Gospel Story Finder

Three weeks after I opened my heart, received the gospel, and made the important decision to be baptized in 2001, I attended a Sunday School class in which we discussed the importance of observing the Sabbath day.
As a successful business owner with a large number of employees, I had been working on Sundays for more than 20 years. But as the importance of this day became clear to me, I decided to tell my three store managers that we were not going to open anymore on Sunday.
A few weeks after I announced my decision, my three managers told me that several insistent customers, mainly schoolteachers, asked whether we might open our stores the following Sunday. I work in the candy business in Papantla, and people needed to buy candy and piñatas to prepare for El Día del Niño (Children’s Day), which would be observed the following Monday. On Children’s Day, held on April 30 in Mexico, schools have parties and games, and children receive candy.
“Tomorrow, on Saturday, I’ll let you know,” I told my managers.
When I got home, I told my wife what had happened. I expected her to say, “Stay open. After all, it’s just one Sunday.” But that was not her answer.
With a firm voice, she told me that I was the head of the family and that it was my decision. But then she asked me, “If someone told you that this Sunday you could receive either a huge fortune or you could receive your Father in Heaven, which would you choose?”
Her question helped me realize the importance of receiving the Lord every Sunday, and I knew I had to stand by my decision. Honoring the Lord is the most important thing we can do on Sunday, and since then I have not missed an opportunity to do so.
If we put the things of the Lord before the things of man, we will be given a testimony of the Sabbath day. For our observance of the Sabbath day, my family and I have been greatly blessed, as has my business. May we all receive the blessings of honoring the Lord’s day.

Furthermore, I discovered that if gas is released from a balloon through a valve, it descends. But this was not all! I also heard from my friend many delightful stories about previous balloon flights. On one occasion, as the story goes, clouds developed unexpectedly during a flight, and the two men in the wicker basket had not the faintest idea over which part of the country they were sailing.
They decided to lower the balloon, and all of a sudden they saw a Dutchman walking on a lonely country road. When they were able to draw his attention, one of the men in the basket shouted: “Where are we?” And the lonely walker looked up, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted back, “You are in a balloon.”
To make their urgent request for direction more clear, the man in the balloon cried vigorously, “Where are you?” And the man called back at the top of his voice, “I am on the ground!”
Discouraged, the balloonists unloaded some ballast and sailed again into the clouds, while one of them remarked: “The man down there must be a bureaucrat.” The statements he made were perfectly true, but totally useless!

