Gospel Story Finder

I always look forward to the priesthood blessings my dad gives us before the school year because they give me strength and peace for the year ahead. I remember being scared when I was going into middle school for the first time because we had just moved. In my blessing I was promised that if I chose the right and was kind to everyone around me, the Lord would watch over me and bless me.
That year I tried to reach out to others and choose the right. I began reading the Book of Mormon, and throughout the year I was filled with peace. I knew the Lord was keeping His promise because I was doing what I was supposed to be doing. At the end of the school year I knew it had been a hard year, but I had tried my best, and the Lord had kept his promise.
I am so thankful I have a dad who can give me priesthood blessings. Those blessings have strengthened my testimony because I have been able to feel and see them working in my life. Knowing that the Lord is able to work through my dad to speak and help me has strengthened my relationship with my Heavenly Father and my earthly father.

It’s a typically humid day in Jogjakarta, Indonesia, and sweat drips from Agung’s brow as he awaits his opponent’s serve. The badminton match is close, and the 15-year-old feels driven to win.
After a furious exchange, his opponent puts the shuttlecock hopelessly out of Agung’s reach. Unwilling to give up the point in such a close match, Agung dives for the shuttlecock but comes up short—and bleeding from sliding across the cement court.
It’s easy to see that he loves competitive badminton. But Agung doesn’t dream of becoming a professional badminton player. He’s not going to have to choose between serving the shuttlecock in the Olympics and serving a mission. By his own admission, he’s not particularly good at the sport.
So why does this small teen with the big smile try so hard? Hope.
“I believe I can get better,” he says.
“If I had no hope of getting any better and ever winning, it would be very easy to give up,” Agung says.
Agung knows he will probably never be a professional athlete, but he knows that as long as he keeps trying, there is hope he can improve.
He has learned that the great power of hope is this: “As long as you never give up, there is hope,” he says.

“You want me to what?” Jason asked.
“Go without eating or drinking for a day,” Amanda said.
“Are you crazy?”
Amanda never got too excited by Jason’s complaints. The two of them had become good friends when they were in a play together at school. When he found out she was a member of the Church, he started asking a lot of questions. Finally, she got him to take the missionary lessons. A month later, he had been baptized.
“It’s called fasting,” she said. “It’s something we do once a month.”
“You people just keep after a guy, don’t you? At first it was ‘Just listen to the missionaries. It’s only six lessons.’ I agreed to that. And then it was ‘Just read a few pages of the Book of Mormon.’ And I went along with that. And then it was ‘Don’t use alcohol, tobacco, coffee, and tea.’ And I went along with that. And then it was ‘Go to church every Sunday for three hours.’ And then it was tithing. And then it was ‘Get baptized.’ And I went along with that. But now it’s, ‘Don’t eat.’ This time you’ve gone too far.”
She smiled. “Poor baby.”
“I’m serious. Eating is number one on my list of favorite things to do.”
“There are blessings for fasting.”
“Blessings? What possible good thing can come from not eating?”
“All I’m asking you to do is just try. There’s more to fasting than not eating or drinking.”
“More? Do you give blood too?”
“I meant not eating is only a small part of what fasting is all about,” Amanda said.
“Not eating will never be a small part of anything. I like to eat, okay?”
“I’ve noticed. Just try it one time. You’ll see. I’ll help you get through it.”
Jason sighed. “All right. You win. You always win.”
“Is that why you got baptized?”
“No.”
“Why then?”
He became unusually serious. “I found out that what the missionaries were telling me was true.”
“You can get the same kind of testimony about fasting.”
The next Saturday was the first weekend of the month. Amanda invited Jason to lunch with her family. It would be their last meal before they began fasting.
After everyone else had left, Jason was still at the table. She watched him eat another slice of bread and jam, then drink another glass of milk. “Done now?” she asked.
He looked around the room. “You got any candy? A cookie? Maybe some ice cream?”
“Jason, we’ve already had dessert.”
“That was ten minutes ago.” He looked in her fridge but didn’t see anything he wanted. “I guess I’m ready.”
“Okay. Fasting is more than just going hungry. There’s a spiritual side to it too. So usually I like to have a prayer when I start. Most of the time I just go in my room and say my own prayer, but maybe today we could say a prayer right here. Is that okay?”
As soon as their prayer was over, Jason said, “Did you know there was an ice cream bar in your freezer?”
“Too late. We’ve already started.”
“That’s it for 24 hours?”
“That’s right. We’ll eat after we get home from church tomorrow.”
He looked at his watch. Two minutes had passed. “I’m not going to make it.”
At two o’clock Jason went home. At seven-thirty that night he came back. “This isn’t working out.”
“What happened?”
“I mowed the lawn. It was so hot out. I went to get something to drink and then I remembered I’m fasting. So I didn’t have anything, but now my mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton.”
“Oh, I should have told you. I usually do things like that before I start fasting. Sorry. Next time you’ll know.”
“There’s not going to be a next time. This is too hard. Besides, my aunt is staying with us for the weekend. Since I didn’t eat I had to tell her why.”
“What did you say?” Amanda asked.
“I said I was fasting. She said she knows a good psychologist. I had to get away from her for a while.” He looked at his watch. “Just 18 hours to go and then I will be able to eat.”
“Jason, I found a scripture for you to read about fasting. It’s in the Doctrine and Covenants. ‘Verily, this is fasting and prayer, or in other words, rejoicing and prayer’” (D&C 59:14).
Jason shook his head. “Let me tell you—fasting is not rejoicing.”
“It can be.”
“How?”
“We have a physical side and a spiritual side to us, right?” she said.
“Okay.”
“Usually the physical side is dominant, but when we fast, it gives our spiritual side a chance to show itself. So instead of thinking about what you’re giving up, try to get closer to Father in Heaven. Maybe there’s some encouragement he wants you to have. Listen with your spiritual side.”
“How do I do that?”
“That’s one of the reasons I read the scriptures and pray and go to church and seminary—to find out what message Heavenly Father might have for me.”
“If somebody wants to get a message to me, all they have to do is put it on a cereal box. I always read those. Speaking of cereal …”
“When I fast, I like to read the Book of Mormon and my patriarchal blessing. And I like to write in my journal.”
“Sounds boring.”
“Not to me. The way I look at it, life is like a rough game and fasting is like calling time out so you can rest.”
“Usually during a time out, the players get Gatorade.”
“Jason, c’mon, get your mind off food.”
He fell to the floor as if he were about to die. “I’m not going to make it, Amanda. You go on without me.”
“Go home, Jason. Spend some time with yourself. Think about your life.”
Jason went home and, because every TV commercial was about food or drinks, he decided the only way he was going to get through the night without eating was to go to bed early.
The next morning he met Amanda in the hallway before church started.
“This is the best part of fasting,” she said just before sacrament meeting began.
Somewhere during the meeting he realized he didn’t feel the same urgency to eat as he had the night before. He was still hungry, but he felt like he could get by until church was over. He thought maybe Amanda was right and that his spiritual side was now a little stronger than normal. He appreciated the testimonies of people who told how Heavenly Father had answered their prayers.
Amanda brushed by him on her way to the stand. She went to the podium and began to speak. She said she was proud of Jason for having the courage to be baptized, and this was the first time he had ever fasted, and how proud of him she was that he was willing to do that. She talked about how much she loved her family. Then she said, “My dad once told me when we give our testimonies we should always talk about how the Savior has blessed our life. I’m grateful to know he died for my sins. I know that someday I’ll see him.”
Jason, listening to Amanda, felt tears in his eyes. He was wiping his eyes with his hand when Amanda’s mother leaned over and handed him a tissue. He nodded and wiped his eyes.
When Amanda sat down, she reached over and touched his sleeve. “Now it’s your turn.”
Jason thought about it. He did have something to say. He felt he had made the right decision in being baptized. Now he had something to hold on to. He was just about to stand up when the bishop announced the closing song and prayer.
“Next month, okay?” Amanda whispered.
The other meetings he attended that day seemed even better than usual. Jason knew it was because he was fasting.
And then church was over. “Well, what do you think?” Amanda asked as they walked out to her family’s car.
“It wasn’t too bad actually.”
“You want to try it again next month?” she asked.
“Yeah, I think I will.”
Jason went home. His aunt was busy in the kitchen. “I made you spaghetti and garlic bread,” she said, looking worried.
“That’d be great.”
“The boy’s going to eat something,” his aunt called to the rest of the neighborhood. “I knew my spaghetti would bring him to his senses.”
Jason sighed. Someday he would try to explain all this to his family.
As he ate with his family, everything tasted better than he had ever remembered. He kept telling his aunt how wonderful the food tasted.
When he was finished eating, he felt wonderful. It surprised him, but he looked forward to fasting next month. The scriptures are right after all, he thought. Fasting is rejoicing.
On his way to Amanda’s house, he wondered if the ice cream bar was still in her freezer.

