Gospel Story Finder

As I sat there on the porch, I continued thinking about Cindy’s question. In one of our Primary lessons we learned that the Holy Ghost is the Spirit of Truth. Our teacher said that He would help us to not lie. I guessed I needed help with that too. I remembered the day Mom had come into the kitchen right after I had accidentally knocked the sugar bowl to the floor. Before she could even speak, I said, “Shauna made me do it.”
“Janna, look out the window,” she told me. “What do you see?”
I saw Shauna swinging on a rope hanging from the pecan tree. I said, “That’s how she made me do it. I was thinking about hurrying out to swing with her, and it made me bump into the table.”
“Janna.” Mom tilted my face toward hers. “None of us breaks dishes on purpose. We all have accidents. It isn’t the sugar bowl that counts. It’s you. More important to me than all the dishes in the cupboard—even the crystal glasses—is a little girl who tells the truth.”
I looked down at the floor. I knew I should’ve said I was sorry, but I didn’t. Instead, I asked, “Don’t dishes sometimes get too close to the edge and fall off by themselves?”
“Oh, Janna Lynn,” Mom said, and I wished she’d spanked me instead of looking at me the way she did. It would have made me feel a lot better.
I was still sitting on the porch thinking when Katie and Shauna came running around the house. “Come and play catch with us,” they called.
We threw the ball back and forth to each other, and then Katie threw one that was too high for me. Running backward to catch it, I slipped and fell on my backside in a clump of Mom’s blue irises. Mom came out of the shed just then with a pair of clippers to cut a bouquet. I looked at the smashed flowers and was just starting to speak, when something inside of me seemed to say, “No, Janna Lynn, you’re not going to say Katie made you do it.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said. “I ran backward and fell.”
“Yes, I know. I saw you,” she replied.
“And you’re not mad at me?”
“Of course not.”
The way she laughed, I almost felt good about sitting on her flowers.
“Just look at all those irises that you didn’t sit on,” she said. “A daughter who tells the truth is more important than a whole yard full of flowers!”
Goodness! That must have been the Holy Ghost prompting me to tell the truth, I thought. And He’s helping me to learn what a great feeling you have when you know you’ve done the right thing. I could hardly wait to tell Cindy.

Not long ago, I met a couple during a stake conference in Nashville, Tennessee, USA. The wife had been a member of the Church all her life. The husband was not a member.
They came up to me, and the husband said, “I am ready to be baptized.”
I was happy to hear that! I asked him, “What has changed?”
He told me, “When I heard President Nelson’s message in general conference, it touched me so much. I knew then that he was a prophet. I gained a testimony, and now I’m ready to be baptized.”
I also know a woman in Cape Coast, Ghana, who somehow tuned into general conference. She had never heard of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but she became glued to what she saw and heard from prophets, seers, and revelators. Afterward, she looked for the Church. She found a chapel and met the missionaries. Eventually she was baptized. Recently, she sent me pictures of herself at the temple to receive her endowment.
These two instances show how powerful the prophet’s message is to the world! If all would heed his message, the world would be so peaceful. We would all focus on what matters most, including developing a relationship with Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, and building strong, eternal families. We would also be our best selves because we would keep the two great commandments: loving God and loving our neighbor (see Matthew 22:37–39). We would bring forth Zion, a society where love, righteousness, and harmony prevail, reflecting the spirit of discipleship (see Doctrine and Covenants 82:14).
When we follow the prophet, we can be confident that we are doing what God would have us do because the prophet follows—and helps us follow—Jesus Christ. Because of Jesus Christ, everything in life becomes meaningful. “We can feel joy regardless of what is happening—or not happening—in our lives.” By following the prophet, we can truly make the world a better place.

