I’d even laughed when Ron had tried to trip him.
That’s why I had to talk to Ben in the coatroom. “Don’t be scared,” I started. “I just want to say I’m sorry. I’m not going to tease you anymore. I’ll try to not let the others do it, either.”
“I’m not scared,” Ben lied. I didn’t blame him for that, either. I guessed that he was trying to be brave—he was even trying to smile. “Does this mean that you’ll be my friend?”
“No.” It sounded ruder than I meant it to. He quit smiling and looked confused. I tried to explain. “It was really wrong for everyone to gang up on you. But even though we do some wrong things, these guys are my friends—we’ve known each other since kindergarten. I don’t even know you. But I’m not going to let everyone pick on you again.”
Ben still looked confused, but we had been in the coatroom way too long. …
At recess, I took my football out, and most of the other boys went with me. We fifth-grade boys play the sixth-grade boys after school on Fridays. They always win, but we try, and we practice every recess.
I saw Ben sitting by the classroom door. He was alone, but no one was bothering him. He laughed out loud when he saw Ron throw the ball. Ron never threw a football straight. His throws were long but wobbly, and no one could catch them. Ben was lucky that Ron didn’t see or hear him laughing. Ron couldn’t take a joke, and he fought a lot better than he threw a football.
After lunch, Ron started shoving Ben away from the drinking fountain, and he called him a few names. But everyone followed me when I yelled, “Last one to the fence is a wet dishrag!” Even Ron followed—he hates to be last. So Ben got his drink, and no one bothered him for the rest of the day.
I was feeling pretty proud of myself when I told Mom about it after school. She shook her head. “That’s a good start, but what he really needs is a friend. Maybe if no one is teasing him, someone will find out what kind of friend he can be.”
The rest of the week most of my friends just ignored him, and after a try or two, even Ron began to let him be. By the end of the week, though, I was wishing that someone would be his friend soon, because it really bothered me to see him alone all the time.
We lost the Friday-afternoon game, and I couldn’t wait to get home. Dad had asked me to help him paint our fence on Saturday. I was the only boy my age in our ward who went to West Elementary, so I wasn’t going to have to worry about Ben or school or even football for two days!
While we painted the fence, I told Dad about how I had been keeping the kids, especially Ron, from teasing Ben all week. I told him what Mom had said about someone becoming his friend.
“Who do you think will be that friend?” Dad asked.
“I don’t know. Not me. He wears corduroy pants and green sweaters.” I thought Dad would understand, but he didn’t.
“Can’t someone in corduroy pants throw a football far enough?” he asked with a funny smile on his face.
“How would I know? I’ve never seen him throw a football. He just sits by himself.”
“So how are you going to find out what kind of friend he is under that green sweater?”
“Why do I have to find out? Someone else can! I stopped the teasing!”
“Oh, someone will, eventually,” Dad said. “I just figured that since you stopped the teasing, you’d have a head start on being friendly. The others don’t seem to have that kind of gumption.”
I wasn’t sure that I wanted to. I knew that Ben’s clothes weren’t the important thing, but if he didn’t know what to wear, how could he be one of us? If I tried to include him, what would the other guys think? What if he laughed at Ron again? Would I get beat up too?
Saturday night, Dad went with the elders quorum presidency to welcome a new family into the ward. He didn’t get home until after I’d gone to bed, so I didn’t know that Ben would be in my Valiant class the next day at Primary. But there he was. I could tell that he was uncomfortable. So was I. But he smiled nervously at me, so I smiled back.
He knew all the Primary songs, and he sang “I Hope They Call Me on a Mission” as loudly as I did. Sister Alvarez reminded us to sing, because we were trying to out-sing each other and we were practically yelling. She asked us if we were really planning to go on missions. Ben said that his brother was on a mission in Texas now.