Photographs by Leslie Nilsson
Marta is an 11-year-old from Portugal, and like many girls her age, she likes to spend time with her friends, eat food, and play with her dolls. She also enjoys spending time with her mom. But living with her mom means that Marta lives a bit differently than other kids.
Marta’s mom, Sonia, was born with a motor deficiency that makes it difficult for her to walk. She isn’t completely paralyzed, but she does need a walker to get around. She isn’t able to dress herself, bathe herself, or get herself into bed. This makes it hard for her to live alone. Marta has been able to serve Sonia for the last few years by helping her with things that she can’t do by herself.
“I keep my spaces clean so my mom can get around easier,” says Marta. “I also take breaks from playing so I have time to check on my mom and see if she needs help. If I’m playing and she calls, I’ll go quickly because it could be something urgent.”
But Sonia tries to let Marta live as normally as she can. If Sonia doesn’t need any help, she makes sure that Marta gets time to play with her friends.
Marta has the opportunity to live the gospel each day by serving her mom. She takes on a lot of responsibilities that other kids don’t usually have. For instance, she wakes up early to help her mom get ready for work before school. Without Marta’s help, Sonia wouldn’t be able to get around or go to work every day.
Marta and Sonia also attend church together. Sonia was baptized when she was eight years old, so Marta has grown up in the Church. Sonia teaches Marta about the importance of the gospel every day. One way she does this is by having many pictures of Jesus Christ in their home.
“I know that God lives and that Jesus Christ is real,” Sonia says. “And I want everyone who comes to my house to know that faith is very important to me. It’s also important for me to teach this to Marta so that she grows up with this knowledge of Jesus Christ.”
Marta has taken what her mom has taught her and continues to learn more about the gospel on her own. One way she likes to learn is by reading the scriptures, which helps her establish a stronger relationship with Heavenly Father and the Savior. “As I read the scriptures, I feel that Christ is at my side,” she says.
While it can be difficult to have so much responsibility, going to church each week helps Marta find the comfort she needs to keep helping her mom. “When they say the prayers at the start and end of sacrament meeting, it’s so peaceful” she says. “When I’m there, sometimes I feel like Heavenly Father is telling me that I’m a good person and that I have to continue to be a good person to help my mom.”
Whenever she feels this way, she is reminded how grateful she is for her mom. She feels that Heavenly Father has sent angels to support her. “I think that He strengthens me to wake up and be happy and proud of the mom I have,” Marta says.
One of the lessons that Sonia and Marta have learned together is that life isn’t easy or perfect—for anyone. Sonia says, “None of my difficulties make me sad. I know that God gave me this flesh and blood and bones this way because I am special, and God told me I could do it. I do my best. I can do more, but today I’m feeling OK with myself. I am proud of what I do, what I have, and what I will do tomorrow.”
Marta also realizes that things will work out all right, even though life can be difficult at times as she takes care of her mom. She sees that everyone has different challenges. “No one’s life is perfect,” she says. But even with her own personal challenges, Marta still finds good things in every situation—the relationship she has with her mom is one example. “My mom has a physical limitation, but mentally and emotionally she is very intelligent. We’re really good friends.”
So what’s in the future for Marta and Sonia? Marta says, “I want to stay close to my mom, and of course I want to get married, have kids, and have a family. But in the future, if I can, I want to buy a house for both my family and my mom because I wouldn’t want to be far from her for even a day!”
Sonia feels optimistic about the future as well and will always be grateful for Marta’s companionship and love. “It’s amazing having a beautiful daughter. It’s very nice to have Marta in my life. She is a gift from God. He prepared Marta to stay here with me.”

