Gospel Story Finder

I discovered joyful endurance during a time when I wanted to quit. In July 2022, I was half-way through a 13-mile Spartan race. Spartan races are obstacle courses organized by the company Spartan. The courses test physical and mental endurance through a series of 20 to 30 obstacles set up on trails ranging in length from 3 to 13 miles with 500 to 3,000 feet of elevation gain.

I was on a course at Snowbasin Resort on Mount Ogden in Utah. Kelsey Winn, a writer for Spartan, describes:
Snowbasin was home to the 2002 Winter Olympics. . . If it’s a challenge fit for Olympians, it’s certainly fit for Spartans. . . Mount Ogden. . . will have you climbing a 3,000-foot vertical to its summit in one of our toughest treks yet. The trails here are designed for epic ski conditions, so get ready for the staples of the course: intense elevation, technical terrain, and leg-burning hills. [3]

While I was staring up one of these “leg-burning hills,” my entire body felt tired from the hills, obstacles, heat, and altitude. Reaching the top seemed like an impossible climb. “It would be so easy to quit,” I thought.

My coach, who was racing with me, said, as if he read my thoughts, “You can do this. Focus on the next step.” His words took my focus from the top of the hill to my feet. Taking one more step was possible. I couldn’t control the hill’s height or slope, but I could control my choice to climb. The choice to climb became a joyful discovery of my ability and motivation to endure.

A year ago this summer, our youngest son, who was at the University of Michigan getting an MBA, spent the summer as an intern with a nationally known company. On the first day of his internship, the company leaders spoke to the interns and indicated to them that the company sought to have the highest standards of honesty and incorruptibility .

During the summer, our son was on an assignment in the city where he was living, and where he therefore did not have his lunch expenses paid by the company. His co-worker had been assigned there from another city, and was therefore there on expense account. When they went to lunch she suggested that she pick up his lunch tab, because her expenses were paid. He said: "Well, that wouldn't be right, because I am not entitled to an expense account lunch while here."

It was a small thing perhaps, but meaningful. When he had his exit interview at the end of the summer with the executive in charge, the man said to him:

"I understand that you took to heart our talk about honesty and high standards." My son said: "Yes, but I am not sure to what you refer." The executive said: "Well, it has to do with whether or not you are entitled to have your lunch put on someone else's expense account." He graduated with an MBA last spring, and given the standards that that company strives to have, it is not surprising that he was offered a job, and he is now working for them full time.

As members of His church, one of the things we can do to live by faith and not by fear is to magnify our efforts to share the gospel. I am fortunate enough to have wonderful parents who were great examples of living their faith and who had absolutely no fear when it came to sharing the gospel. I admit that I didn’t think their boldness was anything to admire at first. When I was younger, I remember my mother always talking to people she didn’t even know about the gospel. Every time we’d take a taxi to go somewhere in the Philippines she would sit in the front seat of the cab, even if there was enough room for her in the back seat, just so she could talk to the cab driver. She wouldn’t start with small talk because she knew our ride wouldn’t take that long. Her usual approach started with a question: “Do you have a family?” And when they would say “yes,” she would continue to say “well, next time you see those two young men in white shirts with a black nametag on their chest walking on the street, you should talk to them and listen to what they have to say!” She would go on to ask if they’d heard about the Mormons and the conversation would continue that way until we reached our destination. During this time, I am ashamed to admit that I sat in the back seat, completely embarrassed, and wishing I could disappear. She would always end by saying “You will find real happiness when you listen and accept what our missionaries have to offer your family.” She had such love for her fellowmen that she had no fear of what their response would be – she just wanted them to find the happiness she had.

“I hadn’t thought much about the lyrics of songs on the radio until I went for a drive with a friend from Idaho Falls who kept punching the buttons on the car radio. ‘Some songs aren’t worth listening to,’ he said. He explained that if he wouldn’t want his mom to listen to the song, he wouldn’t either. Maybe that’s corny, but if it is, I’m for it. I’m a lot more selective about what I listen to now,” said one young woman from California.