I met the angel who would become my wife at an institute party the second night I was home from my mission. Although Shelley and I grew up in Canada several hundred miles apart and had never met before, we got to know each other well over the following months. When I had proposed three times and been turned down because she was committed to serving a mission, she finally accepted my proposal after I promised her that we would serve missions together after raising a family. She accepted an engagement ring on December 22, 1976.
But in the days that followed, both of us felt unsettled—not about marrying each other but about the ring. Let me explain.
In the weeks leading up to our engagement, Shelley and I had spent significant time talking about how we wanted to raise our family and what we wanted our marriage to be like. One of the things at the center of that discussion was our determination to always follow the prophet.
Two months before we were engaged, we listened to lots of talks at the October 1976 general conference reinforcing the principles of self-reliance. This was a topic that President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) and others had been consistently teaching for several years. Both Shelley and I had grown up knowing the importance of growing a garden, having a supply of food, and being generally prepared. But in that general conference, the theme of preparation seemed especially prevalent. Some speakers made reference to the Teton Dam flood that had occurred in June. Among them was Barbara B. Smith (1922–2010), the Relief Society general president, who emphasized the importance of self-reliance—specifically, acquiring a year’s supply of food, as was counseled at the time.1 President Kimball, in the closing session of the conference, reminded Latter-day Saints of the scripture in Luke 6:46, where the Savior says, “Why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?” President Kimball then exhorted the Saints to let the messages of conference follow them into their “homes and … future lives.”2
After our engagement, as Shelley and I contemplated the beginning of our marriage and family life, these messages were ringing in our ears. Unbeknownst to each other, both of us were thinking about how to start home storage for our family. To obey the counsel of that time, we needed to start acquiring a year’s supply of food. But how were we supposed to do it? We were students—and would be for years to come—and didn’t have a lot of money. The Holy Ghost gave both of us, separately, the same answer: we needed to sell the engagement ring.
But how was I supposed to ask Shelley to do that? I had just given her the ring. What would she think about my asking her to sell it so we could buy some oats and flour and rice? Meanwhile, she was worrying too. What would I think, she wondered, if she were to approach me about selling the ring I had picked out for her? Would it hurt my feelings?
But the prompting each of us had felt was too strong to ignore, and the more each of us thought about it, the more glaring that diamond ring became. When Shelley raised the subject a few days after Christmas, I was relieved that she had arrived at the same conclusion I had. In many ways, it was a tremendous confirmation to both of us about the choice of whom we were going to marry. To know that our priorities and values were in sync with the other’s and with the prophet of God was tremendously reassuring. I was so grateful for her willingness to make such a sacrifice to follow the prophet.
Please don’t misunderstand me and please don’t sell your rings! Buying or wearing an engagement ring isn’t wrong. In fact, our married children all have lovely and appropriate rings. There are many ways we can follow the prophets and apostles and apply their counsel to our personal lives. But because the Spirit had directed us to follow the prophet by selling our engagement ring, in our case the choice was between keeping the ring and following the prophet. This helped us establish two patterns in our home from the very beginning: following the prophet and following the personal, spiritual promptings we received.
The jewelry store where I had purchased the ring was closed for about a week following Christmas, but at the first opportunity after it reopened, I went to talk to the jeweler. I fully expected him to refuse to offer me a refund; after all, the ring had been worn and was considered used. I prepared myself for this reaction and expected to have to sell the ring secondhand at a significant loss. But to my amazement, the jeweler’s heart was softened. I walked out with cash in hand—and my mouth hanging open in astonishment at how the Lord had opened the way for us to be obedient.
Not everyone received our decision so well. When our friends—including those who were members of the Church—learned what we had done and saw the small leather band I’d fashioned for Shelley to wear, they told us we were crazy. Other women Shelley’s age couldn’t believe she’d been willing to do what she had done. Very few were encouraging or supportive.