In class, he showed me a wallet that his brother had sent him. It was real leather, with leaves and acorns tooled into it. It had his name carved on the inside—and a picture of his brother. He looked just like Ben, only much older. Ben said that his brother was going to play football for Brigham Young University after his mission. Then Ben said that he wished he could keep in practice, because he’d always played with him when his brother was home from school.
“We play all the time at school—you should play with us.” I’d said the words before I’d thought about them, but they seemed the right thing to say, so I didn’t try to take them back.
After the lesson, one of the guys asked Brother Clark why he was Brother Clark in church, but Mr. Clark at school. Brother Clark told us that it was because of something King Benjamin had said in the Book of Mormon. He read to us where the king called his people together to tell them about serving Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. He said that when they were baptized, they became the “children of Christ.”* That made us all “brothers” and “sisters.” Then Brother Clark read a scripture in the New Testament that said the members of the Church were “no more strangers” but were now “of the household of God.”**
Well, that explained why Ben didn’t seem so strange anymore—and why it wasn’t hard to be friends with him, after all. He was “no more a stranger”—he was my brother! So of course I’d asked him to play football with us! I just hoped the other guys would understand. That night I prayed that I would have the kind of gumption that Dad thought I had.
At recess on Monday, Ben almost did blend in. He must’ve practiced a lot with his brother, because he—Ben, I mean—could throw farther and straighter than any of the rest of us. It was beautiful to watch the football leave his hand and fly wherever he wanted it to go. And he could catch almost as well as he could throw—he just seemed to appear wherever the ball was about to land. He could even catch Ron’s wobbly passes!
The only time all day that I worried about Ben was when he tried to help Ron throw the ball straight. Ben was clear across the field when he yelled to Ron, “Grip the strings,” so I knew that Ron couldn’t get him. But I did think that he’d blown his chance to fit in at school.
I was wrong, though. Ron didn’t say anything! And he must’ve gripped the strings, because he threw the ball straight, and clear back over to Ben!
Ron and Ben were always together after that, except when Ron went home for lunch. Then Ben and I ate together in the cafeteria. One day I told Ben how surprised I was that he and Ron were such good friends.
“I knew that Ron would be my friend if I could get him to stop teasing me.”
“How’d you know that?”
“Because my mom said that at every school there’s someone who needs a friend to help them with something and that I’d find one here. When I saw Ron throw a football, I knew he was the friend who really needed me! And after we beat the sixth-grade team on Friday, I’m going to ask him to come to church with us on Sunday.”
I must’ve looked surprised, because Ben laughed again and added, “Maybe Brother Clark and Sister Alvarez can get him to quit trying to beat everyone up.”
When we really did beat the sixth-grade team—for the first time in history—Ben did as he’d promised. I was surprised again when Ron said, “Sure.”
Now there are three of us from West Elementary at Primary every Sunday. Since snow has covered the football field, we’re working hard at something else—memorizing Articles of Faith. In two more weeks Ron, Ben, and I are going to say them together in sacrament meeting when Ben’s brother reports on his mission.
We have something exciting to report, too: Ben and his parents and me and my parents all meet every Tuesday night at Ron’s house with the local missionaries. His dad said that anything that can keep Ron out of trouble the way going to Primary with Ben and me has is worth investigating. Ron’s mom said that if we do a good job on the Articles of Faith for Ben’s brother, we can say them again at Ron’s baptism!