I was 13 or 14 years old, living with my father and two of my older brothers. My oldest brother was living in a group home in Provo, Utah, and we were going to meet him at church. He was mentally disabled, and he was going to pass the sacrament that day. I was nervous. I was always nervous around the people in the group home. I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know how to act. Arnol, my brother, was okay, because I grew up with him and he would make me laugh with his silly jokes. He always called me “dog eyes” because my eyes were brown and they looked like the eyes of our dog.
My dad was wearing his suit, and he looked very distinguished. We didn’t talk much in the car. It was a two-hour drive, and I think we were all a little nervous. We were all wondering how Arnol was going to handle this big responsibility.
The church was crowded, and we were sitting in the very back of the chapel in the overflow area. I could see Arnol sitting by the sacrament table. He kept looking around to see if he could spot us. He looked good. His hair was combed, his tie was on, and his jacket hid his stooped shoulders. I could tell he was nervous and hesitating, looking for reassuring nods from the other boys.
The boys stood up for the prayer, then took their trays and started down the aisles. Arnol tipped his tray as he shuffled along, but nothing fell off. He took it to the correct row, and he managed to pass it to the first person. People in the audience smiled at him and gave him encouraging nods. He was grinning. I could tell that he was pleased with himself. He was doing this all by himself. He was doing a good job. I heard a sigh of relief pass from my dad’s lips. Inwardly, I started to relax a little too. It was going to work out fine.
After the sacrament, the boys stood up to join their families. My dad stood up straight and tall in the back of the chapel so that Arnol could see him. Arnol looked around and saw Dad; then while half running down the aisle, he said, “Did you see me, Dad? Here I come, Dad; did you see me?”
I was embarrassed, and I could feel my face grow red. What would everyone think? But no one was frowning; they were smiling as they watched Arnol head towards his dad. And my dad stood tall and proud, ready to welcome his son after a job well done.
I think of this instance often. I reflect on the poise and pride in my dad’s stance and the love he felt for Arnol. Arnol accomplished what he was able to do. He would never be a football star or a great musician or an A student, but he could pass the sacrament and my dad was proud of that.
I think this must be similar to how our Heavenly Father is. He knows each of our capabilities and each of our limitations. He knows the burdens that we are called upon to bear. And whether we are physically disabled or have any other kind of disability, when we go to meet Him, He will greet us with love for accomplishing the things He knows we are capable of.

We are also blessed by temple covenants and ordinances, where “the power of godliness is manifest.” I visited a woman who had lost a teenage daughter in a terrible accident, then later her husband to cancer. I asked how she could endure such loss and suffering. She replied that strength came from spiritual reassurances of an eternal family, received during regular temple worship. As promised, the ordinances of the Lord’s house had armed her with God’s power.

In different callings where I held priesthood keys as a judge in Israel, particularly as a bishop, I witnessed the cleansing, sanctifying power of the Holy Ghost. One experience, the elements of which represent others, truly stands out.

On a Sunday morning a young man in his early twenties came to see me, his bishop. During the week he and his girlfriend had allowed their emotions and passions to exceed the bounds the Lord had established.

I listened prayerfully. We read scriptures together, along with words of the latter-day prophets. I gave him a few reading assignments, placed appropriate restrictions on his Church privileges, set up future appointments, and then knelt with him in prayer.

With each subsequent interview he reported on his reading, especially from the Book of Mormon, and the anguish in his countenance and demeanor was replaced by faith in God and in His Son, by hope and optimism, by firm resolve, and by a change in his heart. Gradually he grew spiritually. Following the appropriate passage of time, and as directed by the Spirit, I lifted the restrictions placed on him and authorized him to partake of the sacrament. As I sat on the stand in sacrament meeting, my eyes were drawn to him when first the bread and then the water reached his row. I witnessed sanctifying light, peace, and forgiveness.