Shelley was strong and knew that she would be OK no matter what people thought; she had confidence in knowing that she was following the prophet. And that was more important than anything else. But the Lord provided us with a tender mercy in the form of two friends who helped us feel that we weren’t alone.
My friend Bob and I had introduced Fran to the Church in high school. All three of us later served missions, and after Fran returned from her mission, she and Bob became engaged. When they came to share their good news with Shelley and me, we learned that instead of buying an engagement ring, they had also decided to use the funds to buy food storage. It was interesting to all four of us that the Spirit had directed us to do similar things. Our commitment to following the Holy Ghost and the living prophet added a new dimension to our friendship, which has lasted more than 40 years.
Shelley and I began buying basic foods for our home storage in January 1977 and continued to purchase bit by bit until we were married in April of that year. Prior to our wedding, we stored the food at my parents’ home.
Shelley wore the leather band as a wedding ring for a long time while I finished undergraduate studies and then dental school. Over the course of pursuing education, our family moved many times. We became accustomed to lugging buckets of wheat from apartment to apartment, house to house, and city to city. Our friends started to avoid us every time we moved, but in later years, we felt profound gratitude for having followed the counsel of Church leaders.
When I graduated from dental school and began a dental practice, Shelley and I had two children and literally no funds. Gratefully, we were able to live on part of what we had acquired in food storage just before our marriage. Our obedience to prophetic counsel blessed our lives again more than a decade after we were married, when I had completed more schooling and was in an orthodontic residency. We were again out of money, and instead of paying for groceries with credit cards or borrowed funds, we were blessed to be able to feed our family (which now included four children) from our supply.
In the years since, we have been blessed in many other ways by heeding the prophetic word. We have learned not to question the validity of what the prophets and apostles teach or to wonder if it makes sense. We have learned that by acting—and acting immediately—on their counsel, our lives are blessed.
Some might call our actions blind obedience. But we have the Lord’s personal promise that the prophets will never lead us astray.3 Knowing this helps us hear their voices as we would hear His own (see D&C 1:38).
We’ve also learned that living prophets typically invite us to do things; they don’t often use words like command or exhort. Their way is kind and gentle, but that doesn’t give us an excuse not to follow. When Shelley and I have taken invitations as commandments, we have always been blessed.
We have also learned to discern their direction by listening for such phrases as “I’ve been pondering …” or “Something that has been on my mind is …” or “I feel to tell you …” or “Let me offer some counsel about …” or “It would be my hope that …” These and similar phrases are clues to help us know what is on the minds and in the hearts of the Lord’s anointed servants.
One other thing that helps us hear the Lord’s voice as we listen to prophets and apostles is to pay especially close attention when they quote other prophets or apostles. The Lord has taught that He will establish His word by the mouth of two or three witnesses (see 2 Corinthians 13:1; D&C 6:28).
Because the message of self-reliance was repeated so many times in that general conference before we got engaged, my wife and I felt that the message was particularly pertinent for us at that time. We were inspired to follow that counsel in a visible way. However, following the prophet isn’t always about outward displays of devotion; often our obedience manifests itself in smaller, more personal ways. Regardless of whether others know about our obedience or not, the Lord does. And He will bless us for our obedience and open ways to make it possible.
Today Shelley wears a more traditional wedding band, but she has kept her little leather one as a keepsake all these years. To us it is a symbol of our early decision to make always following the prophet’s counsel an integral part of our family life. Now as we watch our children raise their children, we are grateful that faithfully following the Lord’s prophet, President Thomas S. Monson, is part of their family life as well. To us this obedience is a wonderful legacy and is as tangible a token of covenant keeping as an engagement ring might have been.