It was Little Wind’s unusual compassion and regard for the buffalo that caused his father to give the old four-legged special consideration. A great scaffold was prepared and its body carried on a litter to the sacred burial grounds that stood on the high jagged cliffs above the village. It was the first time such a thing had been done for any but a Sioux in the history of their people.
Little Wind climbed the steep trail in the icy November wind to the top of the butte to pay final tribute to the old buffalo. He watched as the mighty beast was hoisted up onto the scaffold, covered with furs, and secured with rope. Little Wind’s mother and little sister, Night Fawn, along with a few other village women, heaped brambles at the base of the scaffold to keep away wild animals. Then Ten Days Walking and the others left Little Wind alone to express his mourning.
When the sun had made its journey across the heavens, Little Wind turned from the wind-lashed scaffold and descended the darkened mesa to the village below.

On a quiet November night in 1943, Nellie Middleton heard her doorbell ring. It was dark outside, but she knew enough not to have the lights on when she opened the door. Nearly three years had passed since German bombs had first fallen near her home, and Nellie continued to darken her windows at night to keep herself and her daughter safe from air raids.
With her lights out, Nellie opened the door. A young man was standing on her front step, his face in shadow. He extended his hand and quietly introduced himself as Brother Ray Hermansen. His accent was undeniably American.4
A lump came to Nellie’s throat. After their branch disbanded, she and other women in Cheltenham had longed to take the sacrament more regularly. The United States had recently sent troops to England to prepare for an Allied offensive against Nazi Germany. Once it had occurred to Nellie that some of the American soldiers stationed in her town might be Latter-day Saints who could bless the sacrament, she had asked her stepsister, Margaret, to paint a picture of the Salt Lake Temple and place it in town. Below the picture was a message: “If any soldier is interested in the above, he will find a warm welcome at 13 Saint Paul’s Road.”5
Had this American seen her poster? Did he have authority to bless the sacrament? Nellie shook his hand and welcomed him inside.
Ray was a twenty-year-old Latter-day Saint soldier from Utah and a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood. Although he was stationed ten miles away, he had heard about the Salt Lake Temple painting from another Church member and obtained leave to visit the address. He had walked to Nellie’s home on foot, which was why he had arrived after dark. When Nellie told him about her desire to take the sacrament, he asked her when he could come to administer the ordinance to her.
On November 21, Nellie, her daughter, and three other women welcomed Ray to their Sunday meeting. Nellie opened the meeting with prayer before the group sang “How Great the Wisdom and the Love.” Ray then blessed and passed the sacrament, and all four women bore testimony of the gospel.
Soon other Latter-day Saint soldiers heard about the meetings at Saint Paul’s Road. Some Sundays, Nellie’s living room was so full that people had to sit on the staircase.6

My mind goes back to Germany some 64 years ago when from the land of Zion came two fine young missionaries, Brother Wayne Kartchner and Brother Otto Andre. My wife and I were just newlyweds at that time, and they taught us the gospel. They came very often to our home. We were good prospects to them, and they liked us very well. And they liked my wife’s good cooking too.
So we soon were led to the waters of baptism, and on a cold night in 1923 we were baptized in a big river near the city.
I came to America thereafter, and I can truly say I love this great land of opportunity. Wonderful opportunities lie in store for all of you. Just keep the laws of God. Be on his side, and he will bless you.

When I became a priest in the Windsor Ward, London Ontario Canada Stake, our Young Men president, Brother Sandor, encouraged us to bless and pass the sacrament and perform baptisms as a way to exercise our priesthood. In one Sunday lesson, he also taught us about giving blessings during Aaronic Priesthood ordinations. He said, “You must be bold enough to say what the Spirit prompts you to say but be humble enough not to make up your own words!”
Not long after that lesson, a young convert in our ward was sustained as a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, and Brother Sandor asked me to be the “voice” in the ordination. I was scared. I had never laid my hands on anybody’s head before, and I felt inadequate. But then the Spirit reassured me that it would be fine for me to do it, and I was reminded of what my Young Men president had taught us.
The young man to be ordained sat down in the chair, and I stood directly behind him. When we were all ready, Brother Sandor guided me through the ordinance prayer, and I repeated every word he said. After we had finished the ordination by saying, “… and we wish to pronounce a blessing on your head at this time,” Brother Sandor looked at me and indicated that I was on my own.
At that point, the priesthood entirely changed its meaning for me. It was no longer just a title, but the actual authority to act in God’s name—and I was giving that authority to someone else. I paused and waited for the Spirit to whisper to me what I was to say. It is difficult for me to describe the feelings I had during the blessing, but I can say that I now have a stronger testimony that the power of the priesthood is real.