The Savior’s words to Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery following their partaking of the sacrament came into my mind: “Behold, your sins are forgiven you; you are clean before me; therefore, lift up your heads and rejoice” (D&C 110:5). Like Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery, this young man received a remission of his sins by fire and the Holy Ghost (see 2 Nephi 31:17; D&C 19:31).

When Jacinta Mauafu left her office late one night after completing some urgent and important work, she rushed home to attend to her very sick husband, Maeli Maika Mauafu. Her manager at the time repeatedly counselled Jacinta to put the work of the Lord first, and then she would be blessed. Jacinta believed that if she was doing the Lord’s work, her husband would be okay. So, it came as a huge shock when Maeli died just half an hour after she arrived home.
Unable to reconcile this experience in her heart and in her mind, Jacinta spoke of the deep hurt she felt at the loss of Maeli, and to be frank, she felt betrayed because the Lord had not blessed her, even though she consistently worked many hours to accomplish the translation work for the Church by the deadline. Instead, the Lord took her husband.
Too sad and too angry at the unexpected outcome, Jacinta decided never to return to work—it had cost her dearly. After Maeli’s funeral, people kept calling Jacinta to find out when she would be back in the office. Jacinta’s help to proofread a curriculum manual on the teachings of President Joseph F. Smith (1838–1918) was urgently needed. Eventually, Jacinta told them she wasn’t coming back to work permanently. However, given the nature of that curriculum work, she agreed to return, but only to complete that one project. While editing the text, Jacinta learned of the heartbreak the prophet had experienced. His wife Julina had been desperately ill and although President Smith wanted to stay at her bedside and attend to her, she insisted he leave and go and do the Lord’s work. A short time after, while delivering a talk in a church meeting, someone came into the room and handed President Smith a note—it informed him that his wife had passed away.
Tears spilled down Jacinta’s cheeks as she realised the Lord had not abandoned her! He had given her 30 minutes to be with Maeli before he died. That was her blessing! She’d been given 30 minutes. As heartbreaking as her experience had been, Jacinta mourned for President Smith who didn’t get this same blessing of 30 minutes with his wife.
Today, Jacinta speaks humbly of her relationship with Heavenly Father. She feels He is always there for her—and looking back, she can identify the many ways He supported her and strengthened her.

There was once a man named John who, although still relatively young, had experienced much suffering and sorrow. Homeless and addicted to alcohol and other drugs, John was terribly sick and weary of life. The more he descended into illness and despair, the more he knew that if he didn’t make changes—and quickly—there was a very real possibility he would die miserable, useless, and alone.

Perhaps because he had attended Primary a few times when he was a boy, John ended up in a nearby meetinghouse where he asked to see the bishop.

“I have ruined my life,” John said between tortured sobs that emerged from the depths of his harrowed soul. He spoke of the mistakes he had made and the path of self-destruction and misery he had trod.

As the bishop listened to John’s sad story, he could tell that the man truly wanted to repent and change his life. But he could also sense that John had little confidence that he could change.

The bishop thought for a moment about what he could say. Finally, he looked up and said, “John, I have made three choices in my life that have been of value to me. They may be of assistance to you as well.”

“Please, tell me,” John pleaded. “I’ll do anything. I just want to start over. I want to go back.”

The bishop smiled and told him, “The first thing you should understand is that you can’t go back and begin where you once were. But all is not lost. You can begin where you are. Choose to begin your repentance now.”

When John heard the bishop’s words, he promised he would do what the bishop had said. Because of his addictions, John knew he needed to repent and improve his health. So he checked himself into a facility where he underwent the prolonged process of recovery. He began eating nutritious food. He began to walk and do other exercises.

Weeks passed. John was able to free himself from his addictions. He could see that his health was improving and he was getting stronger. But still he was not satisfied. There were so many things about his life that needed improvement that he felt overwhelmed and discouraged.