In my first general conference message, I briefly shared how the transformative power of the Savior’s Atonement changed my father.
Today I would like to tell you a little more about how that change began. My father hit a very low point in his life when two ministering brothers began to visit him. One of them invited my father to come with him and his wife to the temple. He accepted the invitation. Each week they picked him up and drove to the next city to worship and serve in the house of the Lord. This continued for three years. Then my dad decided to become a temple worker.
I remember seeing changes in my father during that time. He became aware and attentive to the needs of others. He took better care of his health. He began to care about His relationship with God and subsequently all the relationships in his life. The change was real. He now had the Spirit with him, and I felt it.
Bless this ministering couple for helping my dad. They didn’t judge him for where he was in his life. They walked with him and helped him to develop his relationship with God. They are still my father’s closest and dearest friends.
Because these humble and devoted disciples of the Savior quietly ministered to a seemingly lost and dejected man, my family and I have been eternally blessed.

Ted Jones grabbed the bounding basketball and headed back toward the foul line. If he made this basket, he’d go home. Glancing up, he saw Coach Turner watching him. Ted hoped that the coach had seen him at his best and would let him play sometime when it really counted.
Ted blanked everything from his mind but the orange rim suspended high on the backboard. He was short, barely five feet, and made his shots from the foul line by standing with one foot back and almost lunging forward as he used both hands to push the ball from his chest toward the basket. He did so now, and the ball swished through the net.
Turning to head for the showers, Ted saw his two best friends standing by the bench. The three boys usually walked home together.
“Everybody else is gone,” Danny said. “I don’t know why you spend so much time practicing every day. You’re too short to play basketball, anyway.”
“Yeah, and too skinny!” Keefus shook his head and then burst into laughter.
Ted answered good-naturedly, “You guys laugh now. When I’m the star of the Yellow Jackets, your tune will change.”
Ted loved basketball. Even though he knew he’d probably never be very tall—both of his parents were short—he thought that he could master one part of the game. Each day he stayed after regular practice until he made at least twelve foul shots in a row, and he dribbled over, under, and around all the obstacles he could set up. Ever since he’d gotten his first basketball the Christmas when he was eight years old, he’d made Danny and Keefus—and anyone else he could find—double- and triple-team him to try to get the ball away. He wasn’t fast, but he was quick and almost always got the ball to the open player.
“How are you planning on being a hero?” Keefus asked later as the boys headed for home. “None of us have played for more than twenty seconds in a game unless it’s been so lopsided that it wouldn’t matter.”
Ted answered, “Maybe it won’t be this year, but I’ll be ready whenever it happens.”
“I sure wish it would be tomorrow night,” Danny said. “We had such a lousy start this year that I never thought that we’d even be in the intramural tournament!”
“Yeah,” Ted agreed. “It’s down to us and the Panthers—but they’re unbeaten.”
“Boy, would I like to blow them plumb out of the gym!” Keefus declared.
“I’d just settle for a win,” Ted replied, turning up the walk to his house. “See you guys tomorrow night.”
Nervous tension was as thick as pea soup in the Yellow Jackets’ locker room the next night. The starters were pacing back and forth while the rest of the team exchanged teasing remarks.
“Hey, Michael!” Keefus shouted above the banter, “you’re gonna walk a hole in the carpet!”
Ted looked at the tall center for the Yellow Jackets. Michael was the team’s high scorer. They depended on him to pull them through.
“OK,” Coach Turner called, “gather around.”
The team, dressed in black and gold, huddled around the coach and listened to his familiar pep talk. When they ran onto the floor, the Panthers, in purple and white, were already warming up. Ted got in line behind Danny to start the lay-up drill.
“They look as sharp as ever,” Danny muttered, glancing over his shoulder at the other team.
Ted was determined to think positively. “They can still be beaten, though. We’ll show everybody how much we’ve improved in the last few weeks.”
The five starters formed a circle around Coach Turner for final instructions. Ted took a seat on the end of the bench as the two starting teams met in the middle of the floor. The Panther center matched Michael’s six feet, and Ted wished for the hundredth time that he were tall.
From the first the game was fast-paced and fairly even. By halftime it was evident that it was a shooting match between Michael and a tall Panther called Irish. There were surprisingly few mistakes, and neither team had gotten into the one-and-one bonus. The only problem was that Michael had three fouls.
The score at the beginning of the second half was 20–17 in favor of the Panthers. When the clock ticked down to the final minute, the Yellow Jackets were trailing, 44–42, and Michael had picked up his fourth foul. The crowd went wild when he stole the ball from the Panthers under the Jackets’ basket and stuffed it over the rim to tie the game.
The Panthers threw the ball in and carefully worked it down to their end of the court, obviously intending to hold the ball for the last shot. Ted watched in dismay as Michael hacked Irish on the arm just as the pass came to him.
“Oh, no!” Keefus said, groaning. “Now he’s out, and the Panthers have the one-and-one!”
Ted’s hopes fell as Irish sank the first foul shot, moving the Panthers ahead by one point. The second shot ricocheted off the backboard into the hands of a Yellow Jacket player. He moved the ball past midcourt and called time-out.
Coach Turner paced the sideline, rubbing the back of his head. Suddenly he barked, “Jones!”
As Ted yanked off his warm-up suit and joined the circle crouched around Coach Turner, the coach was saying, “OK, we’re going to keep the ball in Ted’s hands and try to decoy the others so that he’s clear for a shot at the free-throw line. Ted, if nothing happens by the time the clock is down to six seconds, shoot anyway and we’ll try to get the rebound. That means the rest of you had better be close to the basket—now go get ’em!”
The buzzer sounded, and the teams moved back onto the floor. Darryl threw the ball in to Ted. A Panther guard slapped at the ball, but Ted dribbled around him as if he weren’t there. When another Panther came over to help, Ted passed the ball off. It was quickly returned to him as the clock ticked down: ten seconds, nine, eight, seven, six … Ted took aim and let it fly. The Panther guarding him blocked the shot but slapped him on the arm on the follow-through.
Ted stepped to the foul line amid dead silence. Two seconds showed on the clock. The game was up to him.
I know I can do it, he told himself. I’ve been working hard for a long time for this chance.
He eyed the basket, bounced the ball twice, took aim, and pushed it toward the hoop. The ball hit the inside of the rim, wobbled around it twice, then dropped through the net. The game was tied! And, as far as Ted was concerned, the pressure was off.
Grinning happily, Ted bounced the ball, took careful aim once more, and put up his second shot. The ball never drew iron as it swished through the net. String music!
When the final buzzer sounded, Ted was swarmed by his teammates. Later, as they ran toward the locker room, Coach Turner shouted above the uproar, “I knew you could do it. After watching you practice extra every day, I’ve been waiting for the right time to put you in. It finally came.”