I still remember one particular afternoon as if it were yesterday. I sat down next to a smiling lady during our Sunday meetings, which at that time were held both in the morning and the afternoon. I took her hand to make sure she would stay with me. But I was only six years old, and I was quite tired. My eyelids began to close, and though I struggled hard to keep hold of that warm hand, I fell asleep. When I woke up, the hand was no longer there. Tears ran down my small face, and my heart was sad.
Her name was Sister Avon Compton. She and her husband, Merlin, were always smiling, and their faces reflected love. When I close my eyes today, I can still see them clearly. I often tell my Primary class about them. Their story is the best way I know to teach my CTR class about love.
They had come to Perú from their own country to be with us for a while. She did not speak our language very well, but her husband spoke it better than some of us. We admired him and knew he loved our language and culture.
I do not remember exactly when I began to love Sister Compton, but I think it must have been that first Sunday in Primary. She taught us the song “When I Go to Church” (Children’s Songbook, 157). She had brought pictures, and as she taught us the words of the song, she taught us about singing. She told us that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ liked to hear our voices raised in praise.
On another occasion, we again sat together during sacrament meeting. We could not say much to each other because of the language difference, but we could communicate. During the meeting, she got out a piece of paper and some crayons. I thought she was going to write something, but she whispered, “Let’s draw Mama.” She drew a small circle. Then she pointed to her eyes and gave me the piece of paper and a crayon. I understood that she wanted me to draw the eyes, and I did. I gave the crayon back to her, and she drew hair. Then I drew the dress, and she drew the arms. Eventually, the two of us had drawn a picture of my mother. I felt so happy! I showed it to Mama, and I gave Sister Compton a big hug.
She always had something to share with us. Often it was a children’s story she had written herself. One day she talked to me about Jesus Christ. Then we colored some pictures she had drawn of Jesus.
The day came when Brother and Sister Compton had to leave. I asked why. Mama told me they had a family who missed and needed them. I thought of Mama and how I could not be away from her for very long. That’s when I knew I had to let Sister Compton go.
Many years have passed since then. The letters between us have never stopped, and our friendship has become stronger. When I think of Sister Compton, I think of the words our Lord Jesus Christ left with His disciples: “This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you” (John 15:12).

Grandma Featherbone stood at the _________ and sadly watched as great flakes of _________ still fluttered to the ground. The storm had started early yesterday and had continued all night. There would be no traveling this day. It was going to be the worst Thanksgiving Day ever.
Grandma was not the only one who felt grumpy. No one in her small _________ building would be able to attend the family feasts they had each so happily looked forward to. Whatever would they all do now?
Suddenly Grandma clapped her hands with excitement. “Why there’s plenty and enough in my own pantry,” she said to her stuffed _________, Fuzzball. “We’ll have our own Thanksgiving party!”
Grandma picked up the _________ and called each of her five neighbors. “Will you come to my Thanksgiving party?” she asked.
“Yes, yes, yes!” everyone said. “We’ll be there promptly at two o’clock!”
Grandma Featherbone began to scurry about. There was no time to lose. She opened the _________ and took out two large packages of _________ and set them on the counter to thaw. “It’s too bad we don’t have a _________ to eat,” she told Fuzzball, “but we must be thankful for what we do have. At least we won’t have to go without some delicious _________ pie.”
Grandma got out the _________, _________, and _________ and was soon rolling out the pie crust with her _________. Pull and push, roll and smush went Grandma. The pie crust was ready. But where was the filling?
Grandma searched through the pantry shelves again. “Oh bother!” she finally sighed. “I was sure that I had one more can left. Oh well, this big box of _________ will just have to do.” A pair of hot pies were soon cooling on the cupboard next to the dish of _________.
Happily Grandma Featherbone worked. She sang to the _________ as she kneaded it for hot rolls. She hummed to the _________ as she peeled them. The _________ bubbled as they simmered on the _________.
Fuzzball watched everything from his _________ in the corner. The grandfather _________ swiftly ticked the hours away.
Just before two o’clock Grandma carefully placed her delicate _________ on her best lacy _________. She folded the _________ next to the _________ and lit the red _________ standing brightly near each end of the table.
Grandma put a fresh _________ on Fuzzball, then placed him in the middle of the _________. “What a perfectly lovely day this has turned out to be,” Grandma said as she gazed triumphantly at her feast, “and won’t our guests be surprised!”