So, once again, he scheduled a meeting with his bishop.

That is when he learned the second choice: “John,” the bishop said to him, “you’ll most likely have a rough time if you think you can make yourself perfect all at once. What you must learn is to choose your priorities. You have to put first things first.”

John began to understand that he couldn’t change everything that was wrong with his life in an instant, but he could choose his priorities. He could focus on the things that mattered most, and with time his life would begin to improve.

With help from the elders quorum president, John found a modest place to live. He knew that he needed to find a way to support himself, and as his health and attitude improved, he found part-time work.

Each night before John went to bed, he made a list of the most important things he needed to accomplish the next day.

Eventually, John was earning a steady income. He moved into a more comfortable place and bought a car. Yet, although he was feeling much better about his life, he still felt that something was missing.

Consequently, John returned a third time to meet with his bishop.

“The reason you still feel empty,” the bishop said, “is because you have not made the third choice.”

John asked what it was.

“It’s not enough to make choices and decisions and to work on them each day,” the bishop said. “Many have spent their lives in productive labor and have accomplished much. But they still feel empty. At the end of their days they lament that their lives had little meaning.”

That was exactly what John had been feeling.

The bishop continued, “It is not enough to do things. We must do the right things—the things our Heavenly Father would want us to do.”

“How do I know what the right things are?” John asked.

The bishop smiled and pulled from his desk a set of scriptures. The leather cover was scuffed and wrinkled. The gilded edges on the paper were nearly worn away. “Through the scriptures and the words of latter-day prophets,” the bishop replied. “These are the ‘right things.’ Some believe that the commandments of our Heavenly Father are restrictive and hard. To the contrary, they’re a handbook to happiness. Every aspect of the gospel of Jesus Christ—the principles, the doctrines, and the commandments—is a part of our Heavenly Father’s plan to help us obtain peace and happiness.”

The bishop turned to the Book of Mormon and read the words of King Benjamin: “Consider … the blessed and happy state of those that keep the commandments of God. For behold, they are blessed in all things, both temporal and spiritual; and if they hold out faithful to the end they are received into heaven, that thereby they may dwell with God in a state of never-ending happiness.”

As the bishop spoke, John thought about his own life. The things he had acquired hadn’t brought him happiness. Perhaps what the bishop was saying was true. Maybe happiness did come from living in harmony with the commandments of our Heavenly Father.

“Remember the words of the Savior,” the bishop said, as though he knew what John was thinking. “‘For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?’”

That very night, John made a commitment to open the word of God and to learn for himself the commandments and doctrines of his Heavenly Father. No longer did he resist the words of the Lord, but rather he embraced and cherished them. As he did, the emptiness in his soul began to shrink, and in its place he gradually discovered joy and peace that surpassed his understanding.

The things the bishop had told John had indeed transformed his life. Where once he was broken, sorrowful, and close to death, now he felt alive, vibrant, and filled with joy.

Christopher Vingoe of the Kings Lynn Ward, Norwich England Stake, overcame severe brain injuries in his childhood to achieve six grade A’s at A-level last year. That’s like doing well on the college entrance exams and placement tests in six different subjects. This incredible feat earned Christopher the Queen’s Gold Medal for Academic Achievement.
Queen Elizabeth II presented Christopher with the award. “She was lovely and very easy to chat to,” says Christopher, who is now serving a mission in Leeds, England. He even told her a little about missionary service for the Church.
When he was six, Christopher was hit by a car while crossing the street. He spent five days in a coma and had a blood clot on his brain. His recovery has amazed doctors. When Queen Elizabeth was told about Christopher’s accident and how he has recovered, she joked, “Perhaps it knocked some sense into him.”

