Gospel Story Finder

Eric was excited. He had a jingle in his pocket!
Today he had his own money to spend. He was going to go shopping with his mother.
At the store, Eric saw rows of candy, toys, and books. What should I buy? he wondered. He studied everything on the shelves. “Mom, I’m going to buy that big dump truck,” he said proudly.
His mother turned over the box to check the price and shook her head. “I’m sorry, honey, you need many more dimes and nickels to buy this truck. Do you want to wait and save enough money?”
Eric felt very sad. He slipped his hand into his pocket to feel the smooth coins. “Let’s look around some more,” he suggested.
He paused by the games and puzzles. But he had plenty of those already.
Then Eric saw something he hadn’t seen before. “Look, Mom, books!” he shouted, and raced toward the shelf. Eric loved books. Softly he touched the covers—a fuzzy puppy, a colorful circus train, and a barn full of farm animals.
“Mom,” Eric called, “I’ll buy this clock book and learn how to tell time. Then I’ll know when it’s time to go to Primary and to bed.”
Mom smiled in agreement as they walked quickly to the cashier. “How much, please?” asked Eric.
“Thirty-five cents, young man,” she replied.
Eric jingled the coins in his pocket. Then he took out four dimes. “Is that enough?” he asked.
“It certainly is,” the clerk answered. “And here’s your change.”
“Wow, I get a whole nickel back!” Eric exclaimed excitedly, and he put it in his pocket with the dime and other nickel.
Mom watched to be sure Eric held the package tightly. She noticed he slid a hand in his pocket to feel the remaining dime and nickels.
“Let’s celebrate,” Mother suggested. “Do you know a boy who likes doughnuts?”
Eric smiled broadly and said, “I’ll treat you today.”
At the bakery Eric pointed to a doughnut inside the case.
“We’ll have that big frosted one,” he said with a smile.
“Thank you, honey, for sharing your treat with me,” said his mother.
Eric gave the lady all his money and waited to see if she’d give him any change back. She returned from the cash register and pushed two pennies toward him. “There, young man. Now you have two more pennies to spend.”
Eric laughed happily as they finished their doughnut and went back to the car. When they got home he burst from the car to find Dad.
“Dad, guess what! I bought a new book, and then I treated Mom and me to a doughnut. And best of all—I still have a jingle in my pocket!”

The Mysterious Benedict Society*, by Trenton Lee Stewart. Reynie is an orphan with a talent for solving problems. When he discovers an ad in the newspaper for gifted children looking for special opportunities, he goes to apply. After a series of interesting tests, he and three other children begin a dangerous and unusual secret mission to save the world—but they’ll need each other to finish the task.

A man I knew—one of the great men I have known—was in a bunch of roustabout boys. They were always where they should not be and never where they should be. Finally, a wise, resourceful leader got them into a Sunday School class. The teacher was this old man—just an ordinary, homely old man. More than that, he was a convert from Europe, and he did not speak English very well. They giggled, “Our teacher? Him?” These boys, I suppose, had the reputation of running any teacher out.
Then my friend said that something happened. The teacher started to speak, and they all began to listen. This friend said, “You could warm your hands by the fire of his faith.” That meant that in that older, worn-out body that did not seem to be able to erase an accent, there was a powerful spirit.
In the Resurrection the body—the dust of the earth, the carnal part of us—can be renewed and made powerful if it is to equal the spirit.
If you can understand how the Spirit operates, you will be all right. There is not enough evil put together—if it was all brought together as some kind of a dark, ugly laser beam and focused on you, it could not destroy you, unless somehow you consented to it.
In the course of your learning, “wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom: and with all thy getting get understanding” (Proverbs 4:7).
Make sure you learn the things that you are not taught overtly. If all you know is what you read or what you can hear, you will not know very much. Moments of reverence are so precious when you think and feel. That is why temples are so important. You can go to the temple and be out of the world.
The promise from the Lord is that when you receive the Holy Ghost, “he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you” (John 14:26).
You will be doing some things automatically, almost unwittingly. Without thinking, you will find you have been prompted and guided by the Holy Spirit. That is why this young elder, without knowing why, took a 20-mark note out of his wallet as he was trotting alongside the train and handed it to me as the train was pulling out. He saved us from great danger.
That is how you will do things and then later look back and know that you were guided. And also that is how you will be warned. You will be warned, “Don’t go there! Don’t do that!” You will be warned, “Don’t go with him! Don’t go with her! Don’t be with them!” And then, “Do be in this company!” You will be guided, and the Lord will watch over you.
I know that the gospel is true, that Jesus is the Christ, that He lives, that this is His Church. Find a place in the world where you can, without embarrassment, without any hesitancy, declare to yourself: first, that you accept the gospel of Jesus Christ and, second, that what you are is more important than what you do. What you do, if it is guided, will make you what you are and what you can be.

Often our Church assignments place us in ideal situations for developing charity toward others. My father had the same home teaching assignments and the same companion for many years. He and his companion grew to love deeply the families they served, and the families came to rely on their friendship. What had started as a priesthood assignment became a great bond of love.
In his old age, my father had severe arthritis and great difficulty walking. Yet he and his companion, who by then had trouble seeing and could no longer drive, still got together to visit their old friends. The companions would joke that the two of them combined made up a whole person. My father drove and made the phone calls; his companion helped everyone when a more steady step was required.
One evening they stopped the car at the house of a sister, but my father could not get out. He said to his companion, “Why don’t you walk up and have her come out to the door, and then I can wave to her.”
His companion slowly made his way up the steps and asked the sister to come to the door and wave to my father. Although she was disabled and could not walk easily, she said, “I should say not. After all the years you two have been visiting me, this time I will walk down to the car to visit with you.”
The two of them helped each other out the door and down the steps to the car to visit my father. My father opened the door, and the three of them talked together in the twilight until it was too dark to see.
That was the last time my father and his companion went home teaching. By the next month my father had died, followed shortly by his companion and then that sister.
As my father committed himself to serving others, befriending them, respecting them, and staying with them literally to the end, he provided me with a wonderful example of how charity develops through dedicated home teaching.