It took about six months of planning, but the gifts the youth of the Menan Stake, in Idaho, started at their youth conference in June were signed, sealed, and delivered by Christmas.

They made toys and other things for the Deseret Industries to give to needy families at Christmas. They made doll blankets, doll furniture, jump ropes, bags of building blocks, animals and corral fences, wooden puzzles and games, villages painted on canvas, a crib-sized quilt, and one queen-sized quilt.

The youth were excited to have the Christmas spirit last half the year.

The second-generation Church members in the Kreiberg family are solid evidence of President Andersen’s assessment of the fortification that comes through temple marriages. For Inge Kreiberg the strongest proof of this is in their third child, Caroline.

“We wouldn’t even have Caroline if we hadn’t joined the Church,” Inge explains. Like most Danish women, Inge felt she was through with having children—“I thought two kids and a job were enough. Then one evening as I prepared to teach an institute class on women’s role in giving birth, I stopped abruptly. I knew I wasn’t practicing what the lesson taught.”

She recalls believing the lesson was teaching the truth. She knew she needed to study and pray about motherhood, and her study became intense and personal. She decided that, for her, having another child was right—a choice of no small significance in Denmark. Now Finn, Inge, and Caroline, eleven, live in Odense, in a sturdy house with lots of leaded windows, converted from a derelict railway station where Finn had played as a boy.

There was nothing particularly interesting about my feet, so I was a little confused when Nieves, a recent convert in Bolivia, said she was thankful for them.
“I’m so grateful for your feet,” she would tell us in the weeks following her baptism.
Nieves had readily received the restored gospel, but when we invited her to be baptized, she hesitated.
She explained that she suffered from a painful skin condition. When her skin touched cold water, it felt as if a thousand needles were piercing her pores. This condition prevented her from doing even ordinary tasks, such as washing vegetables or scrubbing clothing by hand.
We explained that the baptismal font could be heated, and we assured Nieves that she would be baptized in warm water. Her face brightened, and she chose to be baptized on Christmas Day. My companion and I told the branch president about her skin condition, and he said the font would be heated in time for the afternoon baptism.
When we arrived at the chapel for the baptism, however, the font had just been filled with extremely cold water! The frantic branch president explained that because of a miscommunication, the water would not be ready until much later.
My companion and I knew that Nieves wanted to be baptized that day, and we believed that the Lord desired the same thing. We found an empty room and prayed that He would help Nieves to be baptized.
We felt comforted after the prayer and decided to proceed with the service. Those who spoke before the baptism taught beautifully, but I was suddenly nervous when I heard, “Elder Nelson will now baptize Sister Nieves.”
I tried to hide my discomfort as I stepped gingerly into the frigid water. Nieves took my hand and lowered her foot toward the water. I braced myself for the worst, but Nieves did not shriek or even wince. She stepped calmly down the stairs and smiled up at me.
After the baptismal prayer, she lay back into the cold water. When I lifted her, she emerged grinning. I was filled with gratitude. To me, her baptism was a miracle.
The last time I saw Nieves, she said something that cleared up my confusion about her interest in my feet. She said, “I’m so grateful for your feet, which walked to my door and brought me the truth.”
I think of Nieves and her simple faith and gratitude whenever I hear these words of Isaiah: “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation; that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth!” (Isaiah 52:7; see also Mosiah 12:21).

In 1989, Yuri and Liudmila Terebenin of St. Petersburg (then called Leningrad) and their daughter, Anna, were visiting friends in Budapest, Hungary. A Latter-day Saint friend invited them to church, where they felt the Spirit and decided to meet with the missionaries. They were eventually baptized. Though initially the only members of the Church in St. Petersburg, the Terebenins were not left alone for long. Members of the Church from Finland were already sharing the gospel with Russians, including Anton Skripko, who became the first Russian baptized in Russia.

At the time, Russia was experiencing political change, and Americans living and working in Moscow began to reach out to their Russian friends and acquaintances. Dohn Thornton met Galina Goncharova in 1989, and religion became a topic of discussion between them. Brother Thornton later recalled, “As I gave [Galina] the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith pamphlet, the most incredible thing happened. It was [as] if all the light in the room at that moment focused on the book. The Spirit came over us and [she] started to cry.”8 Galina told him that she felt the book was from God. She began attending church and was baptized in June 1990, becoming the first convert baptized in Moscow.

As Russians from St. Petersburg, Vyborg, Moscow, and other cities joined the Church, a new chapter opened in the history of the Church in Russia. On April 26, 1990, Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve offered a prayer of rededication for Russia in St. Petersburg, reaffirming the dedication that Elder Lyman performed nearly a century earlier and asking the Lord to extend the blessings of the gospel to the people.

Also in the spring of 1990, Tamara Efimova of St. Petersburg brought the missionaries to her home after meeting them at a friend’s home. Her father, Vyacheslav Efimov, was skeptical at first that these young men could teach him anything new about God. However, he became impressed by their gospel message. He wrote: “[It] gave me the opportunity to receive answers to my own questions and, most important, to understand that God loves each of us—we are his children and he has given us a Savior, his Son Jesus Christ, and each of us will be resurrected.”9 In June, Vyacheslav, Galina (his wife), and Tamara were baptized. From 1995 to 1998, Brother Efimov served as Russia’s first native mission president.