Eleven-year-old Samuel Briones of the Primavera Ward, Guadalajara México Moctezuma Stake, helped interest his schoolteacher in the gospel by inviting her to the open house for the Guadalajara temple. After her visit, she began meeting with the missionaries. The man who taught karate to Samuel and his 12-year-old brother, José Julio, became interested in the gospel because of his association with the two boys; he was baptized and now serves as stake executive secretary.

“Many are looking for the truth, but they don’t know where it is,” says the boys’ father, also José Julio. It is easy to share beliefs with people when we, as members, are attentive enough to the Holy Ghost to know their need, Brother Briones says. His wife, Josefina, learned that the seeds we plant may take time to sprout, then grow quickly. She had shared her beliefs with one couple who seemed ready to listen but declined her invitations to attend Church meetings because of conflicts in their schedule. When they finally were able to attend with her, even she was surprised at how readily and quickly they accepted the gospel.

Ryan Periga was grinning as he walked to the front of the classroom. Ryan was the president of our deacons quorum, and it was his turn to present our priesthood lesson.
“We’re going to do something a little different today,” he announced. “I brought a jigsaw puzzle, and Brother Warner said we could spend a few minutes putting it together.”
He opened the box and spilled the contents out on the floor. He dropped to his knees and looked around. “Well, give me a hand!” he said.
He didn’t have to ask twice. Typical deacons, we were always eager for something to do, even if it meant working on a simple jigsaw puzzle.
According to the box, the puzzle was designed for three- and four-year-old children. It contained only about thirty large pieces, so it wasn’t long before we had the whole thing finished. The only problem was that one large piece was missing, right in the middle.
“Oh, great,” someone protested. “There’s a piece missing!”
“That’s okay,” Ryan said. “It doesn’t look that bad.”
“What are you talking about?” someone asked. “It looks silly.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not all there!”
Ryan tried to look surprised. “Is that important?”
“Of course, it’s important! You can’t have a puzzle without all the pieces.”
Ryan nodded. Then he pointed toward the one empty chair in the room. “You might have noticed that Kevin hasn’t been to priesthood meeting for a while. So in a way, we’re just like this puzzle. We’re not complete. Without Kevin we’re not a whole quorum.”
Ryan had made his point. He had taught his lesson so well that each of us understood it perfectly. And we spent the next several minutes discussing ways to bring Kevin back into the quorum.
Ryan proved that you don’t need to be a General Authority to teach a good lesson, whether it’s for a class or for family home evening. Everyone has thoughts, insights, and experiences that can help shape and influence others. Don’t be afraid to ask your adviser, seminary teacher, parents, or companion for their ideas and input. Most importantly, remember to be prayerful. Seek the help of the Lord and invite his help in your preparations and your presentation.
Look for ways to relate the topic to the lives of those you’re teaching. Ryan’s lesson was effective because he didn’t just talk about quorums. He talked about our quorum. He didn’t simply talk about activating people. He talked about helping Kevin. Quorum unity was suddenly something each of us could relate to.
Next, look for ways to make your lesson come to life. Use object lessons, activities, stories, and discussions. Try to involve everyone. Ryan’s lesson is a good example. While we were busy working on the puzzle, we had no idea there was a point to what we were doing. But we were all involved; everyone was participating.

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to try to read a restaurant menu when you’re blind? How about going through a buffet line in a wheelchair? Joel Williams of the Carrollwood Second Ward did, and decided to do something about it for his Eagle Scout project.
He arranged a special day when teams would visit restaurants in the Tampa, Florida, area, and use a checklist to see how disability-friendly they were. He’d already gotten permission from the participating restaurant managers, of course.
Before the teams went out, however, he set up an “Insight Cafe” in the meetinghouse and assigned each team member a disability with which they would attempt to enjoy a restaurant meal.
When the project was complete, Joel compiled a “Guide to Dining Accessibility,” which is available to the public. It lists restaurants and the handicaps they can accommodate. This was one Eagle project that not only helped the community, but gave tremendous insight to those who participated.