There was something strange about mom and dad both coming to my room to say good-night. It seemed like they had something on their minds. Mom said, “We received a great blessing in the mail today, Jan.” Then dad added, “I have been called to be a mission president. Here is a letter from President Kimball. You will want to read it.”
My heart dropped. Where? When? Do I have to go, too? My eyes began to sting. I didn’t even attempt to hold back the tears. I wanted mom and dad to know that what they were saying was destroying my world. It wasn’t fair. Imagine asking a young, involved, excited sophomore in high school to pack away all her dreams and go out into the mission field without her friends or her older brothers or sisters for three years!
“Sweetheart, this is such a special opportunity and calling,” mom said soothingly. Then dad said, “If you want me to say no, I will. We can’t accept this call without the support of all our family.”
“No way, daddy,” I said through my tears. “We will have to think of something else. Can I live with someone here and finish school? Maybe one of my brothers or sisters wouldn’t mind.” Then the thought struck me: How could I function without mom and dad there to help me along the way? How could I stand it? We had always been so close.
Mom was the Young Women president in the stake and dad the stake patriarch. No wonder the Lord called them to preside over a mission, but why couldn’t He have waited until I was finished with high school and out of the nest? Why was I the only one left to go with them? Why was I born five years after the rest?
Then I noticed the tears in dad’s eyes and saw mom’s face full of hurt. I realized then that leaving home for them would be anything but easy. They would have to leave children and grandchildren, their friends, and home. I knew they were willing, so I took a deep breath and decided I could give it my best shot, at least for the summer.
Where would we be? It could be any place in this wide world. We talked a lot about different places in the world where we would like to live. But somehow, home in Bountiful, Utah, still seemed the very best place for me. I started hoping we would be assigned to the Salt Lake City North Mission.
The assignment came on April 1, 1979. Only missionaries know the feeling of anticipation that letter can bring. As we opened the envelope, the first thing I saw were three familiar signatures at the bottom, and then slowly I raised my eyes to the body of the letter. There it was. We were called to the Mississippi Jackson Mission.
Mississippi … where was Mississippi? I had no idea which state it was except that it was down south. Dad got out the map and the World Book. Excitement began to grow, even in me. This could be kind of fun, seeing new country and meeting all those missionaries. I have to admit I had no intention of breaking school ties and staying down there beyond summer, to go to a school where I might be the only Mormon in my class.
To my utter amazement, my older brothers and sisters envied me. My oldest brother, Craig, really encouraged me. “Jan,” he said, “this is a chance of a lifetime.” I was glad they were excited for me, but still I figured those words were easy enough for them to say, easier than for me to do.
I guess I was feeling a little sorry for myself. My world was changing, and I didn’t want it to. As a teenager I was struggling to find security by developing my talents, getting involved in many things, and in making lots of friends. I belonged and felt comfortable. Drill team tryouts were just over, and I had made it. I was a Vykette!
How could I ever give up that dream? I had so many other dreams. The one I had yet to achieve, and the most important of all, was to be in the madrigals chorus. Being in that singing group would be the highlight of my senior year if I were lucky enough to make it. However, summer was still before me, and I decided to spend it down south regardless of all my school anticipations.
That first summer, dad and mom and I traveled a lot getting acquainted with the wards and branches. I found that I did have a family after all with about 80 big brothers.
Our big family decision that summer was still what to do with Jan. Building a foundation for a new mission meant dad had to travel much of the time and mom needed to be with him to get to know the missionaries, their needs, and the areas. We all prayed about it, and the decision was made. I could go back to Viewmont High School in Utah and live with my brother David, his wife Pamela, and Kimi.
My junior year at Viewmont was wonderful, packed with lots of drill team memories, book learning, work with the junior class committee, special dances, fun with family, and spiritual and fun times with my Laurel class. Only my journal and my Heavenly Father knew of all my lonely times without my parents. The phone bills also gave unmistakable evidence.
In the spring after an especially exciting day, I just had to call “home” to tell mom and dad the big news. The voice on the other end of the line said, “Honey, we’re glad you called. We were just going to call you. Dad and I have talked to the headmaster at Jackson Preparatory School, and they have room for you this next year. We know this is where you should be. We really want you to plan to come here for school next year.” Silence. I felt my world slipping again.
“But, mom, I just can’t. I tried out for madrigals just yesterday, and I feel so good about it. My big dream, remember?” I cried, and mom cried. How could I leave everything and everyone? All my dreams of being a senior at Viewmont—I had waited so long. But when parents like mine say they both have a strong feeling that I should do something, I know that I should. When I said, “Okay, mom and dad, I will come,” a sweet, peaceful feeling came over me, and I knew it would be all right.
The second summer was filled with zone conferences and youth conferences. It was great fun seeing the missionaries again. The number had grown from 80 to 160, so there were many new ones to get acquainted with.
I was enrolled in a college preparatory school, Jackson Prep, which seemed to be number one in everything—academics, sports, drama, music. I was scared to death to start there. Aside from a couple of girls in the neighborhood, I didn’t know a soul.
My classes were tough and were taught like college courses. Everyone bought their own books and we were to take notes on lectures every day. Exams were held often. To add to my potpourri of confusion, I was told that I was being watched because I was a Mormon—the only one in the entire school. I felt that I was stuck in a spot, although not necessarily a bad one. I could make it good or bad depending on one thing—my attitude.
I had all kinds of good advice from the missionaries and others on just what I should say and do, but when that first dreaded day of school arrived, I forgot it all and barely made it home and through the front door before I broke down and wailed as if my heart were broken. There sat mom hurting too, but at least she was there for me. We cried together as I explained, “Mom, the kids are so different. I can’t understand the teachers.” The teachers spoke with a strong southern accent, and I found myself writing notes from their lectures that weren’t anything near what they actually said. I hadn’t quite mastered the language yet.
“Oh,” I sobbed, “besides that, today I was one minute late for my English class. When I finally found the room, my teacher made me stand up in front of everyone and explain why I was late.” At first mom looked at me, attempting to give me some motherly consolation, but then we both started to laugh. Mom and usually dad were always there to listen as I unfolded the happenings of the day, and we found that laughing was a lot more fun than crying. Things did get better.
As I started the school year, I made some promises to my Heavenly Father. The memory of a special blessing given to us by President Ezra Taft Benson just before we came into the mission field helped me to set my goals. I knew if I did all I could to be a good example and symbol of the Church for Him that He would send special opportunities to me.
I found myself, miraculously, a member of a new madrigal singing group, a member of the chamber singers, and of the acappella choir at school. I also found great friends in my choir director and drama director. I gained many new friends as I participated in two dramatic productions that year. Getting into these activities wasn’t all my idea. I had a little mother behind me all the way, encouraging me to get involved.
Slowly but surely, I gained respect from my friends and teachers, and I almost welcomed all the teasing about being a Mormon. It wasn’t unusual at all to have someone come into my first period class waving an article they had found on the Mormon Tabernacle Choir or on the Church’s stand on abortion.
Everyone seemed interested in the Mormons, and even though they would kid me a lot, I think they were impressed that a group of people could stick to their guns and pass up liquor and tea and coffee, not just once in a while, but all the time. Defending the Church wasn’t hard anymore. It was kind of fun. Who would be up to bat next, and whose hits could I catch?
The best opportunity I had defending the Church was when I became involved with the Junior Miss Pageant as a contestant for Capitol City’s Junior Miss. Many of the senior girls were trying out, and I decided to go for it, too.
Once I was picked as one of the 20 contestants, there were dances to learn, a short course on modeling, a talent number to prepare, and studying to do for a personal interview with the judges. It was great. Twenty girls from different schools learning together and having fun and not a Mormon except me in the bunch. Excitement began to mount as the pageant drew near. Our interviews were scheduled the afternoon of the pageant.
Finally, it was my turn, and I nervously walked up the long flight of stairs to the room where the five judges awaited. At first they just visited with me. Then an older, quiet man began asking questions about my religion—tough questions. It took me back for a moment. Then I got hold of myself and answered the best way I knew how. The words flowed freely, and I felt as if my eyes were relaying the message as well as my words. I knew I received lots of extra help from above that day. What I said must have satisfied the judges because that night number 10 was crowned Capitol City’s Junior Miss—I was number 10!
As friends and mom and dad crowded around and hugged me, my mind reflected back to the hateful feelings I had felt at first after reading “the call.” Now in my heart I thanked Heavenly Father for giving me the chance. I felt so happy—happy for wonderful friends who accepted me with all kinds of southern hospitality and for friends at home who kept reassuring and encouraging me with their love. I was happy for a wonderful family like my sisters who received calls from a bawling baby sister and always ended up making her laugh. Most of all I was happy for a dad and mom who stood by through it all and guided me with all their love.
What happened to that year I was so afraid of? I shudder to think of missing my year at Prep. There was, however, a constant concern in my heart. What more can I do to let everyone know that the Church is true? A Book of Mormon with my personal testimony written in the front to each of my teachers helped satisfy that unrest. Each one promised to read that precious book.
I am now so thankful that I listened to my wonderful family and accepted the challenge of the mission field. It means so much to me to have become a part of my dad’s special calling. I grew up a lot and learned many important lessons through my experiences in Mississippi. Things that make us grow never are easy, and now when I look back, I can’t really remember the rough times. I only remember the great ones.
All the friendships I made in Mississippi continue to grow sweeter as time passes, and maybe someday some of the seeds planted there will flourish. I guess most of all I learned how to totally rely on my Heavenly Father. This lesson will stay with me not only for today but forever.