Ashley, would you please read Helaman 5:6–7 [Hel. 5:6–7]?” Sister Robins asked.
Ashley quickly opened her Book of Mormon, found the passage, and read: “‘Behold, my sons. … I have given unto you the names of our first parents who came out of the land of Jerusalem; and this I have done that when you remember your names ye may remember them; and when ye remember them ye may remember their works; and when ye remember their works ye may know how that it is said, and also written, that they were good.
“‘Therefore, my sons, I would that ye should do that which is good, that it may be said of you, and also written, even as it has been said and written of them.’”
“Thank you, Ashley,” Sister Robins said. “In this scripture, the prophet Helaman—he lived just a few years before Christ was born—is telling his sons, Nephi and Lehi, why he gave them their names. Can anyone tell me why?”
“Because Helaman wanted his children to remember what good things the first Nephi and Lehi had done,” Emily answered.
Ashley thought about the things she had read in 1 Nephi: Lehi listened to the Lord and left Jerusalem. Nephi obeyed his father and returned for the brass plates, and he built a ship, and preached to his brothers, and—
“And then they would do good things, too, and be righteous, too,” Samuel’s comment broke into her thoughts.
“That’s right,” Sister Robins said. “Names can sometimes help us choose the right. My first name is Camilla. My parents named me after the wife of one of our prophets, President Spencer W. Kimball. She was a wonderful woman who spent her entire life serving other people and building up the kingdom of God. I always remember her because of my name. It makes me want to obey the Lord and serve other people as she did. Are any of you named for a special person?”
“I was named for Daniel in the lions’ den,” Danny said.
“I was named for my great-great-grandmother,” said Emily.
Ashley shut her Book of Mormon and sat back in her chair. What about my name? Where does it come from? It isn’t in the Bible or the Book of Mormon. She couldn’t think of anyone in her family with her name.
She asked about it on the way home from church. “Mom, why did you and Dad name me Ashley?”
“We just thought it was a beautiful name, and you were such a beautiful baby girl that the name fit.”
“My name’s not in the scriptures, is it?”
“No, it isn’t, dear.”
“Is there anyone in our family, like a great-great-grandmother, whose name was Ashley?”
“No, I don’t think so. It’s just a pretty name,” Mom answered.
Dad asked, “Don’t you like your name, honey?”
Ashley mumbled an “Oh, yes. It is pretty.” But she thought, Pretty is not enough—there’s nothing special about it to remind me to be good. She thought about her sister’s and brother’s names. Rachel’s name is in the Bible. And Brian is named after Dad. Her eyes filled with tears. Why was I left out?
That night as she was lying in bed, Ashley thought about it again. It isn’t fair! I want a name that means something special. I know—I’ll change my name! She grabbed her writing tablet and a pencil. She said them aloud as she listed possibilities: “Elisabeth, Mary, Rebecca, Sarah. And Grandma’s name is Emma Jane.”
A knock came at the open door, and Mom asked to come in. She glanced at the tablet in her daughter’s lap. “What’s this, Ashley? Are you really upset about your name? Why, honey?”
“In Primary, we read about Nephi and Lehi, who were named after the first Nephi and Lehi, who were great prophets. Danny was named for a famous prophet, too. Emily was named for her great-great-grandmother. Rachel was named for the woman Jacob worked seven years to get to marry. And Brian was named after Dad. Why didn’t I get a good name?”
Mom reached over and smoothed Ashley’s hair. “You did get a good name. Don’t you know that?” She paused and looked at Ashley’s list. “Were you thinking of changing your name to one of these?”
“Yes. They were all great women.”
“Well, what do you think made them great?” Ashley thought for a minute.
“They were great because they were righteous people and served others.”
“Do you think their names made them great—or did they make their names great? Look at King Noah in the Book of Mormon. Although he had the same name as one of the greatest Old Testament prophets, he was a very wicked man. The people we admire made their names great by the kind of people they were.”
Mom pointed at the list. “These names were all probably held by other people before the ones who made them notable. And in Helaman, after Helaman told his sons that he gave them their names so that they would remember the first Lehi and Nephi and the good that they did, what did he say next?”
“He said that he wanted his sons to do good, too, so that when other people talked about them, it would be about the good his sons did.”
Mom smiled. “Well, what do you want people to think when they hear your name?”
“I want them to think that I’m a nice person and that I try to do what’s right.”
“I want them to think that, too. It’s nice sometimes when we are named for great people, but it’s more important that we make the name we have great. Just think—you have a brand new name to make great!”
“And maybe when people hear my name, they’ll remember that I’m a good person.”
“One more thing, Ashley. All of us who have been baptized have a special name. We say that we take this name upon us, which means that we choose to be named after and try to be like this person. Do you know what name I’m talking about?”
“Yes—it’s Jesus Christ.”
“So, if you want a name that will remind you to be good, just remember his name. Will that help?”
“Yes—I feel much better. Thanks, Mom.”
As her mom leaned over to turn off the lamp, Ashley crumpled the list of names and dropped it into the wastebasket.

I would like to testify to you that the greatest happiness that has come into our lives has been when we have been living the gospel and serving the Master, and I have to tell you just a little story.

A few years ago, roughly twenty-five, I was starting a new business. I was having difficulty in getting it into black figures. I don’t like to operate in the red, and I went to my Heavenly Father on bended knees and made a covenant with him that if he would bless me with inspiration and guidance to make that business successful, I would serve him and I would be liberal with my time and means for the upbuilding of the kingdom.

The Lord did bless us abundantly, and I now pledge to President Lee, President Tanner, President Romney, and all these Brethren that I shall put forth my best efforts to fulfill this new assignment. I love the Lord, and I want to serve him.