Pornography also inflicts mortal wounds on our most precious personal relationships. In his talk to men of the priesthood last October, President Hinckley quoted the letter of a woman who asked him to warn Church members that pornography “has the effect of damaging hearts and souls to their very depths, strangling the life out of relationships” (in Conference Report, Oct. 2004, 64; or Ensign, Nov. 2004, 60).

At a recent stake conference a woman handed me a similar letter. Her husband had also served in important Church callings for many years while addicted to pornography. She told of great difficulty in getting priesthood leaders to take this problem of pornography seriously: “I got all kinds of responses—like I was overreacting or it was my fault. The bishop we have now has been great. And now after 15 years my husband is trying to deal with his addiction, but now it is 15 years harder to quit for him, and the loss has been incalculable.”

An army of protesting Brigham Young University students recently invaded the sleepy little town of Santaquin, Utah. Many called it “their day of violent protest.” They violently protested against those who riot—and they actively demonstrated that students can change things within the system and at the same time make the world a much better place for others.
About one thousand students, divided into well-organized work details, shoveled, hoed, scraped, painted, pruned, and picked up as block by block they transformed Santaquin.
Before October 10, Santaquin, to many, was dying. Established in pioneer times as a small farming community and manpower pool to help defend against Indians in neighboring areas, it hasn’t grown much since. Its population today is about one thousand—many too old, too young, or too infirm to help much with the town’s problems. The younger inhabitants have a habit of leaving for steady jobs or more urban opportunities in their lives. Those who have stayed have become increasingly frustrated with their efforts to maintain and improve the town.
Before October 10, many of the students interviewed weren’t sure that constructive voluntary action was really possible. Many had served before on other less successful projects and were dubious about whether a project could be so meticulously planned that it would be of substantial value.
“I guess I first tossed this out to a political science class when we were talking about voluntary action one day,” said Dr. Doyle Buckwalter, assistant professor of political science at Brigham Young University, the man credited with sparking this idea among the students. “I told them that Santaquin has a fine spirit, and that all it needed was a little manpower, organization, and material help. They grabbed the ball and have been running with it ever since. One student body officer even made it a part of his campaign platform.”
At the end of the day, Santaquin had several acres of new park, complete with sprinkling system, fifteen picnic tables, and a fireplace and barbecue pit; new tennis courts; and dozens of shiny new street address markers. Many old homes were sanded down and painted; and old, dilapidated barns and other buildings were torn down and hauled away. Vacant lots, some on the town’s main street, were cleaned, and flower bulbs were planted in what had been widows’ weed patches.
“What a paradox!” said Chris Mould, a U.S. Housing and Urban Development executive who was representing Secretary George Romney at the Santaquin Day operation. “You know, the classic example of voluntary help in the United States has always been barn raising. This is the reverse—people volunteering to tear down old barns. It’s great! I’d much rather be here than back in Washington.”
At the end of the day, Cam Caldwell, BYU vice-president of student relations, summed up the day’s activities: “We can see that voluntary effort really pays off. We tapped a little student power, and now the community is improved and we have seen success. This kind of program has great potential. Already we have seen what it has done to motivate other people in the community to make contributions on their own. We hope this kind of program will catch on at other universities. We challenge them and urge them to try to save our communities—to protect and help them so that they will be better places to live.”
University Personnel
“I was in St. Louis yesterday for a convention of college presidents. Two of us left early; I came here to see you rebuild Santaquin, and the other president went to see what was left of his ROTC building. This is the kind of voluntary militancy that all students throughout the country should be engaged in.”
—President Ernest L. Wilkinson
“The old and infirm become totally frustrated when trying to accomplish a task like this.”
—Dr. Doyle Buckwalter
Students
“This is one of the most exhilarating things I’ve ever done. I’m totally ecstatic! Just think what the consequences would be if we established a national precedent today. I mean, if every college or school did this, just once a year, can you imagine what would happen?”
“I think it is great. I have been involved in projects like this before, but never this well organized. This is really meaningful.”
“I’ve seen activity on this scale in the Bay area—but then, the riots weren’t exactly approved.”
“I volunteered for painting, but somehow I ended up on the demolition bus … so that’s why I am the only girl helping to tear down this old barn. But it’s kind of nice!”
“It feels good for a change. In school you don’t really get the chance to get out and actually work with your hands.”
“To help someone else helps me inside. In a way, it’s almost selfish.”
“People who say that people don’t care for each other just haven’t tried this.”
“It’s good to think of someone else for a change, because in school one gets a little self-centered, worrying about his own problems.”
“I love it. This morning I pulled weeds and now I am painting.”
“As a physical therapy major, I’d say this is the best kind of therapy.”
“As a physics major, I am studying the force vectors of digging this ditch. Seriously, this is great! I think it is out-of-sight that so many people will come out and do something to improve their environment, rather than just sit around and complain.”
“To me, it’s a kind of peaceful protest.”
“I think it’s a good way to show that things really can be done through the system. You know, a lot of people have lost the vision of how to work through the system.”
“You get a great feeling of brotherhood by all working hard together.”
“This is a great chance to really practice a little of the charity that the Savior talked about; the chance really doesn’t come often enough.”
“It’s neat—no protests, just action.”
“I wish it would catch on around the world, but that means that people would have to think about others before themselves.”
“It’s good exercise, after nothing harder than making your bed. It really feels great.”
Townspeople
“This will unite the people of Santaquin more than anything we have ever had.”
“It sure changed my image of youth today.”
“I’ve tried to paint my house myself, but my leg has been so bad. I painted for two years and only got the front porch done.”
“I think it is something for these young people to get out and mix with us.”
“It’s really different from what you see in the news about college kids.”
“It’s wonderful, boy; just beautiful.”
“Few people, even those who live here, will recognize how much was done this day.”
“These kids are doing a swell job. It just has to change people’s ideas about kids nowadays.”
“It is sad that the other kind of activity is getting so much publicity.”
“Man, they sure made a difference in my neighbor’s lot. I’d better hurry home before they tear my whole house down!”