Twenty-four years ago, our tiny newborn son struggled for his life in the intensive care unit of a hospital. His lungs were not fully developed because of his premature birth, and he desperately fought for each breath of air. He was so small but with so much will to live. As young and inexperienced parents, my courageous and ever faithful wife, Jan, and I prayed that the Lord’s hand would reach out and somehow help our baby boy continue to breathe. As I put my trembling hand through the small opening into the isolette, I felt so inadequate and powerless. I took hold of the tiny but perfect hand of our newborn son, and there was a powerful spiritual connection never to be forgotten. Two fingers from each of my hands covered his tiny head as I administered to him.

Our desire for him was pure, but we knew that his earthly experience rested in the Lord’s hands and not in ours or in the medical team who cared for him. I then humbly realized that my quivering hands held power and authority well beyond my own. My fingers on his head symbolized the placing of God’s hands and power upon our son. Following that blessing, in a moment of emotional peace, my eternal companion and I looked at each other across the isolette, feeling the spirit of renewed hope and comfort born of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and in the personal effect of His Atonement. It was a powerful witness of His love for an infant son who had just left His presence. We were then better prepared to accept His will for our son. We truly felt we had placed our hands in the hands of the Savior. It was as if the Savior’s own hands provided the critical respiratory aid, allowing our son to breathe and gain sustenance. With each breath and with each incremental bit of progress, we expressed prayerful thanks. Today, our healthy son and his indebted parents continue to be so grateful for the Savior’s willing hands.