When Robb Thomas, a 14-year-old teacher in the Bangor Ward, Augusta Maine Stake, decided to start a genealogy club in his school, Garland Street Junior High, he got a lot more than he bargained for. The club rapidly became one of the more popular clubs in the school.
“It was hard at first, because a lot of people didn’t understand the word genealogy, and they wanted to make fun of it,” Robb said. But when the club started bringing in films and guest speakers and taking trips to the state archives, interest grew quickly.
“One of the fellows who made fun of the club to begin with eventually ended up joining,” Robb said.
Other students now share an interest in discovering their ancestry. “It’s something I didn’t have before,” said 15-year-old Mary England, a member of the club. “I discovered my great-aunt had worked on tracing a family tree, but her records were misplaced.”
“I went to my grandmother, and she talked about my great-grandparents—who they were, and where they were born. I used that as a starting point,” said Holly Sands, 15, another member of the club.
Robb worked with the student council to obtain permission for forming the club, which meant finding a supervisor, making a presentation to the student council, and convincing the council to vote in favor of his proposal. “Robbie got the ball rolling, and then we got in and pushed beside him,” Holly said. A bake sale was used to generate finances.
Robb says he’s had a lot of opportunities to explain Church beliefs because of his work with the club. “Some people in the club asked me informally to make a presentation to them about temples and why we have them,” he said. “I showed them pictures of the interior rooms and the outsides of several temples, and we talked about baptism for the dead, endowments, and why genealogy is so important. We talked about temple marriage, too.”
Robb also spends a lot of time at the public library doing research and thinks about a career in genealogy. “I get a lot of help and encouragement from people in the ward, from missionaries, and from my parents,” Robb said. “I have some relatives in Salt Lake City who have helped out, too.”
This fall, Robb starts high school at Bangor High. There’s already a genealogy club there, and you can bet he’s got plans (along with many of his friends) to be active in it.

Excitement and laughter seldom leave Steve’s house. The Crandalls live life to the fullest, with an intensity that shows even in their recreation. Steve and 11-year-old Danny once entered a local 26-mile marathon cross-country race. When Steve gave out early and quit the race, Danny kept going. He finished third in his category, the youngest of the contestants. “One of us had to finish,” he said with his head bowed.

Ryan’s dad is a Cub Scout leader, and he also helps out with the Boy Scouts in the ward. Ryan accompanies him on some of the campouts and activities that he might otherwise have to wait a few years to participate in. After Hurricane Hugo struck near Charleston, South Carolina, the Scouts from the Hugheses’ ward decided to see if there was anything they could do to help. Brother and Sister Hughes, Joshua, and Ryan went with the Scouts, and Ryan learned a great deal about people serving one another.

Take 60 young men and women from the Emerson Second Ward, Paul Idaho Stake, get them singing, and what do you have? Not only lovely music, but a unified ward, too. In an activity that 100 percent of the ward’s young people participated in, they presented a sacrament meeting of music and talks. Most of them had never sung in four-part harmony before, and the ward’s 35-mile boundaries made it difficult for some to attend rehearsals, but it was well worth the effort. “I think Heavenly Father really helped us to sing our best,” said Paula Gibbons, one of the singers. “I’m glad I could be a part of it.”

by Cathe Chapman
The memory of piles and piles of crushed granite remains in the minds of 70 youth from the Mesa Arizona Stake. As a service project in conjunction with their youth conference, they gathered at 5:30 in the morning at the Ho Ho Kam Park, winter home of the Chicago Cubs baseball team. They had been asked by the bicentennial committee of the city of Mesa to help improve the looks of the park. The piles of crushed granite had been dumped into the meridians that bordered the driveways and parking lot. Seventy-five tons needed to be shoveled and raked evenly.
“It’s a great project,” said Tony Curtis, a priest in the Mesa 23rd Ward, “because we are in service to the community.” The group worked at a fast pace because they were determined to beat the heat of the blazing Arizona sun.
When they finished the work, they were dirty, hot, and tired, and more than ready to participate in the water carnival planned for the afternoon.
The city of Mesa was so pleased with the work, they wrote a special letter thanking everyone who participated.