Aurelia stood on the bank of the Mississippi River and looked back across it. Never before in her eleven-and-a-half years had she been west of the wide river, and now here she was in Iowa.
She shivered in the February cold and tucked one hand into her coat. With the other, she held George’s hand. He was only six and was her responsibility. Ellen, thirteen, and nine-year-old Catherine walked ahead with seven-year-old Howard; little Lucy rode in the wagon with Mama, who was still very sick. But Aurelia and George stood and looked back across the river to Nauvoo.
Aurelia murmured, “Farewell, Nauvoo,” and turned with George to face the west. It would be a long journey to the Rockies, but she had her family and the true gospel. She was ready.

Another time in the military a whole delegation of LDS college men went through summer training. As they moved from one field demonstration to another, each hour they endured the military instructors who began each session with a dirty joke. One NCO unintentionally prefaced the inevitable lewd story by asking, “Anyone object to a joke?” There was a split second of intense silence while the opportunity ran through the group. Then quickly from the back came a solitary but solid, “Yes.” The cadreman looked up in shocked surprise, immediately becoming defensive. Intending to intimidate such an upstart, he fired back, “Well, leave if you don’t like it.” Again a second of silence—followed by a decision. Then three-fourths of the group voted with their feet.

Growing up, I was the kid you didn’t have to worry about. I had been active in the Church all my life. I had been the president of my priesthood quorums and seminary classes. I went to every youth conference, temple trip, Scouting event, and Mutual night. I also had a testimony of the gospel. Yet when I became a member of my priests quorum, I struggled, though no one knew it. After all, I was the kid you didn’t have to worry about.
Those first few weeks and months in the quorum I did what I always did: I went to church, Mutual, and Scouting activities. Inwardly, however, I was battling. I didn’t feel that I was a part of the group or that the other young men wanted me there. I wanted desperately to belong.
As time went on, I had questions and doubts about whether I wanted to be a part of the quorum. But I remained active, silently suffering and hoping that something or someone would help me feel welcome.
My father and I had just finished fixing up my first car, a beautiful 1967 Ford Mustang. Brother Stay, my Young Men president, asked about it from time to time. I thought his questions showed his interest in a classic car—not in a young man.
All this changed one rainy evening after Mutual. Because of the downpour, Brother Stay drove us all home from the church, dropping me off last. When he saw my blue Mustang in the driveway, he again asked about it. I offered to let him see the engine I had spent hours and hours repairing.
Brother Stay knew little about cars, and he had a wife and young son at home waiting for him. Yet there he stood in the dark, in the rain, looking at a barely visible car engine. At that moment I realized that he wasn’t doing what he was doing to see a classic car—he was doing it because he cared about me.
Because of that minute and a half standing in the rain, I found what I needed. I finally felt welcomed. My silent prayers had been answered.
Since then I have been to the temple, served a mission, graduated from college, and tried to keep my covenants. Brother Stay may not remember that moment, but I will never forget it.

In my last semester at BYU, one of my professors was Steve Albrecht. If students in his class were married, he asked that their spouse attend class with us.
In his class one day, he taught us a simple principle. He said, “As you leave BYU and start earning money, except for a home and education, don’t buy anything unless you can pay cash for it.”
After class that day, my wife and I talked about this principle of money management. We felt his words were inspired. We laid hold of them, and we promised to follow them.
Not long after graduation we moved to Cincinnati. Excited to be earning a salary, we rented a townhome and went shopping for a washer and dryer. At the appliance store I remember standing in front of a new, shiny, white washer-and-dryer set. They were beautiful! Of course we didn’t have the cash to pay for them. If we were going to buy them, we would have to use credit. As we stood there, Jennifer looked at me and I looked at her, and we both knew we couldn’t buy them unless we paid cash.
So, heads hanging low, we drove down to the secondhand store. There we bought a used green washer and a yellow dryer for $25 a piece. We made a pact that as soon as they stopped working, we would buy that new washer-dryer set. Wouldn’t you know it, but that old washer and dryer worked for ten years! Because we laid hold upon Professor Albrecht’s words, we have lived debt free ever since. What a tremendous blessing has come to us as a result.