Whatever country you live in, it takes a lot of effort to earn the top award in Scouting. So imagine the effort required to earn the award three times. Rocco du Plessis is the first Springbok Scout in the 26-year history of the First Edgemead Troop in South Africa. So becoming a three-time Springbok Scout is a huge accomplishment.
However, there’s another award Rocco earned last year that is equally important to him. “Earning the Duty to God has helped me achieve even more for my personal and spiritual growth,” he says. “It’s about your relationship with your Father in Heaven.”
“The Scouting program here is very demanding,” says Rocco, who is a member of the Panorama Ward in the Cape Town South Africa Stake. It’s hard to earn the Springbok. Sure, the Scout leaders are there to help you. But it’s still tough. “If you don’t work very hard, if you don’t pull your weight, you’re not going to get it,” Rocco adds. A lot of time, planning, and effort goes into every award as you advance in the Scouting program, which in South Africa is not Church sponsored.
For the Duty to God Award, Rocco says the support of his parents and his Young Men leaders has made a big difference. “They want you to earn your Duty to God,” he says, “and so many of the requirements are things you’re doing daily already.” Then it’s just a matter of working with your parents and leaders to record your progress in those areas. “Most of the normal Mormon aspects of your life fill Duty to God requirements—if you do them.” In other words, if a young man is attending Church meetings, praying regularly, studying the scriptures, and fulfilling his priesthood responsibilities, he is on the right track.
Only about one or two percent of all Scouts nationwide receive South Africa’s top Scouting award. And then only about one or two percent of these Springbok Scouts complete more than one of the three possible Explorer challenges. Rocco completed all three challenge awards, becoming only the third Scout in South African history to accomplish the feat.
A South African Scout advances through the program from Pathfinder to Adventurer to First Class then to Explorer. The Explorer badge is split into three different sections: Land Scouts, Air Scouts, and Sea Scouts. Usually a Scout will choose one of these sections to focus on as he works toward his final advancement—Springbok. Rocco focused on all three.
Along with the other badges and requirements, there are compulsory badges specific to each type of Explorer: The Land Explorer earns his Backwoodsman and Mapping badges. The Air Explorer earns his Air Navigator and Air Traffic Controller badges. And the Sea Explorer earns his Helmsman and Boatsman badges for sailing and rowing.
Rocco explains that it usually takes about two weekends at a badge course to earn each award. There are the white badges—the theory behind a skill. And then there are the green badges—the practical application of the skill. For example, to earn your Backwoodsman badge, first you’ll learn things like wilderness survival, navigating with the stars, and making fires without matches. Then comes the practical application. You get dropped off in the bush for 48 hours, and you’re on your own.
So Rocco has been pretty busy with Scouting for several years now. From February until December last year, for example, he was away many weekends. “It seemed I was up permanently on badge courses,” he says. Plus, for the past five years, Rocco has been the troop leader. That means he’s been in charge of organizing all the troop camps. He’s had to plan meals, do the shopping, coordinate troop meetings, type up consent forms for the other Scouts and their parents to sign, and oversee each of the campouts.
One valuable trait Rocco has learned along the way is persistence. “At least half of my badges I didn’t pass the first time on the course,” he says. “Within six months you can go back and do it again or have an adult who has done the badge test you on it.” For instance, one of the requirements for First Aid is bandaging. “I failed bandaging because part of the knot on one of my bandages stuck out,” Rocco says. “So I had to redo the bandaging portion in order to earn my level-two First Aid.”
In addition to the badges, there are other projects a Scout must complete to earn his Springbok. One of these is a construction project. Rocco chose to build a bridge. He had to first design and build a scale model of the bridge. Then, with a team of six other Scouts, Rocco had to build it full size, about 20 feet tall (6 m) and 30 feet long (9 m). It took nearly nine hours to build the bridge and then disassemble it.
Then there’s community service, which is a big part of earning both the Springbok and the Duty to God Award. For his Springbok service requirement, Rocco visited more than 40 homes of seniors to help them with various chores and repairs. “The only big thing that overlapped was the 40-hour service project I was able to use for both Scouts and the Duty to God Award,” says Rocco.
Of all the requirements Rocco has fulfilled to earn his various awards, he points to one in particular as most valuable for his personal growth: “Reading the Book of Mormon,” Rocco says without hesitation. “That was the biggest and most rewarding challenge.”
“I had read the Book of Mormon once already, a year or so ago, but I was just reading to get it done,” Rocco explains. “When I started reading it again, I really wanted to learn and gain a testimony of it.” He approached reading the Book of Mormon in a completely different way his second time through. “Every time I read now, I pray before to ask Heavenly Father’s Spirit to be with me as I read.”
Rocco’s already begun on his next big project—to more actively share his testimony with others as he prepares to serve a full-time mission. His Scouting experiences and earning the Duty to God Award have helped him in his personal development and in becoming a missionary. “To spread the gospel, I needed to know what is in the Book of Mormon, and I needed to know that it is true,” he says. “After reading the Book of Mormon for the second time, I received a testimony of it.”
Even if there was not a Duty to God Award to earn, Rocco says he would have fulfilled most of the requirements simply because he wanted to prepare for missionary service. Attending church, reading the scriptures, praying daily, and giving service are just part of who Rocco is, of being what a Latter-day Saint is supposed to be.
Now that he has received his call to serve as a full-time missionary, the testimony Elder du Plessis has built is proving much more useful than the rope-and-log bridge he built for his Springbok construction project. However, some of the backwoodsman skills he learned as a Scout may come in handy as he serves in Zimbabwe, Zambia, and Malawi.

One day at school, my friends were making fun of a girl. I was trying to be nice to her because she had it kind of rough, and lots of kids were mean to her. When the bell rang at the end of the day, my friends said, “Hey, let’s get her coat before she gets it and throw it in the boys’ bathroom.”
I knew that this would not be nice and that it would make the girl feel very bad. I thought about what Jesus would want me to do, and I told them that it would not be a nice thing to do. They did it anyway, and it made me feel very bad.
The girl was really sad and asked them to get it back. They just laughed and ran off.
I told the girl that I was sorry they were so mean to her and that she was my friend. I got her coat for her. I’m glad I stuck up for her. I know that I did what Jesus would want me to do, and I am very glad.

“Another good example my dad set for me was when he called me into his office and asked, ‘Do you know where the bishops’ storehouse is?’ When I nodded, he said, ‘OK, you go with the truck driver.’ We took five big barrels of chickens—about a thousand pounds of them—to the storehouse as a gift to the poor and needy from my father. I’ve never forgotten that day.
“Dad made donations like that to the storehouse several times. It was the old Pioneer Stake Storehouse, and it became the model storehouse for the Church general welfare program.”

Digging footings meant long, hot hours, and I have to admit, I didn’t always have a good attitude about it. Whenever my mother caught me complaining about having to work, she would say, “Watch out. You’re going to lose your blessing, and you have to work anyway!” (See D&C 58:28–29.) She was right. Complaining never took away the job; it just took away the satisfaction and many of the blessings of doing it.
I found that when I chose to listen to my mother and to do the work with a cheerful heart, the time passed much faster, the work itself was done better, and I was a whole lot happier than I had been when I was complaining. Attitude affects everything.