After lunch the trail wound up above the tree line and followed a glacial river.
“Gee, the park rangers wouldn’t make a trail this hard! Oh, there’s the trail marker. We’ve got to go back across,” wailed an adviser as her group forded a swift stream unnecessarily.
“There’s a plaque ahead. Let’s read it.”
When we saw an old photo of a woman packing a tin stove up the rugged trail we were following, our packs felt much lighter.

Elder Phil and Sister Brenda Frandsen are one such couple. They served in Kaohsiung, Taiwan. In addition to his other responsibilities, Elder Frandsen served as a counselor to the mission president. The following brief interview with the Frandsens illustrates the thoughts and feelings of many couples and may provide insight to those considering missionary service.
Sister Frandsen: “We had always talked about serving a mission after our children were grown. When the time came, it was hard to agree on where we would go and what we would do. After much discussion, Elder Frandsen suggested that we leave the choice up to the Lord. When we received our mission call, it could not have been more exciting. We consider it a very special blessing!”
Elder Frandsen: “Returning after a 44-year absence has been a most rewarding experience. In an area where there was once a tiny branch in a rented building, there now stands a beautiful stake center. An eight-year-old boy I knew then is a devoted stake president now. Progress in this part of the world has been truly marvelous. Every day there is a new spiritual experience as Sister Frandsen and I labor to help individuals gain or strengthen their testimonies.”
Elder Frandsen: “We have been able to use our talents and experiences, and we have discovered talents that we didn’t know we had. I have been able to relearn much of my Chinese. Sister Frandsen can answer the phone in Chinese and is able to read names in order to forward the mail. We feel that learning new skills at our age is good for old brains!”
Sister Frandsen: “I worried about being away from children and grandchildren. However, there are amazing technological advances in communication available to senior missionaries. In some respects, I hear from and see more of our family than we ever did when we were home. We will have at least four grandchildren born while we are here, which we count as one of the greatest blessings of all. Although I will miss holding the newborn babies, we will get to see pictures and videos as soon as each event happens. Rather than taking us away from family, in many ways our mission has brought us closer together.”
Elder Frandsen: “Actually, we feel that we have enlarged our family by going on a mission. We are ‘grandparents’ to the missionaries. Each day we are excited for young missionaries to share their missions with us. We love them—and they love us back! Don’t you enjoy hearing returned missionaries report their experiences of sharing the gospel? We get to hear those experiences every day while they are fresh and largely unedited. Watching the missionaries mature and grow into effective gospel teachers and leaders is priceless!”
Sister Frandsen: “While we have been gone, we have still been doing missionary work back in Arizona. Two of our best friends have invited the missionaries into their homes. Additionally, our daughter and her husband decided to share the gospel with someone. As a result, one of their friends was recently baptized. The more we try to serve, the more blessings we receive. It is impossible to get ahead of the Lord.”
Elder Frandsen: “Missionary work is never boring! There are new challenges and new adventures every day. In addition to our office duties, we teach an English class on Saturday morning and a Gospel Doctrine class on Sunday morning. Twice a week we teach college-preparation English classes for returned missionaries. We are also involved in finding and teaching investigators. Every opportunity for service opens up new doors for teaching the gospel.”
Sister Frandsen: “Perhaps one of my biggest fears was health concerns; instead, we have experienced health blessings. Our missionary schedule is healthful. We get up early, retire early, exercise daily, and eat nutritious foods. The Lord blesses missionaries with strength to perform their labors. You need not be afraid!”
Elder Frandsen: “We sometimes smile when those back home think that we are making a sacrifice. The sacrifice is minuscule compared to the blessings, joy, and satisfaction that God gives us each day.”

When Sister Pieper and I were raising our family, we wanted to teach them good nutrition. We planned nutritionally balanced meals and encouraged our children to try eating each food served. As an incentive, we created a rule that only those who took at least one bite of each food served would be able to have sweets that day. One evening at dinner, our son Chris said that he did not want to eat his peas. We encouraged him to try at least one bite and reminded him of the rule that if he did, he would be able to have ice cream for dessert. Chris said that he wanted ice cream. We reminded him that if he wanted ice cream, he would first have to take a bite of his peas. He continued to insist that he wanted ice cream but refused to eat his peas. As a result, he watched while his brothers and sisters ate ice cream for dessert, complained the rule wasn’t fair.

The next day in family scripture study we were reading Alma’s teachings to his son Corianton about laws and punishments. We read that there are always consequences when laws are broken. Suddenly, Chris blurted out, “that’s peas and ice cream.” We had a good discussion of how we have agency to choose what we will do but we cannot choose the consequences of our actions. This helped us all learn important principles and apply them in our lives.