Let me share two examples:

First, when my wife Dantzel unexpectedly passed away, I could not reach any of our children. There I was, alone, devastated, and crying out for help. Gratefully, through His Spirit, the Lord taught me why my dear Dantzel had been taken home. With that understanding, I was comforted. Over time, I was better able to cope with my grief. Later, I married my beloved wife Wendy. She was a central part of my second example.
When Wendy and I were on assignment in a distant land, armed robbers put a gun to my head and pulled the trigger. But the gun did not fire. Throughout that experience, both of our lives were threatened. Yet Wendy and I felt an undeniable peace. It was the peace “which passeth all understanding.”
Brothers and sisters, the Lord will comfort you too! He will strengthen you. He will bless you with peace, even amidst chaos.

He has great faith in the power of prayer. It’s how he received his testimony of the gospel. He often takes his problems to his Father in Heaven, and he has often been helped. Once he was worried about a mathematics test in school. He had studied hard but was afraid that he might get nervous and forget how to do the problems. He prayed that he would remain calm. The prayer was answered, and he passed the test. Alan knows that life will bring him harder tests than the kind they give in school. But with faith and work and Heavenly Father’s help, he hopes to pass them all.

Perhaps I could illustrate. A number of years ago I received a rather unique and frightening assignment. Folkman D. Brown, then our Director of Mormon Relationships for the Boy Scouts of America, came to my office, having learned that I was about to depart for a lengthy assignment visiting the missions of New Zealand. He told me of his sister, Belva Jones, who had been stricken with terminal cancer and who knew not how to “break the sad news” to her only son—a missionary in far-off New Zealand. Her wish, even her plea, was that he remain in the mission field and serve faithfully. She worried about his reaction, for the missionary, Elder Ryan Jones, had lost his father just a year earlier to the same dread disease.
I accepted the responsibility to inform Elder Jones of his mother’s illness and to convey to him her wish that he remain in New Zealand until his service there was completed. After a missionary meeting held adjacent to the majestically beautiful New Zealand Temple, I met privately with Elder Jones and, as gently as I could, explained the situation of his mother. Naturally, there were tears—not all his—but then the handclasp of assurance and the pledge: “Tell my mother I shall serve, I shall pray, and I shall see her again.”
I returned to Salt Lake City just in time to attend a conference of the Lost River Stake in Idaho. As I sat on the stand with the stake president, Burns Beal, my attention was drawn to the east side of the chapel, where the morning sunlight seemed to bathe an occupant of a front bench. President Beal introduced the woman as Belva Jones and said, “She has a missionary son in New Zealand. She is very ill and has requested a blessing.”
Prior to that moment, I had not known where Belva Jones lived. My assignment that weekend could have been to any of many stakes. Yet the Lord, in His own way, had answered the prayer of faith of a devoted Relief Society member. Following the meeting, we had a most delightful visit together. I reported, word for word, the reaction and resolve of her son Ryan. A blessing was provided. A prayer was offered. A witness was received that Belva Jones would live to see Ryan again.
This privilege she enjoyed. Just one month prior to her passing, Ryan returned, having successfully completed his mission.
I never think of the Lost River Stake but what I see again in my memory that modest sister made beautiful by her faith. Our Father had used the radiance of His sunlight to make known His purpose. I shall not forget Belva Jones. Here was one who shared her talents freely. Here was one who sustained her husband—and then her son—in their priesthood callings. Here was one who strengthened her home, even in the absence of a husband and father. Here was one who continued to serve her God and all others. Here was one who exemplified the spirit of Relief Society.

Marcela Endrek, a native of Córdoba, Argentina, was sick and sad. It weighed heavily on her. In the midst of feeling there was no way out, she heard a conference talk that spoke of prayer. The thought came directly to her heart to pray earnestly about her troubles.
She began praying regularly for relief. Praying brought her peace and comfort even though her health didn’t improve. In fact, her condition worsened until she could no longer work. Now she had the additional stress of not being able to afford medical expenses.
Out of necessity, she started to investigate how she might cope with her health problems some other way. She felt prompted to focus on changing some eating habits and was surprised at how much it helped. Her recovery was so impressive that she began studying nutrition in depth.
Sometime later, she met a young woman named Evelyn in the same condition as Marcela had been—sick, sad, and desperate for answers. Marcela saw herself in her new friend. She shared some of what she had been learning about food choices and nutrition. She also shared with Evelyn her witness of the power of prayer. She invited Evelyn to pray so that she would also feel God’s love and know that He was aware of her.
A few days later, Marcela was thrilled to see Evelyn again. A change was already apparent physically and spiritually. Evelyn let her know that her life was changing and that she could feel God’s love for her.
From her trials and challenges, Marcela gained both compassion and information she needed to help others.