Luana was 11 years old when I visited her family in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Because of a traumatic event in her childhood, Luana could not speak. She had not spoken for years. She sat silently as we all conversed. I kept hoping for even a whisper from her. She looked at me intently as if uttering words were not necessary for me to know her heart. After a prayer, we stood up to leave, and Luana handed me a drawing. She had drawn Jesus Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane. I then recognized her witness loud and clear. Luana had made a covenant at baptism to stand as a witness of God “at all times and in all things, and in all places.”4 She understood the Atonement of Jesus Christ, as witnessed through her drawing. Had she come to know that, through the strengthening and enabling power of the Atonement, she could be healed and speak again? Since that day three years ago, Luana has progressed in her effort to speak. She is now participating in Young Women with her friends. Faithful to the covenant she made at baptism, she continues to share her witness of the Savior.

Years ago my father, as a young married man with several children, went nervously into the bank in Brigham City to ask for a loan to start in business. He was asked about collateral. He had none beyond his willingness to work and some mechanical aptitude.

The banker, in turning down his request, happened to ask father where he lived. “In the old box house on First West,” was the answer. The banker passed that corner on the way to work. He’d watched the transformation in the yard. He’d wondered who lived there, and admired what they were doing.

Father got the loan to start in business on the strength of the flowers that mother had planted in the yard of a very modest adobe house they were renting.

My wife, Brittney, and I began purchasing food storage early in our marriage. In the first months after our wedding, we bought a few storable items each time we went grocery shopping. By adding a little bit at a time, we accumulated a useful store of food. We didn’t know when we would need to use it, but we knew it was important.
A year into our marriage, we moved across the country for graduate school, and we brought our food storage with us. Financially, things were difficult. We had used all of our savings to secure housing, and Brittney received no income as a student teacher. We relied on my graduate school assistantship to pay the bills, but it didn’t go far.
Our finances took another turn for the worse the second night in our new home. Brittney woke up with severe stomach pain, and when it didn’t subside after several hours, we went to the hospital. She had her appendix removed later that day.
After she recovered, we sat down to budget our money. As we calculated the next four months’ bills—which included the emergency surgery—we discovered we could still get by without going into debt. In order to do so, however, we could spend no more than $25 each month on groceries. That was about one-fourth of what we were used to spending.
The food storage we had accumulated over the past year became invaluable. It was enough to cover our basic needs for four months, and we used the budgeted $25 to buy milk and other perishables. We didn’t eat fancy food, but we didn’t go hungry.
As we lived frugally and served others willingly, we received added blessings. One of my fellow students finished his degree and asked us to help his family move. While we were helping, he asked if we would like to take the food left in their freezer. Because of his kindness, we now had meat to supplement our food storage.
The Lord blessed us as we prepared food storage, paid our tithing, and showed willingness to serve. We made it through those months without borrowing any money. After that semester, my wife found a full-time job, and we could afford to spend more money on groceries. We built up our food storage again, and we continue to be blessed as we obey the Lord’s commandments.