When I was a senior in high school I was excited to be called to serve as a member of the Amarillo Texas Stake’s youth conference committee. Most of the planning for the conference was left up to an enthusiastic group of about a dozen young people. Our committee met a few Sundays a month for almost a year at our stake center, an hour’s drive from my home. We also dedicated several hours in between meetings to researching ideas and praying for inspiration. I could see that serving on the committee was bringing me closer to the Lord. Although I had to travel an hour each way to the meetings, I felt good about what I was doing.
Generally, I enjoyed having uninterrupted quiet time to myself in my car on those Sunday afternoons to ponder the items we had discussed at our meeting or just to think. However, as the seasons changed and the hours of daylight shortened, I found that more of my drive home was in the dark. Even though I had had my driver’s license for about a year, something about driving on the highway alone at night made me uneasy.
One night was particularly distressing. Although the roads were relatively straight and safe, I was paralyzed by fear. I managed to go only half the speed of the other cars on the highway. My knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel. I poured every ounce of my consciousness into focusing on the road ahead of me and, after a few miles, was nearly exhausted by the effort. I realized that by driving so slowly I was only prolonging my terror, but try as I might, I could not make myself go any faster.
Keeping my eyes open and my hands on the wheel, I said a fervent prayer aloud, asking that I might be comforted. I thanked the Lord for the opportunity that I had to serve Him while I was on that committee and asked that He would grant me the ability to fulfill my calling—which included traveling to and from my meetings.
Immediately after I finished my prayer, a scripture I had studied in seminary came to my mind. I had heard the words a hundred times: “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise” (D&C 82:10).
Simple as it may seem, those words were an answer to my prayer. Immediately I felt the comfort of the Holy Ghost reassuring me that as long as I did the things the Lord expected of me, I would be taken care of. I also knew that if I was obedient to the laws of the land by wearing my seatbelt and not speeding, I would be doing all I could to allow for Heavenly Father’s protection.
Relief swept over me following my appeal to the Lord. I am grateful that my seminary teacher encouraged me to learn the scripture mastery scriptures. That night I learned firsthand what a blessing familiarity with the scriptures can be.

Bruce eased his paddle into the lake water, slicing the dark substance noiselessly, watching the droplets drip from the end of his wooden blade, interrupting the rhythm of his strokes to observe the shimmering return of water to water. Wet diamonds, Bruce thought, as he watched the droplets recombine with the lake.
For the moment, they were the richest and loveliest jewels he could know.
It was late September, and the predusk air was just beginning to acquire the distinctive and leafy mustiness of early autumn. The Connecticut evenings were chilly already, yet Bruce sensed the first morning of frost was still weeks away. When he was younger, the coming of the frost mattered little to him, for September meant only one horrible and inescapable event: the removal of freedom. He was not conscious of beginnings then, as he was today; he was aware only of endings. He smiled as he pushed the paddle deep into the water again, for he could still feel the horrible cringe in his mind that haunted him during the last weeks of summer every year. How he hated to relinquish the freedom of his summer to the walls of a school.
And they had been extraordinary summers. After finishing his job at the pet shop or completing his gardening assignments at Geysmar’s estate, he would hop into his beat-up VW, pick up Bob at the gas station, and they’d rumble and downshift their way over the winding roads to the lake. A few cans of soda, some bug repellant and fishing tackle, and they were set at least until dark. Sometimes longer.
Again Bruce smiled, this time more to the familiar back that occupied the forward seat of his canoe than to the endless water. He had picked Bob up tonight at his gas station, both of them curious to try out the old fishing spots one more time before Bruce took off for Utah and then Germany. They had left the station at 4:30, and when they arrived at the lake, there still were a few hours of daylight left.
“You really think there’s fish left in this puddle?” Bob asked, as he and Bruce lifted the canoe off the roof of the Bug and carried it over their heads to the water’s edge. “Bet the acid rain has just about wiped this place out.”
“Sure there’s fish. How can you doubt it? You just have to find them.” But they had found none so far, Bruce had to acknowledge, though the reawakening of memories had been well worth the trip.
“Hey Bruce, can’t you remember those stars?” Bob said. The silent onset of dusk had begun to slip in over the lake. “Don’t you remember those nights?” He was silent for a moment, then continued. “It really isn’t that long ago—just two years since the last time we were up here, right? But man! Those stars. Sometimes when I work the pumps at night now, I remember those stars.”
How could anyone forget them, Bruce thought, checking his line for bass as Bob spoke. They had been trolling the lake for about a half hour now, but still no luck. Sometimes it was like that.
“Those stars, Bruce.” Bob laughed. “Man, I still can’t say what they make me feel.”
They stopped paddling, then floated freely, words stuck in the stuff of their memories. Suddenly it seemed to Bruce that he was 14 again, and he and Bob were lying on their backs on the seats of their old rowboat, their lines limp at the side of the boat.
“Hey Bruce, do you think there’s ever an end to those stars?” Bob had asked. And Bruce had felt it then, as surely as he knew it again this evening, that the stars stretched on forever.
“Can’t you imagine a wall out there, Bruce? Can’t you feel it? You know, all of a sudden you reach the end of the space, and then there’s this big giant wall. Bam! That’s it. The big end.” And they had laughed.
But Bruce had found that he had to stop laughing that night. The waters licked softly at the base of the boat; a peeper sounded from the shore. There was nothing but blackness in the middle of the lake, all that black and silent water. Bruce shook his head vigorously, shutting his eyes, sitting up so suddenly that he hurt the bones in his back on the seat of the boat.
“No way, Bobby,” Bruce said, still shaking his head. “I just can’t handle that. It’s like something cracks—snap!—in my head. You know what I mean? I just can’t handle a wall in space. I just can’t handle it ending. Things have got to go on. Don’t you think, Bobby?” But it was more feeling than thinking, he knew.
Nights like that had made it easier to believe the missionaries, Bruce realized, when they had come knocking on his parents’ door. Nights like that had helped his new faith to seem almost reasonable. If space was endless, then life was endless, and endless life demanded a God. And if there was a God, Bruce just couldn’t imagine any other church being truer than the one that the missionaries had taught to him. He’d felt it as sure as he felt the warmth of the sun. And so he’d done it. He’d slipped gently into the bright waters of baptism, knees bending, his white clothes clinging to him as he felt his body going down and then up, lifted from the wetness by some power much greater than skinny old Elder Larsen. He had felt himself rising from the waters, a new person.
Water. It was always water for him. Once, when he was ten, he had tried to walk on the lake water. Lying on his back on the dock near his parents’ old cabin on the lake, he had become curious with the possibilities of faith. He had heard the story countless times in his Methodist Sunday School of the Savior walking on the water, but now his wondering made him restless. If he had enough faith, would the substanceless substance become firm beneath him? He stepped confidently out, then fell clumsily into the water.
“You caught any fish back there?” Bob asked, snapping Bruce back into the present.
Bruce looked at his line; it hung lifelessly in the dark.
“Maybe it’s time to head back,” Bob suggested.
Bruce said nothing. It was hard to stop fishing. He was always filled with the wild hope of just one more minute, just one more moment of patience, and then the tiniest movement of the line would come. If you weren’t careful, you would miss that gentle sign of interest, and the hope would be gone.
“Another 15 minutes, Bob. Let’s wait till it’s real dark. Then we’ll go back.”
Bruce reeled in his line, then pulled the pole back and cast out with one final hope for success. Setting the rod in the bottom of the canoe, he turned in the seat to get more comfortable and bumped his pole in the process. It jerked precariously, the line getting caught under the bow of the canoe. Impulsively, Bruce reached his hand into the black and unknowable water, the dark liquid now fused with the dimming horizon that was tentatively lit by a few of the earliest stars. Bruce tugged at the trapped line with his hand, freeing it, and then, for some reason, felt reluctant to let it go. Unexpectedly, the line raced through his enclosing fingers, pulled taut with certain promise.
“Hey Bob!” Bruce called softly, carefully pulling his hand in from the water, unwilling to disturb the pulse of the line. “I think I’ve got something, my friend.”