I looked at the letter in my hand. “Dear Brother,” it said, “we would be pleased if you could audition talented young people on the Saturday of the conference at Nottingham (England) University.”

When I arrived at the university, I was told auditions were to start at 9:30 A.M. At 9:15 I was waiting patiently, when a lovely young lady approached me.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Could you possibly audition me early? My seminars start at 9:30, and I really don’t want to miss them.” She had music for only one number, but when she started to sing I thought she had the most beautiful soprano voice I had heard in a long time.

As the day wore on, and many acts were auditioned, it became apparent that a number of exceptionally talented people were present. At the end of the morning’s audition, I asked them all to return at 4:00 P.M. to learn which of them was chosen.

My thoughts, however, kept returning to the young lady I had listened to earlier. Although I felt that she could not be used in the program, I was sure that her beautiful voice should be heard by the 600 young adults who were gathered for the convention. So I spoke with the conference leaders and obtained permission for the young lady to be invited to sing at the Sunday morning meeting.

When I told her what had been arranged, she was tremendously pleased. The song that she decided to sing was “Though Deepening Trials.”

At last Saturday evening arrived, and the entertainment got under way. I was grateful that I had been given such wonderful acts to present. At the same time I was terribly sorry for the lack of time that prevented me from showing the other acts, which were also very good and worthy of being seen.

After the program, I sought out President Ralph Pulman, who would be conducting the Sunday meeting, and gave him the name of the young lady who was to sing next morning. He took one look at the name and said, “I have something to say about this young lady when I make my presentation tomorrow.” And that was that. He wouldn’t say any more about it to me.

The Sunday meeting was truly inspirational and the young lady sang beautifully.

I participated in our stake goal to index 50,000 names. At first it was hard. On several occasions the batch I downloaded had difficult handwriting, and sometimes I wanted to return it and download a different one. But then I realized that if everyone thought like that, those batches would be left to the end. I could imagine many lines of people waiting in the spirit world, and I decided to continue trying to read those names and transcribe them without making a mistake.
I learned to have love for those people. I understood that they truly did need help, and we also needed help from them. I came to better understand that Heavenly Father’s perfect plan takes everyone into consideration. When we follow the inspiration and instructions of His chosen leaders, we will witness His mercy and infinite love.
Indexing has been a lovely experience for me. I learned to value and love many things about family history. I also obtained gifts of great value from our Lord by obeying something as simple as participating in indexing.

We had an orchard where all kinds of fruit trees provided much of our living, but it also meant much hard work for little boys. The peaches were large and luscious, and when Ma had filled our pantry with bottles of fruit for the winter, Pa decided we could sell some. I was about twelve and Alice ten, and again we were in business.
I climbed to the tops of the trees and picked the largest, most colorful peaches; Alice put them in the boxes, I piled them neatly in the buggy and drove the long journey of about six miles to Pima, where many of the good women bought the fruit, and we soon headed home. As we counted our nickels and dimes and quarters, we found we had five dollars. It would be Christmas soon, so we excitedly talked about gifts for our large family.
When we got home and gleefully laid our money on the table, Pa reminded us again, “Have you counted out your tithing?” So, of course, we had to skimp a little on some of our planned Christmas gifts. As soon as the sweating mare was back in the pasture, the buggy in the shed, and the boxes stowed away, we went through the orchard and through the fence to the bishop again.
When I was in high school, I found it necessary to support myself. I suppose I was about sixteen, and I went to Globe, Arizona, the big mining camp, and there secured a job milking cows twice a day for a dairy. In those days we had no machines, and we milked with our hands. I milked between eighteen and twenty-eight cows twice a day, separated the cream, bottled the milk, washed the cans and bottles, fed the cattle, and cleaned the manure. For all of this, I received my meals, a cot in a bunkhouse, and $47.50 a month.
I was now on my own. No one was there to check up on me. When I received my first paycheck, I asked myself, “Should I or should I not pay my tithing?” I sent my dairy check home to the bank and received a receipt and a checkbook. I numbered the checks on the book and my first check was made out payable to the bishop.
The Lord has promised that if boys and girls and their parents are faithful in paying their tithing, he will pour out great blessings upon them. I know he keeps the promise.