“Wow, what an army!” Jamie’s eyes were big as he excitedly knelt next to the small trenches and plastic men Brady was playing with.
“Yeah,” Brady said, grinning proudly. “I’ve been digging these trenches for an hour, wondering where you were.”
“You should’ve called. I was helping Mom sort some books for her bookstore. She got an order in yesterday.”
“You always have your nose in a book, you bookworm!” Brady knew that Jamie didn’t mind his teasing. Jamie was the best reader in the third grade and proud of it.
Jamie started plowing in the warm dirt with his hands, and soon he was busy building trenches too. Books were forgotten as the boys worked in silence for several minutes. The only sound was Mr. Morris’s lawn mower next door and Brady’s loud sneeze when he stirred up too much dust.
“What’s your general’s name?” Jamie asked, pushing a lock of hair back with a grimy hand. “I think that I’ll call mine General Lee.”
“Mine’s General Moroni,” Brady said without looking up. He moved a plastic man in uniform into position at the front of the battle line.
“Moroni? What kind of name is that? Lee was a famous general. I’ve read a lot of history books, and I know a bunch of real cool names. There’s Alexander the Great and MacArthur and—”
“I like Moroni.” Brady looked up then. His green eyes quickly skimmed Jamie and his trench progress, then moved back to his own work. “Moroni was the best.”
“You mean there was really a general named Moroni? I’ve never heard of him.”
“Yeah, there was. He once fought the Lamanites, or Indians, but only when he had to. He liked to live in peace.”
“He fought against Indians? Was he a cowboy?” Jamie had read a lot of cowboy stories too.
“No, he was a Nephite.” Brady smiled and proudly held up the plastic man. “He was strong and brave, and he made his own flag and everything.”
“Who told you about him?” Jamie was curious now. He didn’t know anything about Nephites or a general named Moroni.
“My Primary teacher. Dad and Mom told me a lot more about him too.” Brady had asked Jamie to come to Primary when his friend first moved in several months ago, but Jamie had said no. He liked to read on Sunday.
“They tell you stories like that in Primary? I thought it was just prayers and Bible stuff.”
“Oh, sure, we have those things. But we also have the Book of Mormon, and it has a lot of neat stories in it.” Brady could see that Jamie was interested. He had put down his men, and his hands were still. “Do you want to come to Primary with me next Sunday?”
“Nope.” Jamie bent his head and started digging extra fast. He wasn’t going to let Brady trick him into going to church. Nobody mentioned Moroni again while they played.
On Saturday Brady and Jamie went exploring at the old ballpark. They kicked a soccer ball around for a while, played “hut” in the overgrown bushes, and climbed up on the old rock wall that bordered the east corner of the park.
“Hey, look!” Brady hollered. He spread his arms wide and lowered his voice dramatically: “Behold, I am Samuel the Lamanite. …”
Jamie asked, “Who are you talking about now?”
“Samuel the Lamanite. He once preached from a high wall that surrounded the city because the Nephites had chased him out of the city.”
“Why did they chase him away? I thought that Moroni was a Nephite and that Nephites were the good guys.” Jamie scratched his head and lay back on his elbows. He squinted his eyes half-shut and watched Brady gesturing from the wall.
“Yeah, Moroni was a Nephite when the Nephites were righteous. But Samuel was preaching to a bunch of Nephites who were wicked. He told them to repent and quit doing wrong. So they chased him from their city. That’s when he climbed up on the wall and preached from there. The Nephites shot arrows and stuff at him, but they couldn’t hit him. Neat, huh?”
Jamie didn’t answer for a minute. He palmed the soccer ball and passed it from one hand to another. “Another Primary story, right?”
“Yeah. I think that Samuel was great, and he didn’t give up easily.”
Brady didn’t ask Jamie again to go to Primary with him. They played soccer until the sun got too hot, then rode their bikes back to Brady’s for lemonade. Mom even let them make a tepee in the backyard.
Three weeks later was Jamie’s birthday. He got a new fishing pole from his dad, a mitt from his older brother, and a book about trains from his mom. Brady gave him some building blocks that snapped together just like the huge set that Brady had received last Christmas. Brady knew that Jamie would like them. The next day they played for hours with the blocks, making trucks and buildings and even a huge tower.
When Jamie had made his tower secure, he ran to his closet for a plastic man. He put him on top of the tower and grinned mysteriously at Brady. “Do you know who that is?”
“Who?” asked Brady. He wasn’t paying much attention to Jamie, because he was busy linking his ship together with some yellow blocks.
“King Benjamin.” Jamie paused to give it emphasis. “I built a tower for King Benjamin.”
Brady looked at the tower. It was sturdy, tall, and magnificent. “Wow!” Brady whistled through his teeth. “Nice job!” Then a puzzled expression replaced Brady’s smile. “But how did you know about King Benjamin?”
Jamie smiled a smile that covered his whole face, the kind he wore when he hit a home run. “Mom got me a copy of your Book of Mormon. We’ve been reading it together. I really like the story of King Benjamin.”
Brady left his ship and went over to study the tower. “Wow! A tower for King Benjamin.”
“You know,” Jamie said, “I like Moroni too. The missionaries told us about him. I can see why you used him to lead your army. I can’t wait till we get to that part in our reading. He was the best.”
Brady agreed. He didn’t have to ask Jamie if he wanted to come to Primary on Sunday. He knew that he would.

Brother Bradshaw was old. At least that’s what the other kids said. But he didn’t seem old to Mikey. He remembered that for many years Brother Bradshaw had gone over to the church early each Sunday to sweep away the leaves from the walkways so that people wouldn’t slip. Now, since Brother Bradshaw had been in a wheelchair, Mikey had gone to his home each Sunday morning to push him to church. They became friends as they spent time together.
One morning, Mikey’s mom told him that Brother Bradshaw had passed away. Tears came to his eyes. “How could he?” he thought. “We were just talking last Sunday!”
The next few days were difficult for Mikey. He knew Brother Bradshaw was 91 years old, but he had never thought about him dying. He missed him so much. But as he saw Brother Bradshaw’s family arriving from out of town for the funeral, he knew that they missed him too. He knew how much Brother Bradshaw had loved his family, and he wanted to let them know that Brother Bradshaw was special to him too.
Mikey sat down and wrote them a note. He told them about how much he enjoyed knowing Brother Bradshaw and that he was his best friend. Then he delivered it to the Bradshaw house. But Mikey still felt like he should do something more. He thought and thought. What could he do that would be special for Brother Bradshaw?
Finally it came to him. Just before the funeral he went over to the Bradshaw home again and delivered another note. This one read:
“I swept off the church sidewalks this morning. It’s the last thing I can do for Brother Bradshaw, my good friend, here on earth. I can’t wait to see him again when I go to heaven. I am so thankful to Brother Bradshaw for sweeping off the sidewalks for me every Sunday. It was hard for me, and I know it was hard for him, and I never said thank you to him. My mom said he knows I am thankful, but that’s the first thing I am going to tell him when I see him in heaven.
Love,
Mikey”
As Brother Bradshaw’s daughter-in-law read the note her eyes began to glisten. “Oh, Mikey!” was all she could say, and she gave him a big hug. Mikey knew that Brother Bradshaw would like his gift.