Olá! My name is Alice, and I try to SHINE MY LIGHT by SHOWING GRATITUDE!
I live in Brazil with my parents and sister and brother. My sister Julia and I play the piano for sacrament meeting in our ward.
One Sunday, a man named Brother Stahlke gave us a present. He said it was a gift to thank us for the music we played on Sundays. When we opened the box, we found a special kind of flute inside! I put the flute together and started playing. I was enchanted by the sound.
Soon I started playing hymns on the flute. I wanted to do something to thank Brother Stahlke for the gift. So I practiced the hymn “How Great the Wisdom and the Love” (Hymns, no. 195). I asked my dad to take me to Brother Stahlke’s house so I could show him that his gift helped me discover a new talent.
When I played for Brother Stahlke, he was very happy and emotional. He told me that he had a dream about this hymn the night before! I felt the love of God for him and for me.
When we show gratitude, the Lord blesses us with happy feelings from the Holy Ghost.

Over the years, Sally has served in many callings. She has always had a love for music and one of her favourite memories is singing ‘The Heavens Were Opened’ with her fellow Relief Society sisters—affectionately known as ‘the singing housewives’—in St Andrew’s Hall in Glasgow. President David O. McKay, then president of the Church, was there and enjoyed it so much he asked them to sing the song again. It’s a moment Sally still remembers with joy.

Do you like to work? When I was a boy growing up in Sandy, Utah, my three brothers and I learned to work hard. My family had a big garden, and my father always planted much more than our family could ever eat. He gave corn, tomatoes, and other vegetables to our neighbors. When they offered to come pick the vegetables, my father said, “Oh, no. My boys will pick them and have them ready for you.” My brothers and I learned to get up at 4:30 or 5:00 in the morning to weed the garden and pick the vegetables while it was still cool. I still get up very early in the morning.

There was a dance that Saturday at the institute. Frank and I stood on the edge of the dance floor watching and waiting before we committed.

When two girls came in, Frank nudged me with his elbow. I’d seen them in church before, but hadn’t said anything to them or even smiled in their direction. They moved to the far edge of the dance floor and talked to each other as lively as two birds. Frank, bold as usual, walked over and I followed.

“What do you think of the dance?” asked Frank when he got to them. He was nodding too much. He wasn’t nervous very often.

They stopped talking and considered.

“We just got here,” one said.

“But it seems okay, I guess,” said the other.

“Good,” said Frank.

One girl reached behind her and began tapping her fingernail rhythmically on the wood molding of the wall.

I thought Frank would ask one of them to dance then, but he didn’t. Instead he put his hands in his pockets and leaned backward, reflectively, like a professor who thinks he has something really important to say.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve loved music since I was a kid—classical music, that is. And I’ve always wanted to play a concert. And next Saturday night at the auditorium I’m going to do that. And I’d like you both to come and bring any friends you want ’cause it’s free.”

They considered him for a few seconds. One pushed a few wisps of hair out of her face and smiled, nicely.

He repeated the request to about a dozen other people before the night was over.

I worried that week about Frank and the concert. Despite his love of music and his skill at teaching, I knew he wouldn’t lie about his playing. If he said his fingers moved like fish sticks, they probably did. I didn’t want to see Frank, so full of confidence, flattened by failure.

Then all of a sudden it was Saturday night, and Frank was walking out onto the stage. Under the lights and on the stage he didn’t look his typical fearless self. He seemed pale and wispy, like a crumpled tissue in a dark blue suit.

He raised his hands above the keyboard.

“You can do it, Fish Sticks,” I gasped under my breath.

He flipped the hair out of his eyes, mumbled something to the piano, and struck the first chord.

That night I walked with Frank back to the dorm. We were quiet for most of the way, but I knew it couldn’t last. Finally he asked.

“So, how was it?”

“What?” I played dumb, stalling.