“Grandpa,” Joey said, “I can only stay for a while this morning. I promised Brother Hurdy I’d help him tap some trees this afternoon. He’s trying to help out a friend who’s in the hospital. Brother Hurdy hasn’t done it for a long time, and I thought maybe you could give me some tips while I help you.”
Grandpa was glad Joey wanted to help him in his sugar bush, a woods consisting of sugar maples. He could use a good strong boy, and Joey was a good worker.
Joey followed Grandma into the kitchen to get the spouts and the pails that she had already washed and stacked for carrying. He made several trips from the kitchen to Grandpa’s stoneboat.
A stoneboat, which looks like a small raft, ordinarily is used to haul stones from fields so that crops can be planted there. When Joey saw Grandpa hitch his horse to the stoneboat, he asked, “How come you don’t use your tractor?”
“Well, Joey,” Grandpa answered, “Dolly is just right for this job. She doesn’t get mired in spring mud like my tractor. Besides, she needs the exercise.”
The day was getting warm fast as the sun rose higher, and the snow was melting on the dirt trail that led to the sugar bush. Joey walked beside Grandpa. He liked to be with him because Grandpa knew so many things. Whenever Joey asked questions, Grandpa would explain things so that Joey could understand them.
“How many years have you been tapping maple trees?” Joey asked.
“I started to help my father when I was about your age,” Grandpa said, “and I’m eighty-one now. But tapping trees was a lot different when I was a boy. For one thing, we didn’t have metal spouts and pails.”
“You didn’t? What did you use?”
“Sumac twigs for spouts and hollowed-out butternut logs to catch the sap,” Grandpa answered. “We made the spouts by pounding short twigs, about three-quarters of an inch thick, into bored holes. Then we sliced off the top third of the twig’s bark and took out the core. We hollowed out logs with an adz to make the pails. An adz is a hand tool with a sharp, curved blade,” he explained.
“How big were the log pails?” asked Joey.
“Oh, big enough to hold ten to twelve quarts of sap. We emptied them into wooden barrels on a stoneboat.”
“Wow!” exclaimed Joey. “Hollowing out logs must have been a lot of work.”
“It was,” agreed Grandpa. “Buying pails sure beats making them.”
“You must have bought new pails,” said Joey, pointing to the stacks of shiny pails on the stoneboat.
“No,” Grandpa said, “I’ve had them a long time.”
“How come they don’t have rusty spots like Brother Hurdy’s?” Joey asked. “He has to get new ones.”
Grandpa chuckled. “Your grandma gets credit for that. When the maple-tapping season is over, she always washes them and oils them before storing them away.”
When they reached the sugar bush, Grandpa asked Joey which he’d rather do—drill holes or pound in spouts. Joey said he wanted to learn to drill holes.
Handing him the drill, Grandpa said, “Be sure the trees you drill are at least a foot in diameter. Find the side with the most branches and roots, then bore a hole straight in an inch and a half deep about two feet above the ground. But don’t bore into any of last year’s tapholes.”
Joey found a tree that looked large enough, and he saw last year’s taphole on the side with the most branches and roots. Placing his drill bit a few inches away from the previous taphole, he asked, “How deep did you say?”
“An inch and a half.”
“Is that all?” Joey asked. “Brother Hurdy said he thought we were supposed to bore them four to five inches deep.”
“Sap travels just under the bark, so an inch and a half or so is deep enough,” Grandpa explained.
After a while Joey said, “This is great! It would have been a lot harder to bore deeper holes. I’ll have to tell Brother Hurdy.”
“It’s a lot easier on trees, too,” Grandpa said. “Deep tapholes leave brown scars in lumber. But when holes are shallow, scars tend to disappear as the tree grows.”
When Joey came to a large tree, he turned to Grandpa and asked, “Where should I bore in this tree?”
Glancing over at the tree, Grandpa answered, “Same place, on the side with the most branches and roots.”
“It’s so big, don’t you want to hang another pail on it?”
“No,” Grandpa said. “Just one. Trees need sap for their own use. They need it to stay healthy and to help them grow and mature.”
“Don’t you ever put more than one pail on a tree?” Joey asked.
“Only if it’s a lot larger tree than that one,” Grandpa answered, “and then only two.” Seeing Joey’s questioning face, he continued, “Oh, it may not hurt a tree to have two or even three pails for a season—or maybe even for three or four seasons. But you can spot a sugar bush that’s been overtapped if you see that the tops of the trees are dying.”
When Joey had to leave, he discovered that the stoneboat had no more empty pails in it. As Grandpa turned Dolly and the stoneboat around and started home, he said, “Thank you, Joey. You have been good help. You listen and you follow instructions well. I hope that what you’ve learned will help Brother Hurdy too.”
A pleased Joey looked up at Grandpa and said, “Thank you, Grandpa. I’m sure it will.”