The hot sun beat down on Bhutto’s shoulders as he crossed a dry riverbed. He found his father on the other side, sitting beneath a baobab tree, making a bow to be used for hunting. Without saying a word, Bhutto knelt by his father’s side and watched him work. First his father poured sand over a large leaf. Then he wrapped the leaf around the bow and rubbed it up and down. Slowly the rough wooden surface of the bow became smoother.
“It is a hot day for one so young to be walking about,” said Bhutto’s father.
“I am not so young,” Bhutto quickly answered. “I am almost twelve years old.”
“Ah.” His father smiled. “So you are. But why have you come looking for me, Bhutto?”
Bhutto took a deep breath and rocked back and forth on his heels. “I have come to ask you if I may begin hunting alone.”
Bhutto’s father stopped working and looked at Bhutto. “You are a good hunter. You have worked hard to learn how to hunt. Now you must learn when to hunt.”
“And how will I learn this?”
“By hearing a story,” answered his father. “Listen. Many years ago, in the direction from which the sun awakens each day, there lived a people here in Africa called the Mazumbas.”
Bhutto stopped rocking on his heels and sat down. He did not want to miss a word of his father’s story.
“The Mazumbas were greater hunters than others because the tips of their arrows were sharper and finer than any man could make.”
“How did they make the arrow tips?” asked Bhutto.
“They did not make them,” said Bhutto’s father. “They found them in a secret cave. And because the Mazumbas had such sharp arrow tips, no animal could stand against them.”
“Not even lions?” Bhutto asked.
“Not even lions,” said his father.
“Not even elephants?” Bhutto tried again.
“Not even elephants,” answered his father. “Not even the Great Beasts of the plains.”
Bhutto looked puzzled. “What are the Great Beasts of the plains?”
“The Great Beasts were the hardest of all the animals to slay. They had the eyes of an eagle, the ears of a giraffe, and the swiftness of a gazelle. But even so, the Great Beasts could not hide from the Mazumbas.
“One day, one of the Mazumbas was hunting when he came across the tracks of a Great Beast. For many hours he followed the tracks through grasslands, over hills, and down ravines until they led to the entrance of the secret cave.”
“Where the Mazumbas found their arrow tips,” Bhutto remembered.
“That’s right,” said his father.
“And was the Great Beast inside?”
“Yes, he was. And when the hunter saw the Great Beast, he put an arrow to his bow.”
“Did he kill the Beast?” Bhutto asked excitedly.
“Not right away,” answered his father, “because the Great Beast began to speak.”
Bhutto frowned. “Animals cannot speak.”
“That is true,” Bhutto’s father answered. “But the Great Beasts were not like other animals.”
“What did the Great Beast say?”
“He said, ‘Please do not kill me, great hunter of the Mazumbas. Your people have killed all the Great Beasts except me.’
“But the hunter just laughed and said, ‘If you did not want to be caught, you should not have come into our secret cave.’ And with that, the hunter let the arrow fly.”
Bhutto watched his father string the bow he was making. “Is that the end of your story?” he sadly asked.
“Not quite, Bhutto,” said his father. “When the Beast fell to the earth, a stone rolled from his mouth—a sharp stone, sharper than any a man could make.”
“Then, it was the Great Beasts that made the arrow tips!” Bhutto cried.
“Yes. The Great Beasts went to the secret cave to chew on stones and sharpen their teeth. The arrow tips were what they left behind.”
“But the hunter—he killed the last Beast!”
“Yes, and because of that, the Mazumbas soon used up the last of the very sharp arrow tips. No longer were they the great hunters they had once been.”
Bhutto sat very still and listened to the wind. It howled like a lonely animal at night.
“Here,” said Bhutto’s father, handing him the bow. “I was making this for you.”
Bhutto took the bow from his father and ran his fingers up and down the wood. He turned it over and pulled the string. “Oh, Father, it is a wonderful gift! I shall take very good care of it!”
“And my story? Did you learn anything from it?”
Bhutto was quiet for a long time. He thought about the Mazumbas. He thought about the Great Beasts and how beautiful they must have been. “I have learned to try to choose wisely about when to put an arrow in my bow and to be certain I need what I kill. For every time I take something from the earth, it can never be quite the same again.”
Bhutto’s father looked at him and smiled. “And now,” he said, “you are ready to hunt alone.”