A few years ago, our family gathered to discuss where we should spend our Christmas vacation within our country. Two of my children—both energetic and outgoing—wanted us to stay in a hotel in Kenema. My wife and I understood their excitement, but we also knew how that choice would affect our savings and limit our ability to extend help to needy family members. Kenema is where many of our extended relatives live and also a place where they value culture. Christmas has always been a time when we try to open our arms to those who may come to visit.
What started as a simple decision soon turned into repeated strain. The children who wanted the hotel stay felt misunderstood; the others felt opposed for thinking differently. Small communication has broken down here. Some days my wife and I felt indecisive, wondering whether we were failing as parents—especially because the conflict was beginning to overshadow the spirit of the holiday.
We prayed and counselled together, searching for a way to honour our children’s desires while also teaching the deeper principle of balancing personal enjoyment with charity. Eventually, we found a middle path: a simple Catholic guesthouse with enough room for all of us, affordable enough to preserve what we needed to bless others, yet still giving the children the feeling of being “away” for the holiday. It was not exactly what anyone originally wanted, but it was something that honoured everyone’s needs.
During that period of tension, I spent many moments on my dialogue. One day, as I prayed, a calm feeling settled over me. A thought entered my mind—gentle but clear. It reminded me of something President D. Todd Christofferson has taught that parents are called not merely to keep peace in the home but to lead their children toward higher principles—and that true discipleship often requires deliberate, loving correction, patient teaching, and choices that reflect eternal priorities rather than momentary desires.
He teaches that families grow stronger when parents guide with purpose, helping children learn to choose what builds faith, unity, and compassion—even when those choices require sacrifice.
Remembering that helped me breathe again. It reminded me that our role was not to please every wish but to guide our children toward Christlike balance—toward understanding that joy, charity, and family unity can and must coexist.
And as we moved forward with love and steady leadership, hearts softened. The arguments faded. And our family grew closer—not just because we found a place to stay but because we learned, together, what President Christofferson teaches so often: that true happiness in families comes when love, sacrifice, and discipleship walk hand in hand.
“Love them first. Teach them second.”
That night, instead of teaching them about obedience or respect, I gathered all of our family and expressed how much we loved them. I shared memories of my childhood, their kindness, and the joy they brought into our home. To my surprise, they softened. One of them began to appreciate sharing gifts and coordinating plans to assist when the opportunity arises. Our family grew stronger not by avoiding conflict but by facing it with love and the help of the Lord.

Feeling miserable after a week of making poor choices and enduring lectures from my parents, I went to visit my grandfather. Flopping down on his front porch, I rested my chin on the palms of my hands and wondered how a kid as young as I was could get into so much trouble.
Noticing how sad I looked, my grandfather sat down beside me. “Jeffery,” he said, “I think it’s time we went fishing.”
Early the next morning we were on the lake in his boat. “Granddad, how do you do it?” I asked. “How do you always make the right choices? I’ve never seen you lose your temper or make any of the mistakes I do.”
Granddad pulled a silver compass out of his pocket and laid it on the seat between us. “I’ve made my share of mistakes, Jeff, but when I was sixteen, I learned a valuable lesson, and this compass was part of it. I carry it with me all the time because it reminds me to check my other compass to make sure that what I’m doing is right.”
“You carry two compasses with you?”
“Yup. They remind me of the day I used them both and barely escaped death, anyway.”
“Escaped death? What happened?”
“Wow, Granddad, that was some experience!”
“It sure was, Jeff, and it taught me a lifelong lesson. When I can no longer see where my pocket compass is leading me, I can still head in the right direction. I just have to let my inner compass guide me.”
“But how do you know when it’s working?”
“You know it’s working when you get a feeling that something is right or wrong. If you feel right about your choice, you know you’re following in the direction your inner compass is pointing. If you feel uncomfortable or miserable about your choice, you know you’re going in the wrong direction.”
“Thanks, Granddad,” I said, “I’m going to start using my inner compass right away.”

For the first 12 years of my life, my father didn’t go to church. He and my mother had been married in the temple, but he had stopped going to church after that. My mother and I prayed for him, and almost every Sunday morning we went to the edge of his bed and said, “Please get up and go to church with us.” He was never upset or unkind to us about it, but he always had something else to do.