At last she could rest! It had been a long afternoon, mused the weary pioneer, leaning against the tree trunk. Easing off her muddy boots, she rubbed her feet until the aching subsided. Then, picking up her journal, she wrote:
“Our company traveled six miles today, pushing and pulling over hot and dusty trails. Someone accidently stirred up a nest of bees from a dead log, and one girl was stung 12 times! We had a number of repair stops, and three carts had to be abandoned along the way because of broken axles and wheels. But ours seems to be really sturdy and reliable. I believe we’ll make it all the way to the valley! Several of us learned firsthand today about patience and helping others as we loaded bundles from the broken carts onto our own already heavy, creaking carts.”
The journal entry of the young Latter-day Saint has now joined snapshots, worn shoes, and handcarts as a reminder of the three-day trek that was a major part of the Olympia Washington Stake girls campout last July. More than 100 girls shared dried corn, fruit leather, campfires, and 23 handcarts in an effort to gain a better understanding of the sacrifices and dedication of their pioneer ancestors. The enthusiastic organizer behind the event was Sister Fayetta Johnson, stake camp specialist.
The three months preceding camp were busy ones of preparation on both the stake and ward levels. Because Oakville Branch President Daren Johnson had access to a plane, he volunteered to fly over the areas the girls would cover and map out the trails for them. Leaders and girls experimented with all kinds of pioneer-type food available to find the lightest, most nutritious, and non-perishable food available, since they would need a three-day supply and were limited to 17 pounds for all supplies. Busy ward camp directors agreed to complete camp certification before camp arrived, and members of the priesthood built all 23 carts.
During the trek itself, the girls were required to wear long dresses, and a swim in the lake had to take the place of a hot shower. To make the experience as real as possible, a trading post and shaded bowery were set up along the trail, and on the second day out, the carts were ferried, one by one, across the lake on a raft. The evenings were devoted to campfires, singing, telling stories, and sharing testimonies. When at last the journey was complete, the whole party agreed that they had had an unforgettable experience and that they had gained a new awareness and appreciation of the Mormon pioneers who had braved so much in coming west.

Corey: Did you ever see it rain that hard before? I thought that I was going to have to start growing gills like a fish.
Dale: And it got dark so fast!
Morgan: Dad says that they often get sudden storms in these mountains.
Dale: We’re lucky that we were close to this cave when the rain started.
Corey: It’s not very much of a cave.
Dale: No, but at least we’re out of the rain.
Corey: Hey, what if … ? Nah.
Dale: What if what, Corey?
Corey: I was just wondering if any animals use this cave.
Dale: You mean like a mountain lion or a bear or something?
Morgan: Dad said that he didn’t think there were any mountain lions or bears still around here. But we have seen deer, and once we heard some coyotes.
Dale: Coyotes don’t attack people, do they?
Corey: If they’re trying to protect their babies, they might.
Morgan: Well, there aren’t any coyote pups or other animals here, or we’d hear them.
Corey: It’s awfully dark! Maybe some old mountain lion dragged its prey up here to eat, and these aren’t rocks we’re sitting on, but old bones.
Dale: Corey, stop imagining things! And why are you always thinking about food?
Morgan: I’m a little hungry myself. At least when we get back to the cabin, Mom will have dinner ready.
Corey: And we’ll have dry clothes to change into.
Morgan: And after dinner we can crawl into our sleeping bags and watch the fire in the fireplace.
Corey: And tell ghost stories!
Dale: Listen! The rain is letting up. [They pause to listen.]
Morgan: It is stopping.
Corey: I’m beginning to taste that stew already.
Morgan: And toasted marshmallows.
Corey: Let’s go!
Morgan: The ground will be slippery, so we’ll have to be careful.
[Dale bows his head, shakes it, then looks up again.]
Dale: I don’t think that we should go yet.
Morgan: But the rain’s stopped.
Corey: And I’m hungry.
Dale: No. We need to wait.
Corey: What’s the matter with you? Are you scared of the dark?
Dale: No, it isn’t that.
Morgan: It’s easy to find our way back. We just have to climb down the hill to the bottom of Anklebone Canyon. It’s so narrow that we can touch both canyon walls while we follow the riverbed to the trail that leads up to our cabin.
Corey: And the sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll get that hot stew.
Dale: I just have this feeling that we shouldn’t go yet.
Corey: Well, I have feelings, too—feelings of being hungry and cold and wet.
Dale: I feel all those things, too, Corey. But I have this stronger feeling that we shouldn’t go yet.
Corey: Think of Morgan’s parents. They’ll be worried about us.
Morgan: And what if this cave is the home of some kind of animal and it comes back now that the rain’s stopped?
Dale: All I know is that we ought to stay here.
[Corey and Morgan grumble a bit and try to push Dale out of the cave.]
Morgan: Wait a minute. Do you hear something?
Corey: Nothing but water dripping off the trees.
Dale: I hear it—a faint rumbling sound.
Corey: I hear it now. It’s probably just the storm off in the distance.
Morgan: We’d better hurry back.
Corey [To Dale]: Are you coming or not?
Dale: No, and you’d better stay too.
Morgan: This feeling of yours, Dale—is it like being scared that we’re in some kind of danger?
Dale: Sort of. But mostly it’s just a feeling that we should stay where we are.
Morgan: I’ve had that feeling before when I’ve prayed for Heavenly Father to help me. I’d get this strong feeling inside of me about what I should do, and I’d feel real calm and peaceful.
Corey: I’ve been baptized and received the gift of the Holy Ghost, and I don’t feel anything right now but my teeth chattering.
Morgan: Maybe you’re not really listening.
Dale: Just put everything else out of your mind and listen “inside.”
Corey: You two are making too much out of this. I’m not waiting around here to freeze to death when I can be eating hot stew at the cabin in less than half an hour.
[Corey starts to leave, but Dale grabs his arm.]
Dale: Wait a minute, Corey. Listen to that noise. It’s not the storm—it’s coming from below us!
Morgan: It sounds like a giant waterfall.
Corey: With rocks crashing against each other.
Dale: You know what that sound is? It’s a flash flood!
Morgan: You’re right!
Corey: Do you think that it will reach us up here?
Dale: No, we’ll be safe this high.
Morgan: And the cabin is high enough to be safe.
Corey: But if we had started back—
Morgan: We’d have been caught in the bottom of the canyon!
Corey: We could have been killed!
Dale: Well, we’re OK now.
Morgan: Thanks to you, Dale. You stuck up for what you felt was right, and because you did, you saved our lives!
Dale: I’m just thankful that the Holy Ghost guides us when we need help.
Morgan: But some of us need to listen a little better to the promptings of the Spirit.
Corey: That’s right—and to the promptings of good friends too!