Tom Geffe wasn’t exactly “golden.” He called the missionaries names. He threw the Book of Mormon in the trash. He smoked. He drank. He swore.
All the more reason to love him. That was the attitude of his twin brother, Bill, and the members of the St. Peters Ward. Bill and Tom started the discussions at the same time. Tom dropped out but Bill got baptized.
“Bill would give me books and I wouldn’t read them,” Tom says now. “He would tell me he was learning about the priesthood, and I would think, Yeah, you’re crazy.”
Bill kept at it.
“I’d go to Church activities,” Tom says. “But I’d always be the rebel. I was just in it for the fun.”
Bill invited Tom to youth conference. Tom figured he’d skip the spiritual parts.
“But I ended up at this big testimony meeting. All of these kids were bearing their testimonies. One nonmember girl said she knew the Church was true and she was going to be baptized. Her testimony was so powerful I thought, Wow! I want to be a part of that!”
The change was immediate. Tom quit smoking, quit drinking, quit swearing. He started the discussions again, started reading the Book of Mormon. Tom discovered the gospel was setting him free. “I felt better about myself. I felt free to be the things I really wanted to be.”
The missionaries asked Tom to join the Church. He felt it was right, but wanted to be sure. They all prayed.
“I felt really warm inside, and a big smile came over my face,” Tom explains. “I knew I should be baptized.
“People who knew me before could not believe I was joining the Church,” Tom says. “But it was the best thing I ever did. It sticks with me every day, knowing Heavenly Father loves me.”
The story doesn’t end there. Bill, who was a year ahead in school, is serving in the Texas Houston East Mission. He relies a lot on Tom’s letters of encouragement. “He tells me the same things I used to tell him,” Bill says. “Keep on trying, even when it’s hard. Stay strong.
“I don’t know if I have more I-want-to-go-home days than other missionaries,” Bill says. “But when I have one I’ll reread a letter, or look at Tom’s picture, and think how we’ve been able to help each other. It gives me courage to go on.”
Tom also plans on a mission.

The bishop asked me later if I knew when I visited the old man that Sunday afternoon. I guess I did.
“Jamie, come in. And you got Mark with you too. Come on in.”
We stood in front of him as he lay in the hospital bed. “Mark, crank me up so I can get a good look at you both.” Mark looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Down at the foot of the bed, you see a big handle there? Looks like they took it from a Model T, don’t it?” Mark finally found it. “You turn that a few times and I’ll be able to see something besides the ceiling.” Mark turned the handle and the upper end of the bed began to rise. “Not too much. I don’t want to be bent double. There, that’s fine.”
“Jamie, it’s good to see you.” He put out his hand for me to shake. I knew he was pretty sick because his grip was so weak.
“I got permission from the bishop for Mark and me to come and give you the sacrament.”
“I’d be pleased to take it, boys.” We closed the door to the hall, and I took a small slice of my mom’s homemade bread and put it on a paper plate. Mark filled a paper cup with water. I took the bread and carefully broke it and then knelt down and read the prayer. Afterwards I held the plate while he reached down and guided a piece to his mouth. Then Mark knelt down and blessed the water and handed him the cup. He spilled a little of it, but mostly he did fine. When he finished, he had tears in his eyes. “Thank you, boys.”
Mark sat around for a few minutes and then said he had to go home. He didn’t know the old man like I did.
The old man and I sat around and talked a little and watched the afternoon shadow move across the floor.
He was very old. His face was tough as if the wind and sun had carved out the soft flesh and left only the leathery surface. For 60 years he had farmed in the valley until his children had grown up and left, his wife had died, and he was alone with his garden, a plug horse named Blaze, and the Church.
I guess he’d always been in our ward, but kind of in the background. But I remember he used to bear his testimony nearly every month, and whenever Dad took me to the welfare farm for a work party, he would always be there.
When I turned 14 and was called to go home teaching, I was assigned to be his companion. He didn’t have a car and I didn’t drive then, so I rode my bike over to his place, now just a little way out of town since things had grown so much since he first moved there.
His living room had a round kitchen table with four chairs around it, with a shaggy throw rug on the floor and a reading lamp that hung from the high ceiling. Lying on the table were a large copy of the Book of Mormon and a Bible.
He shuffled over to the reading lamp and switched it on. Once he told me a horse had kicked him and left him with a limp. He stood there looking at me and then reached in his back pocket and pulled out a large handkerchief and wiped his nose.
“Jamie, we got to have a word of prayer.” He grabbed the edge of the table for support and lowered himself to a kneeling position with his hands folded on the seat of the chair. Then he looked up at me and said, “You kneel, don’t you?”
I knelt down.
“Father in heaven,” he began, “Jamie and me come to ask thee to help us as we go as home teachers into the homes of thy Saints.” It was a long prayer, and my knees were soon aching, so I tried to shift my weight around to get a better position, but by the time I found it, he had finished.
“Jamie, help me up.”
I reached down and put my arm under his elbow and pulled. He was a big man, and it was a struggle to get him on his feet.
He walked over to the window and looked out.
“Come over here. Do you see the place over there by the big tree, and the place next to it down the road? On the way here, do you remember seeing the place with the ‘Rhubarb for Sale’ sign nailed to the fence?” I nodded my head. “The Lord’s given us stewardship over those families. Do you know what that means?”
“Yes sir.”
“What does it mean?”
“Well, we have to visit them once a month.”
He rubbed one hand over his stubble beard. “Is that what you think it means?”
“I think so.”
“You got a long way to go, son.”
The nurse came in and gave him some pills. He didn’t look very good. But when he talked, and you forgot about the chalky grayness of his face and his short, quick breaths, he was the same.
“Did you go fishing yesterday?”
“No, I’m waiting for you to get out so we can go together.”
He looked out the window for a long time, and I thought he hadn’t heard me. But after a few minutes he turned to me.
“Jamie, you better learn to tie your own flies. I can’t furnish you with free equipment your whole life.”
“I will.”
“I would have taught you before, but you were such a slow learner at fishing. I thought I’d better wait.”
The first time he offered to take me fishing behind his place, I brought the stuff my friends and I used when we fished from the old country bridge.