I was an only child until I was 12 years old. Then my mother was able to have another child, a little sister. The Sunday came to take her to church to be blessed. My mother said to my father, “Your little daughter is going to be blessed today.” I said, “Dad, please come with us to church. You can’t miss it.” A little while later, he came out of the bedroom dressed in a suit, a white shirt, and a tie.

We went to church and sat on the second row in the chapel. After the opening hymn and prayer, the bishop picked up my little sister and took her to the front of the chapel to be blessed. I sat close to my father on his left side, and during the blessing I felt his arm begin to quiver. I looked up, and tears were running down his cheeks. After the blessing, I asked him, “What’s wrong?” He said, “I’ll never let this happen again.” I asked him what he meant. He answered, “I’ll never let another man do what I ought to do.”

Three or four weeks later, our bishop called my father to be a counselor in the bishopric. A year and a half later, he was called to be a member of the stake presidency.

Heavenly Father answers prayers, and people can change. Be patient. The Spirit can help people you love to change bad habits.

I was getting mad! Another spit wad had hit the back of my neck. I tried to ignore it and just get the last question done because it was almost time for Jennifer and me to go to student council meeting.
Then Jennifer got hit by another spit wad. She spun around in her seat and barked, “Knock it off, Todd! I know it’s you, so don’t try to act innocent!”
“You and Rebecca are the ones who always try to act innocent,” Todd retorted. “Teacher’s pets!”
“Just because we do all the assignments doesn’t make us teacher’s pets,” I shot back. “Besides, Mrs. Groves is a good teacher. You shouldn’t cause so many problems for her.”
Actually, it wasn’t just Todd who was causing problems. The whole class was noisy and playing around. Usually everyone was pretty good, but now that there were only four days of school left before summer vacation, some of the kids were getting pretty wild, especially Todd, Ryan, and Mike.
Suddenly Ryan chased Mike across the front of the room, and they knocked some papers off Mrs. Groves’s desk. They didn’t stop to pick up the papers, so I did.
“You guys, settle down!” I said. “Mrs. Groves is going to be back any minute, and she’s not going to like what’s going on!”
Nobody seemed to listen.
“Hey, Rebecca,” Todd called, “get that garbage can while you’re up there. You and Jennifer have to clean up all those little pieces of paper by your desks. You two are real litterbugs.” He pointed to the spit wads scattered on the floor and laughed and laughed.
“It’s not funny, Todd,” Jennifer said.
“Can’t everyone just please be quiet?” I pleaded.
Then Ryan started chasing Mike again, and Mike tripped over Chuck’s foot and fell against the bookcase that the aquarium was on. I watched helplessly as the bookcase tipped over and the aquarium crashed to the floor. Broken glass, water, fish, seaweed, rocks, and sand went all over the floor, and all the books from the bookcase were getting soaked.
“Quick!” Todd yelled. “Somebody get some cups of water so that we can save the fish!”
Just then the door opened, and Mrs. Groves walked in.
Up until that day, Mrs. Groves had been my favorite teacher. She was smart, and she made learning fun. She would show us several different ways to learn things and patiently wait while we did. But that day she just stood there for a minute, looking appalled. She told Todd to take the flowers out of the vase on her desk and put the fish in the vase. She told me to go find the custodian and ask him to come to our room right away. Then she marched the rest of the class to the library.
Mrs. Groves told us how disappointed she was that we couldn’t behave without supervision. She lectured us for twenty-two minutes about growing up, about responsibility, and about good fun and harmful fun. She said that she was sorry that any innocent students had to suffer with the guilty, but since she had no way of determining who the guilty were, everyone in the class lost all privileges for the rest of the year, and the class party was canceled. Then Mrs. Groves had us sit in silence and think about what we had done wrong and about how we should have been acting.
Jennifer leaned over to me and whispered, “It’s not fair! We tried to stop them.”
Mrs. Groves heard the whispering and was over by us in an instant. “When I said ‘total silence,’ that’s what I meant, young ladies!”
So we just sat there until the custodian came and told Mrs. Groves that our room was ready.
We marched through the halls like we were going to a funeral, and as we passed the other classrooms, the kids looked out at us and giggled. They already knew what had happened.
Jennifer pulled me out of the line and up to where Mrs. Groves was leading the class. “You ask her,” Jennifer whispered into my ear.
I didn’t want to ask her, but Jennifer pushed me in front. “Mrs. Groves,” I said, “Jennifer and I have to go to student council meeting now. May we please be excused?”
It was the last student council meeting of the year. We had work to do to get ready for the awards assembly. After that we were going to have a swimming party and a barbecue.
“I’m sorry, girls,” she said, “but as I explained before, I can’t make any exceptions. You two are part of this class, and this class has lost all privileges, including participation in student council.”
“But can’t we do extra work?” I pleaded. “Or help you before or after school tomorrow?”
“The answer has to be no! Now please get back into line.”
I was really angry then. I had tried to get the others to quit fooling around. Besides, I’d worked hard on student council, and I thought that I deserved to go to the party.
The classroom was clean and neat when we returned. But the bookcase was empty, and there was a strong odor of pine cleaner. We sat silently working on a writing assignment: “How Students Earn Privileges.”
Mr. Burton, the student council adviser, came into the room and talked to Mrs. Groves. We couldn’t hear what they said, but when he looked at Jennifer and me, we knew that he was talking about us. Jennifer smiled at me and crossed her fingers for good luck. We were sure that he’d get us out of class. But he didn’t. We stayed and worked and watched the clock.
Mrs. Groves kept the class after school for twenty minutes. When she finally dismissed us, she called Jennifer and me up to her desk. She said that Mr. Burton had left an envelope for us to pick up at the front office. I knew what was in the envelope: the ballots Jennifer and I would have counted at the student council meeting!
At the end of every school year there is an awards assembly for students who have done well in sports, music, art, science, and other subjects. There is also a Teacher-of-the-Year Award for the teacher who had done the most for the students and the school that year. The teacher winning the award has his or her name inscribed on a plaque displayed by the front office. Two teachers are nominated by the PTA; then the students, teachers, and parents vote on them.
This year the PTA nominated Miss Eaton, who is young and pretty and always happy—and Mrs. Groves!
When Jennifer and I opened the envelope and counted the votes, Miss Eaton and Mrs. Groves had the same number of votes. We counted them again to make sure that we hadn’t made a mistake, but we hadn’t. Jennifer said that our job was to come up with a winner, and since it was a tie, it was up to us to choose one of them. We grinned at each other conspiratorially. She wrote a name on a card and sealed it up in the small envelope provided for it. I didn’t see what she’d written, but I knew which name she had put down.
The next day at the awards assembly, I got an award for perfect attendance, with a sticker on it for never being tardy. Todd got an award for physical fitness. When Mr. Burton got up to announce the Teacher-of-the-Year Award, Jennifer poked me. We tried not to grin at each other, but it was hard—till we heard Mr. Burton say, “Rather than announcing the winner myself, I’d like to have one of the student council members do that. Rebecca, would you please come up?”
I sat there stunned until Jennifer pushed me. Then I found myself walking up to Mr. Burton. He handed me a small envelope—the same envelope that we had given to him earlier.
I took it and walked up to the microphone. Everyone was looking at me. Miss Eaton was smiling. I didn’t look at Mrs. Groves, but I knew that the award was very important to her and that she had worked very hard to deserve it. I wondered if she would feel as bad as Jennifer and I had felt the day before, when we had been punished for something we hadn’t done and when we had had to miss the student council party.
I looked into the envelope. Jennifer had written the name I thought she had—all I had to do was read that name! It seemed like justice.
Justice! The word started my thoughts in another direction: If I announce what’s written on the card, I’ll be the one who’s unfair. Mrs. Groves had won also, and after all, she had only done what she thought was right. Most of the kids did deserve to be punished …
I took the card out of the envelope and pretended to read it to the waiting audience. “There are two winners of the Teacher-of-the-Year Award this year,” I said into the microphone. “The voting ended in a tie.”
There was a gasp from the audience. Then I said, “Both Miss Eaton and Mrs. Groves will receive the award.”
Mrs. Groves looked surprised, then pleased. Miss Eaton smiled. And Jennifer squeezed my hand.
After the assembly, Mrs. Groves told Jennifer and me that she had been proud of us for speaking up when the class was misbehaving, and she said she was sorry we had missed the student council meeting because of the punishment. When she learned that we had made the awards announcement, she smiled and said that she thought we had done the right thing.
Jennifer and I still didn’t think the punishment was fair, but we had learned that sometimes doing the right thing means being fair even when you are angry.