The Prophet Joseph was truly blessed with the ability to inspire faith. One bright morning Joseph walked up to John E. Page and said, “Brother John, the Lord is calling you on a mission to Canada.”
John E. Page was rather astonished and said, “Why, Brother Joseph, I can’t go on a mission to Canada. I don’t even have a coat to wear.”
The Prophet Joseph took his own coat from his back, handed it to John Page, and said, “Here, John, wear this, and the Lord will bless you.” Brother Page took the coat, went to Canada, and in two years walked five thousand miles and baptized six hundred souls, because he trusted in the words of a prophet of God.8

When Young Women in the Cedar Mill Stake (Portland, Oregon) hear a bell, it reminds them that they’re not alone—that Heavenly Father is always there, eager to help. Mia Maid Erin Bowman explained it like this:
“I like to think of life on earth as a big soccer tournament. We’re all players, and every time we score a goal or achieve something, we feel really good inside and know Heavenly Father and Jesus are rooting for us. Even when we miss a goal and fail to score, they are still cheering for us and telling us to try again. When we win the game and go on to another team, or another aspect of life, we always know that there are those who love us and are there supporting us.”

The houselights fall; the last few coughs and whispers fade; and a girl comes on stage. Under a soft spotlight her face is beautiful, its innocence incongruous in the gaudy, western saloon. As she feels her way from table to table, her eyes wandering blankly across the painted bar and rows of painted bottles on the canvas backdrop, the audience realizes that she is blind.
“Is there no one here?” she asks timidly, to be answered only by silence. “Will no one help me?” she says a little louder, her voice quavering on the edge of a sob. There is no reply from the empty saloon. She sits down unsteadily in a chair, her face inexpressibly weary, her shoulders drooping. “Will no one help me?” she whispers hopelessly. Her vacant eyes pass once over the audience as if yearning to penetrate the darkness, and then with a small sigh she bows her head and seems to give up.
Suddenly, a few rows back, a man springs to his feet. He struggles free from the row of knees and backrests and is quickly on the stage. Drawing up a chair to face the actress, he takes her two small, trembling hands in his two large, strong ones. “I’ll help you, dear,” he says softly.
His words produce instant pandemonium. The audience surges to its feet, sending wave after wave of cheers and applause crashing against the tiny stage, and for several long minutes the melodrama waits; the stage crew waits; the actors backstage awaiting their cues wait; the whole little theater world waits while men and women and children are happy out loud.
It wasn’t exactly a theatrical triumph; there was no such line in the script; the man wasn’t a cast member; no one was more surprised than the “blind girl” at the unexpected offer of assistance. The incident, which really happened, wasn’t so much theater as it was a peculiar form of magic, and it took place, as that sort of magic often does, at a little theater in West Yellowstone, Montana, known as the Playmill.

This was the birth of the Young Ladies Retrenchment Society, and it started to grow from that moment. In one place, as the association began, the minutes were recorded to say, “A large and respectable congregation was in attendance.” However, a closer look at the minutes showed only two people were present—the newly called president and her secretary. But the secretary defended her entry by saying: “The minutes are correct. The president is very large, and I am certainly respectable.”

After church Tara puts away her shiny shoes.
She looks at her Book of Mormon picture book.
She draws a picture to send to her auntie.
While Dad and Mom make dinner, Tara plays with her baby brother.
Then she sets the table.
“Tara, thank you for helping our family have a happy Sabbath day!” says Dad.
Trace your finger along the line to help Tara move through her Sabbath day. Can you tell what she does to make Sunday a happy day?