Sister Workman and I were in the country of Ivory Coast on Church assignment when a rebellion broke out in the country. The rebels overran a significant part of the country to the North including the city of Bouake, where we had several branches of the Church and 10 young missionaries. We and the mission president were alarmed because these missionaries were at risk to be involuntarily impressed into the rebel army, if not shot as a combatant. After some anxious days, we learned that the French government was sending in an armed convoy to evacuate the numerous French citizens who lived in Bouake. We arranged with the French consulate to evacuate the missionaries at the same time. They were great about it and agreed to help us.
The missionaries were contacted through a local branch president and told to dress in their missionary attire and meet at the extraction point at the appointed time. The missionaries showed up and were recognized by the French soldiers-all except two of them. Two of these missionaries decided that they did not want to dress in missionary clothes. They wore their "mufti" or preparation day clothes. Maybe they were just stubborn, or maybe they thought they knew more than the mission president or maybe they just acted stupidly, but they knew the rules and they intentionally refused to follow them. "God will justify in committing a little sin," right? The French officer in charge saw them line up and demanded they leave or be shot, accusing them of being rebels and trying to infiltrate the South. He said he knew LDS missionaries by their dress and appearance and he could see these two young men were not missionaries.
Of course the two missionaries dashed to their apartment; changed as they should have in the first place and returned only to discover the French convoy had left. For many weeks they hid in their apartment, never coming out. Food was brought by faithful Church members to keep them alive. At long last, a faithful branch president came in the middle of the night, told them to grab only what they could carry in their backpacks and come with him. He walked them through the jungle for 72 hours without food or clean water until they could cross the battle lines into the South zone and safety.
Happily, the missionaries were safe from the rebels. But are they safe from evil? They had stepped onto that slippery path downward, risking both their physical and spiritual lives.

I have had problems with using bad language around my friends at school. It made me feel guilty whenever my parents would say, “We’re glad you don’t use bad language,” because they didn’t know what I was doing. I felt that the Holy Ghost would leave me because I was not only using bad language, I was also lying about it to my parents.
In Primary, we had a lesson about making right choices. I felt I should tell my parents about what I had been doing. I told my mom. Together we told my dad. They told me to start praying to Heavenly Father for help and for forgiveness. We talked about ways to stop swearing. Every now and then they would ask me how I was doing.
Today I’m still praying to Heavenly Father to help me use good language. I’m doing much better. Whenever I feel like saying something I shouldn’t, I get a hesitant feeling. That’s the Holy Ghost helping me to not swear. I get a warm feeling inside whenever I stop myself. I know that Heavenly Father is helping me to be more like Jesus.