After a young mother was diagnosed with cancer, she felt alone and filled with fear. But as the news of her illness spread throughout her ward, she was soon surrounded by the love and concern of her fellow sisters. As her difficult treatments began, sisters drove her to her appointments and sat with her during long chemotherapy sessions. They prayed with her, encouraged her, brought her the few treats she could eat, and brought meals to her family week after week. Other sisters took time away from their own busy lives to clean her house. One sister knew certain treatments would make it hard to fall asleep, so she planned late-night visits to watch comedy movies. Instead of tossing in bed, the young mother was able to turn away from fears for a while and feel the healing power of laughter and friendship. Through these ministrations, priesthood blessings, and ward fasts, she was carried through an extremely difficult time, and strong bonds of love grew between all who were involved.

Steve and Deborah Anderson served their military relations mission in Rhode Island and Connecticut. Working with local members and leaders, they started a devotional and game night for officer candidates in the navy. The devotional always began with a scripture or with a video featuring a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. This was followed by a spiritual discussion among all participants, then board games and refreshments.
At first, the event was attended by two Church members and seven who were not members, but over time it grew, with an average of 60–90 officer candidates in attendance—a few Church members and a lot of friends.
“Many of them told us the devotional was the highlight of their week,” Sister Anderson says.

“My first experience of knowing a spiritual truth occurred in the Roger Smith Hotel, where my family had traveled for a conference. I was sitting on a folding chair somewhere near the back, next to my mother. I must have been very young, because I can remember putting my legs through the back of the chair and sitting aft instead of forward. I heard a man’s voice from the pulpit, and I turned around and looked at him. He stood behind a rostrum set on wooden risers. There was a tall window behind him. I remember only that he was tall and bald and that he seemed very old to me. As he spoke, I knew that what he said came from God and that it was true. It burned in my heart.

“My memories of childhood are inextricably connected with family and Church. I never remember my parents sitting me down to teach me gospel principles because we just always lived in a gospel setting, a family-home-evening atmosphere.

“Father came home every night shortly after six o’clock, and dinner was always at six-thirty. I remember wonderful evenings at the dinner table. The moment dinner was over, Dad would help clear the table; then we would go into the living room. He would be at one end of the room, totally absorbed in the work he’d brought home. Even so, he always knew what we were doing. If we listened to some good program on the radio, we would keep it down low so that it wouldn’t disturb him. Then, in the middle of the program, he’d look up and smile and say, ‘Turn it up a little. I can’t hear what’s happening.’

“My father was never anxious about his work; he just loved it. My mother was a very musical person. She played the piano and loved the symphony. Dad would go to the symphony with her, and when the music stopped, he’d stand up and ask, ‘Is it over?’ and Mother would realize that he’d been thinking about molecules the whole time. Chemistry to him was the air he breathed.

“In the Book of Mormon the prophet Mormon explains that the Lamanites were more righteous than the Nephites ‘because of their … steadiness in the faith’ (Hel. 6:1). If I have learned anything from my father, it is steadiness and total absorption.

“From my mother I learned the lesson of sacrifice. Mother always put the family, the gospel, and the Lord first. She’d say, ‘Don’t complain when things don’t go very well. Life is a test to see whether or not you will keep the commandments.’ When President Kimball spoke at her funeral, he spoke of her illness and said, ‘God loved her, and He was polishing her.’ And that was just the way she saw life.

“I never knew any other children in the Church when I was growing up, so to me Latter-day Saint youths were my brothers, Ted and Hardan. I just loved them.

“I remember going to see my grandfather in Pima, Arizona. He and Grandma had a home on a hill. When my family went to see them, Grandma would fix us huge meals, and Grandpa would borrow some horses and take us kids riding. Afterward Grandpa would talk to each child alone, treating us as if we were terribly important. I decided that I was his favorite grandchild. Years later, my cousin Eddie Kimball said he’d decided the same thing. Grandpa had a way of making you feel not just special but truly noble.

“Grandma Eyring came to Princeton to visit us. She was always busy. If she wasn’t doing something, she’d say, ‘Let’s take a walk.’ Although she was quite short, she could walk faster than anyone I knew. I had to go on a dead run to keep up with her. One time I said, ‘Grandma, it’s raining; we’ll get soaked.’ So we got soaked while Grandma walked through Princeton, seeing the historic sites.

“My message to the children is this: You really are Heavenly Father’s children. And if you love Him, then you will not be inclined to do things that are wrong. Heavenly Father thinks the world of you. He’s given you many blessings, and He wants to give all His children many more blessings. Don’t do anything that would prevent Him from giving them to you. Don’t do anything that would keep you from going home to Him.”