“The concert, bozo. My concerto sans orchestra.”

“Oh, it was good,” I said quickly.

He grunted. “I got off tempo a few times,” he said.

“Ahh, no one noticed,” I lied.

“Seriously, I want you to tell me what you thought of it.”

I looked over at him.

“Well, I guess your playing could still use a little work,” I said.

“Yeah, I guess,” he admitted. He stuck his hands in his coat pockets. “It frustrates me sometimes—that I can’t play.”

“No, I didn’t say that.”

“No, I know. I can hear the music in my mind and I know how it’s supposed to come out, but it just doesn’t. Like tonight, Fish Sticks took over. I was halfway through and I wanted to climb up on top of that piano and jump up and down.”

I let out a little laugh and Frank looked over and began laughing too.

We rounded the bend and stopped under a streetlight, looking up at our dorm.

“So why didn’t you?” I asked.

He flipped his hair off his forehead to reveal raised eyebrows. “My students, most of them, were in the audience.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, tonight I shared something personal with them,” he said. “I showed them that Fish Sticks isn’t the greatest pianist in the world. And maybe that means they can mess up sometimes, too. You know, they can make mistakes. It’s okay.”

I waited for more.

“You remember the parable of the talents?” he asked.

I shrugged and nodded my head. “Sure. If you got it, use it—or lose it.”

“That’s the idea,” he said. “The servants who are given more talents use them, but the guy who gets only one talent buries it. And in the end, the Lord takes his talent away.

“Well, most of my students are around eight or nine, and if you ask them they’ll tell you they can play the piano—no problem. I bet if you ask them that same question in a few years—when they get into high school or college—they’ll probably say they can’t play. Most of them will lose their confidence, their belief in their talents.

“But I think the world needs more writers, and singers, and, uh, actors, and pianists. I want these kids to share their gifts with others. And I think they will if they know it’s okay to mess up once in a while on the way. That they don’t have to be the best.”

I smiled and told him, “You know, I was listening to music when I began to realize I really believed in God.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I just realized that it was impossible for music as beautiful as Beethoven wrote to come out of nothing. There had to be something more to the universe. There had to be a God. It was soon after that experience that I started to investigate the Church.”

“And the people who were playing the music you listened to, well, someone had to believe in their talent. Someone had to be there when they played wrong notes to keep them going.”

Frank tilted his head, ready to sweep the hair out of his eyes, but stopped. Instead, he reached up and pulled his hair straight out.

“You know,” he said. “I just might get a haircut on Monday.”

I laughed. “You sure you feel okay?” I asked.

“I feel fine,” he said as he started to run toward the dorm. “Honest,” he called out. “I feel great.”

Frank Calio is a band teacher now. He lives in Idaho. When I called him to let him know I’d written his story he laughed. “Call the story ‘Fish Sticks,’” he said. “The kids at my school call me Old Fish Sticks. Every year I play a little at our school recital. I’m better than I was in college, but I still make mistakes and the kids get a good laugh. But they all know in my class it’s okay to mess up while they’re learning. I just want them to play music and to try hard. That’s all.”

It’s Sunday, time for sacrament meeting, but nobody at your house wants to go except you. What do you do? If you’re Ricardo Navas Ruiz of Los Jardines Ward, Trujillo Peru Primavera Stake, you put on your shirt and tie and walk to church on your own. In fact, you get there a little bit early so you can help the bishop get ready for the meetings.
“I’m very happy to be a deacon here in Trujillo,” says Ricardo. “To hold the priesthood really means a lot to me.”
Ricardo, who is now one of only three deacons in his ward, faithfully walked to church every week by himself for three years. Most of his family were members of the Church when Ricardo was two years old, but by the time he was around seven, they were no longer interested in attending. That didn’t change Ricardo’s desire to go to church.
“I wanted to prepare to be baptized. I wanted to feel the Spirit and leave everything else behind,” he says. “My greatest desire is to be a missionary, which is one of the reasons I keep coming to church.”
No longer does Ricardo walk to church alone. Now every Sunday he puts on his shirt and tie, takes his grandmother by the hand, and they walk together. Who knows? In time, Ricardo will probably be leading others to church with him.

Denver says service is not the only opportunity weight lifting has given him: “Anywhere you excel, people are going to notice, and that will give you missionary opportunities.” Recently at a national meet, a world-class power lifter asked Denver why he wasn’t coming to the next meet. Denver told him about his mission, and the power lifter surprised him by encouraging him to put God first. Denver later told his mother, Tammy, “I could be known as Denver the weight lifter, but I’d rather be known as Elder Brown in Mexico.”