Shelly loved to skip. She skipped to the park. She skipped to school and home from school. She skipped next door to visit Sister Jones. She skipped so much that her friends and family called her “Skipper.”
One day, though, Shelly walked home from school very slowly. She didn’t feel like skipping. Her legs felt heavy as she climbed the porch steps and opened the front door. She found Mother sitting at the kitchen table, writing letters.
“Hi, Shelly! How was school today?” Mother asked, pausing to lick an envelope.
Shelly didn’t say anything. She felt tears pressing her eyes. Oh, no, she thought, I’m going to cry again.
Mother licked some stamps and pressed them onto the envelopes. Then she turned to Shelly. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
As Mother hugged her, Shelly felt tears roll down her cheeks. “Oh, Mom! Some of the kids at school say I’m stupid! Am I?”
Mother hugged her tighter. “No, Shelly! You’re not stupid.”
Shelly leaned back and looked at Mother. Mother had a way of looking into Shelly’s eyes that made her feel understood. She knew that Mother loved her. “Then why is everything so hard for me? I’m always the last one finished with math or spelling, and I still get more wrong than everybody else.” Mother handed her a tissue. Shelly sniffed. “I really try, Mom! I really try! And you help me study every night. So why is it so hard for me?”
Mother pulled Shelly close again and answered her with a question. “Shelly, what is the greatest talent anyone can have?”
Shelly thought. She remembered how well her teenage brothers played their violins. They played with the high school orchestra. “Is it to play the violin?” she asked.
“No,” said Mother. “Playing the violin is not the greatest talent. Think again.”
Shelly thought about how well Dad did woodworking. Shelly liked to watch him as he built beautiful furniture. “Is it to build things?” she asked.
Mother shook her head. “No, woodworking is not the greatest talent. Think again.”
Then Shelly remembered how she loved to have Mother sing Primary songs to her at bedtime. Sometimes, if Shelly wasn’t too tired after studying, they sang together. Mother led the singing in Primary. Shelly liked learning the new songs with her mother. “Is singing the greatest talent anyone can have?” Shelly asked.
“No, Shelly, Talent in music is a wonderful talent, but it isn’t the greatest talent.”
Shelly thought about her friend Aubree. Aubree usually finished her math and spelling before anyone else in the class. Aubree didn’t have to study after school, so she took dancing lessons several afternoons a week. She could do ballet and tap dance. On Saturdays, Shelly liked to visit Aubree. Aubree would let Shelly wear one of her beautiful costumes and would teach her some dancing steps.
“Is the greatest talent dancing?” Shelly asked.
“No, Shelly, it isn’t dancing. Think very hard.”
Shelly thought. Then she remembered how hard it was for her to read. Sometimes the letters seemed to flip over or even disappear. “Oh, Mom, it isn’t reading, is it?”
Mother gave her a squeeze. “No, it isn’t reading. Dancing, singing, reading, woodworking, and playing instruments are all great talents, but they aren’t anything compared to the best talent. And, Shelly, you have the best talent.”
Shelly was surprised. “No, Mom. I don’t do anything really well.”
“Oh, yes, you do. You try to make people happy. You stop to visit Sister Jones on your way home from school. She’s lonely living alone, and you cheer her up. She has often told me how much she looks forward to your visits.”
Shelly smiled. She liked Sister Jones. Sometimes she played her harp for Shelly. Sister Jones even said that she’d teach Shelly to play one when Shelly’s arms grew a little longer.
Mother gave Shelly another squeeze. “And when our doorbell rings, you’re the first one there. You greet everyone with a smile. Even when my friends come, you want them to have a cookie, and you always tell them to come again. That makes them very happy.”
Mother is right, Shelly thought. I do like to make people happy.
“Shelly,” Mother said, “your talent is the best talent of all. Can you guess what it is now?”
Shelly still shook her head.
“Shelly, your talent is love. You know how to love others, and that is the best talent. That’s what Jesus taught. All those other talents—singing, dancing, woodworking, playing instruments, even reading—don’t mean very much if you don’t know how to love.”
Shelly thought some more and nodded her head. She gave her mother a kiss and a big hug. Then she skipped down the hallway to change into her play clothes.
The next day just before the bell rang at the end of school, a boy in Shelly’s class started teasing her again. But Shelly only smiled at him. I might not be as smart as you, she thought, but I can love you anyway; and Jesus said that loving is the best thing of all.
Then she put her math and spelling books in her book bag and skipped all the way home.