Julie’s father once told her that wolves love each other, and if you learn to speak to them, they will love you too. When Julie is alone and lost on the north slope of the Alaska tundra, her only hope of survival is to receive help from the wolf pack near the shelter built by the thirteen-year-old Eskimo girl to protect her against the bitter cold. She knows she must gain the friendship of Amaroq, the leader of the wolf pack.
How Julie manages to survive and reach civilization is so beautifully told that this exciting story received the 1973 Newbery Medal for children’s literature.

Recognize diversity of interests. “I never go to Young Men activities because all they ever do is play basketball, and I’m not that good at it,” one young man said. While many young people enjoy sports, if sports are all that is ever on the agenda some young people will feel excluded. Break out of the same sports routine by planning a trip to local areas of interest, going to a play, or introducing the youth to a variety of sports options. One Young Men president expected his young men to complain when he suggested bowling, golfing, or swimming for a change. “On the contrary,” he said, “they were excited to try something new.”
This Young Men president attempted to further involve everyone by sometimes playing sports in nontraditional ways. The youth planned an outdoor volleyball game with water balloons and a basketball game using child-sized hoops and miniature balls. The leader related, “Altering the way sports are played and making up our own rules helped less-athletic players feel more comfortable.”

We had a wonderful life. We had jobs to earn a little bit of money here and there. During World War II, we collected and sold scrap metal to help with the war effort. I would get my little pile, and we would sell it to a scrap metal dealer for a few dimes. My father would make out a tithing slip for my two or three pennies. He did that with all of the children in Bunkerville Ward, and we really learned about paying tithing. Since we didn’t have a chapel, we held church in the school; the bishop’s work was done in our home. I can remember seeing other children and adults coming to pay their tithing. It was a good lesson, and I’ve never forgotten it.

Jahmin Tengu of New Zealand nearly took his own life. Wanting to know of the Lord’s love for him, he felt prompted to get on his knees.
He recalls, “As I began to pray, I felt the Spirit of the Lord comfort me. I asked the Lord to bring truth into my life.” A few weeks later, Jahmin met a returned missionary who yelled out to him and asked, “Would you like to meet the missionaries?”
This led to meeting the missionaries and receiving a copy of The Book of Mormon. “I had no desire to read it at all, but I had this feeling when I read it. I felt as if the Spirit was saying, ‘I have given you what you asked for, I have answered your prayers.’”
Now, a missionary himself, Elder Tengu says, “I can truly testify that The Book of Mormon saved my life. . . . It is the word of God and is solely focused on bringing people closer to Jesus Christ.”

I remember the first time I encountered the Americans. We came through a dense pine forest, and we had to go across the street. We opened the branches and all of a sudden a huge tank was right in front, and the gun was aimed at us.
I was scared. I had never seen an American tank or an American. The top of the tank opened, and an American came out. Russian prisoners who had been freed by the Americans were sitting on top. They saw that we were shaking. The American asked me where we came from and where we wanted to go. I told him we wanted to go home. “No way,” he said. “You just jump on here, and we’ll take you along. At the next stop we’ll put you on a truck that will take you to a camp.”

The Russian soldiers seated on the tank made me think of a possible solution to our dilemma. During the war the feeling of love I had learned all my life in church was in my heart. I didn’t hate anyone. I thought about being my brother’s keeper.

The Russian soldiers imprisoned in our camp weren’t treated well. They went without much to eat and we had plenty, so we asked them to clean our mess kits, and they consented. We left food in them all the time just to feed them.

My commanding officer noticed, and he called me in. “What do you do with your mess kits?”
“The Russians clean them for us,” I replied.
“I checked and there was food in them.”
“We cannot eat it all. That’s why we leave it in there.”
“You know that’s strictly forbidden. I could report you and you would be in trouble. Don’t do it again,” he said, and patted me on the shoulder.

One of the Russians to whom we had given the food wrote me a note. He told me that whenever we lost the war or I needed help from the Russians to show them this note.

I had put it in my pocket, and at the moment that we were confronted with that tank I remembered it. I pulled it out and gave it to the Russians. They read it and then all of a sudden said, “Friend! Friend!” in German and talked to the American, telling him that I had given food to the Russians. He said, “I hear you have been good to the Russians. Instead of us taking you along, just go ahead.”