7. Keep cars free of inside litter. Place heavy objects—which could become missiles in case of a quick stop—in the trunk. In California, two missionaries were slowing down for an intersection when an empty pop bottle rolled from beneath the driver’s seat and up under the brake pedal. With the brakes thus jammed, they smashed into a semitrailer and the car was totaled out. Fortunately no injury more serious than a broken arm resulted, but all for an empty pop bottle. In another case a quick stop brought some heavy books flying from the back window area, whacking the driver on the neck. He was severely cut and had to have stitches. Imagine what a typewriter or an adding machine might have done!

The tune begins as gently as a whisper, a melody that fills your soul as quickly as it fills your ears. It becomes even more memorable when the choir begins singing:
If I were there to see this man arrive, this man, a carpenter called Jesus,
When I would see thousands flock to Him, would I not follow them and hear Him?
When I would see Him, with one glance would I know Him instantly?
Would I know that He is the Christ?
Look at the choir, and you can see that all the members are singing from their hearts. Look at the accompanists carefully constructing each chord and the sound technicians balancing the entire performance into well-blended harmony. Look and see the young adults of the Pretoria South Africa Stake, themselves a blend of backgrounds and experiences, joining their voices together in praise of the Lord Jesus Christ.
And at the center of it all is a 20-year-old conductor who penned every word, composed every note, coordinated each rehearsal and performance, and created what ended up as a Christmas present for his friends, for Church members, for the community, and even for his Savior and his Father in Heaven.
Michael McLeod, who will soon be serving a full-time mission, didn’t expect his celebration to grow into such an event—performances at four chapels, each one filled to capacity with hundreds of thrilled audience members. He was simply responding to an assignment given to the young single adults (YSA) of his stake to prepare a cantata, a program of music and words to help people worship the Savior. In fact, the program was originally scheduled for June or July 2009 but after several delays was moved to December.
“When the stake YSA representatives told me what they’d been asked to do, I instantly said, ‘Why don’t we use original music instead of borrowing other people’s music?’” Michael remembers. The YSA representatives agreed. And they also knew just the right person to put it all together—Michael McLeod.
Michael is a University of Pretoria student, majoring in English and mathematics education. “What I really want to be is a teacher,” he says. But Michael has always been interested in music. In fact, he studied it seriously until he was 17.
“Music became my hobby,” he explains, “and I still love it. I love the way music is able to touch people’s hearts. I love to conduct and to feel the energy that comes from a choir, especially when it’s a gospel song. I love to watch the congregation as the music draws them in and to feel the Spirit as they feel the Spirit. I think I’ll be involved with music my whole life because it means so much to me.”
But most of all Michael loves to share his testimony of the Savior, and doing that with music at Christmastime became a perfect opportunity. “The whole point was to share our testimonies of the Savior through the music and the words of the cantata,” he says. “We wanted powerful music and at the same time to have powerful testimonies, so we used the testimonies from the scriptures of people who knew the Savior: Mary, Joseph, Anna, Simeon, Peter, James, John the Beloved, Mary Magdalene, and those Christ healed and taught. We tried to convey what they knew, and it’s powerful. We also used the Savior’s own testimony. It came together wonderfully.”

This was the beginning of a beautiful year filled with spiritual blessings. An institute class began in our branch, with the Doctrine and Covenants as our course of study. Ceci said that she would help me if I would participate. A few months later the instructor left, and I was asked to take his place.
One of our lessons was on temple marriage and vicarious work for the dead. One night soon after, I dreamed that I saw my uncle, who had died nineteen years before, and my stepfather, who had also passed away. They seemed to want something from me. I felt something whisper to me that I must go to the temple, that temple marriage is a commandment of God.
When I awoke, I knelt down and asked Heavenly Father to permit us to go. Then, wanting to strengthen my resolve, I took out a piece of paper and wrote down the prayer I had just offered. “Heavenly Father,” I wrote, “if it is thy will, I ask thee to let me go to the temple with my wife, Ceci, and my children, Diego and Adrianita.” I awoke my wife and told her what I had done. She cried and hugged me. She knew how hard this goal would be to reach.
Since we lived in Ambato, Ecuador, the nearest temple was across national boundaries in Lima, Peru. A trip there would involve a lot of paperwork, a thirty-six-hour bus ride, and real economic sacrifice. It would be hard on our children, who had never traveled and were very active. But we were strengthened in our resolve when we received our patriarchal blessings.
On 20 May 1987, my wife, my daughter, my son, and I finally saw the temple. There was the figure of the angel Moroni, facing heaven from one of the towers. What joy we felt as my wife and I received our endowments and were sealed to our children for eternity! Then we did vicarious ordinance work for our loved ones.
Every time I think about this experience, I want to return to the temple again. I am so grateful we did not miss the opportunity to make these eternal covenants. God has restored his gospel, including his temple ordinances, because of his love for us. I know that he lives.

One day in 2023, Uyanga Altansukh was at work in the northern Mongolian city of Darkhan when the Mongolian mission president entered her workplace. In her words:
“I saw him and thought he had this bright light in his countenance. He was very kind and fun to those around him, and I felt warmth. Before he left, I asked him some questions. A few days later, he came into my work again and asked if I could attend his church. I thought it might be helpful. I was worried for my children’s future, as society seemed to be full of stress and darkness. I wanted my children to be like this man with a light in their countenance, spreading joy to others around them.
“One day the missionaries taught us the law of tithing. My children said with excitement, ‘We must pay our tithing, Mom.’ I could see my children’s faith at that moment. Before I joined the Church, I watched general conference and listened to President Russell M. Nelson speak. He announced new temples all over the world and said that a new temple would be built in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. I rejoiced and shed tears, even though I did not understand why. With this joy, I could tell that my faith and testimony were growing.”
Uyanga, like millions of others, is part of the great gathering of Israel in preparation for the Second Coming of Jesus Christ. She has begun her journey along the covenant path and has become a disciple of Christ.

Some years ago when I served as a stake president, we had a very grievous case that had to come before the high council and the stake presidency and that resulted in the excommunication of a man who had harmed a lovely young girl. After a nearly all-night session of the council that had taken that action, I went to my office rather wearily the next morning to be confronted by a brother to this man whom we had had on trial the night before. This man said, “I want to tell you that my brother wasn’t guilty of that thing which you charged him with.”
“How do you know he wasn’t guilty?” I asked.
“Because I prayed, and the Lord told me he was innocent,” the man answered.
I invited him to come into the office, and we sat down. I asked, “Would you mind if I ask you a few personal questions?” and he replied, “Certainly not.”
“How old are you?”
“Forty-seven.”
“What priesthood do you hold?” He said he thought he was a teacher. “Do you keep the Word of Wisdom?” He answered, “Well, no.” He used tobacco, which was obvious.
“Do you pay your tithing?”
He said, “No”—and he didn’t intend to as long as that blankety-blank-blank man was the bishop of the ward.
I said, “Do you attend your priesthood meetings?”
He replied, “No, sir!” and he didn’t intend to as long as that man was bishop. “You don’t attend your sacrament meetings either?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you have your family prayer?”
“No.”
“Do you study the scriptures?” He said, well, his eyes were bad and he couldn’t read very much.
I then said to him: “In my home I have a beautiful instrument called a radio. When everything is in good working order, we can dial it to a certain station and pick up a speaker or the voice of a singer all the way across the continent or sometimes on the other side of the world, bringing them into the front room as though they were standing right there. But after we have used it for a long time, there are some little delicate instruments or electrical devices on the inside called radio tubes that begin to wear out. When one of them wears out, we get a kind of a static—it isn’t so clear. Another wears out and if we don’t give it attention it fades in and out just when we are about to hear who makes the winning touchdown. If we don’t give that attention and another one wears out—well, the radio sits there looking quite like it did before, but something has happened on the inside. We don’t hear. We can’t get any singer; we can’t get any speaker.
“Now,” I said, “you and I have within our souls something that might be said to be a counterpart of those tubes. We have what we might call a ‘Go-to-Sacrament-Meeting’ tube, a ‘Keep-the-Word-of-Wisdom’ tube, a ‘Pay-Your-Tithing’ tube, a ‘Have-Your-Family-Prayers’ tube, a ‘Read-the-Scriptures’ tube, and, as one of the most important that might be said to be the master tube of our whole soul, a ‘Keep-Yourselves-Morally-Clean’ tube. If one of these becomes worn-out by disuse or is not active—if we fail to keep the commandments of God—it has the same effect upon our spiritual selves that that same worn-out tube in the radio in my home has upon the reception we otherwise could receive from a distance.
“Now, then,” I said, “fifteen of the best-living men in the stake prayed last night. They heard the evidence, and every man was united in saying that your brother was guilty. Now you who do none of these things, you say you prayed, and you got an opposite answer. How would you explain that?”
And then this man gave an answer that I think was a classic. He said, “Well, President Lee, I think I must have gotten my answer from the wrong source.” And you know that’s just as great a truth as we can have. We get our answer from the source of the power we list to obey! If we are keeping the commandments of the devil, we will get the answer from the devil. If we are keeping the commandments of God, we will get the answers from our Heavenly Father for our direction and for our guidance.

On the afternoon of June 20, 2005, two vertebrae in my neck were fractured in an automobile accident. I wore a rigid cervical collar continuously for more than three months after the accident and was under doctor’s orders not to lift much of anything or to do anything else that was likely to strain my neck or to cause me to lean forward or backward. Truthfully, I didn’t feel like doing much of anything for the first four to six weeks after the accident, least of all mowing the lawn, which has never been a favorite activity of mine. But, had I felt like mowing the lawn, the doctor’s orders would have prohibited it.

After hearing of my accident, a family in our ward volunteered to mow our lawn for as long as I would not be able to mow it myself. We were grateful for their offer, and we told them that we would gladly pay them to mow the lawn. They refused the payment and were as good as their offer. The father, one of the sons, or sometimes two of them together faithfully mowed our lawn every week until I could once again mow it myself. This family had taken to heart King Benjamin’s teaching that “when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17). Throughout those summer months they gave me the gospel gift of vicarious sacrifice—doing for someone else what that person cannot do for him- or herself.