“What kind of a rig you call that?” He looked at my large lead sinker and a treble hook with a wad of dried-up cheese stuck to it. “Here, let me see that. You’re not supposed to club the fish to death.” He took the sinker from the line. “And what’s this?” he said, pointing to the cheese. “You bring your lunch?”
“I usually use worms or cheese for bait.”
He shook his head. “I’ll teach you to fly fish. Then you’ll know something about fishing.”
He stepped a little ways into the river so he could get a free swing with his fly rod. “Look over there, just in front of the boulder.” He whipped the fly line back and forth a couple of times to let out line, and then cast. The fly landed gently on the water and glided into the swirling water downstream from the boulder. Suddenly the water boiled as a German Brown rose up and took the fly. He carefully fought it to his side and then reached down and swished it up in his net. “You think you can learn to do that?” he said as he reached down into the net and pulled out the trout and dropped him gently back into the water.
Nearly every weekday afternoon that summer I’d go over to his place with my rod, and we’d walk across his field to the river. He taught me how to cast a fly rod, and where to stand, and what kind of flies to use for each part of the summer. “You got to find out what they’re feeding on, Jamie. That’s the secret.”
He slept a while because of the pills. The bishop stopped by to see him, but saw him asleep, and said he’d come back later.
The second month that we went home teaching, Brother Johnson had just bought a new horse. And so we walked out to the corral and took a look.
“Mort, how much you pay for that mare?”
“About a thousand dollars. Why?”
“She’s a fine horse. How come you spent so much money for her?”
“She’s got a good line.” Then he stopped and looked at the old man. “Why are you asking me a question like that? You been around horses most of your life.”
“I never had a horse worth a thousand bucks. What will you do with her, sell her to the glue factory?”
“You know I’m not going to do that.”
“Yep, I know that.” He looked at the mare for a while and then turned to Brother Johnson and said, “Mort, how long did your dad serve as a bishop?”
“About ten years, I guess. Why?”
“You come from a good line, Mort. As far as the Lord is concerned, you’re registered stock. But you’re no good to the Lord the way you are now. It’d be less of a waste to sell that horse to the rendering plant as for you to keep away from church any longer. The Lord wants you back in harness, Mort.”
Brother Johnson took the toothpick out of his mouth and dropped it on the ground. “You may be right,” he said simply.
When the old man woke up, he was embarrassed that he’d fallen asleep. But I said it was okay; I didn’t mind, and it would make him get better fast.
“Jamie, you been here too long. Your folks’ll be worrying about you.”
“It’s okay. They know I’m here.”
He turned his head so he could see outside. “What day is it?”
“June 13.”
“June 13. Now starting in a few days, I’d try an Adams with a number 14 hook. You got enough flies? If you need any, you know where they are.”
All of a sudden he seemed to get some strength, and he leaned forward. “Now, you keep visiting them families, you hear? The Johnsons are coming along fine, but you ask the bishop to get the Scoutmaster over there to get their boy Brad in Scouting.” He grabbed my hand and squeezed it hard, and there was an urgency to his voice. “Jamie, you keep yourself clean so you can marry a pure and beautiful LDS girl in the temple when the time comes. And get ready to go on your mission. You need to read the scriptures more than you do.”
“I will.”
He still was holding onto my hand. “Jamie, once on my mission I went and saw the changing of the guards … Jamie …”
Before he could finish, a nurse stuck her head into the room. “I’m sorry but visiting hours are over.”
He released his grip. “You’d better go, Jamie. Come back tomorrow if you can.”
The next day when I got home from my softball game, my mom told me he had died that afternoon.
I walked over to his place and down the path to the fishing spot on the river where we used to go, and sat down on a rock. The river takes a bend just upstream from that point, and there was a hole where the eddy currents curled around in slow lazy loops, and there, he told me, the fish stayed when they were feeding on a hatch of flies coming down the river. The spot was hard to find because of the growth of trees on both sides, and most people who fished it probably got their line tangled in the fallen branches that lay in the water. But he told me where to stand and how to cast so you avoided the hidden traps.
My thoughts were interrupted by a trout jumping clear of the water for a fly. And then, for a moment, I could hear in my mind the old man say, “Don’t whip the water, just let it slide down nice and easy. You’re supposed to make the fish think a fly is landing on the water and not that a tree has fallen into the river. Use the Royal Coachman now, Jamie. How come you’ve never read the Book of Mormon? I want you to read it, and in three months I want you to tell Brother Johnson about it and bear your testimony.”
I sat there for a couple of hours thinking about him, until finally it was too dark and I got up and walked back down the path to my home.

The scriptures have been an important part of my life. When I was seven years old, my father told me, “Son, one of the best things you can do in your life is read the Book of Mormon. I’d sure like to see you do that.”
So I started to read it. At first, my love for the sacred books came from my father. He worked long, hard hours, but I can’t remember many evenings when I didn’t see him reading the scriptures before he went to bed.
As I read the Book of Mormon, I felt good about it, and things happened to me that made scripture-reading a basic part of my testimony.
When I started to read it, I did not understand all the words in it. I have to admit that I read through the Isaiah references fairly quickly. But when I had questions, I went to my father. To this day, when I read certain scriptures, I hear them in my father’s ringing voice.
After college, I taught at Brigham Young University for a few years. Then I started my own business. In my business, it was important for me to know what was going on in the world, so I got in the habit of reading several newspapers. And I always started my day by reading them. Of course, I read my scriptures during the day too.
Recently, however, I began to read the scriptures before I read anything else. What joy and satisfaction has come from reading the scriptures first! It not only begins the day right, but throughout the day I’ll find myself using a scripture or scripture story I read that morning, especially as I talk about the gospel.
Children, the scriptures are easy to understand. You can sense not only their meaning but also the spirit of them. When you read the scriptures, the Holy Ghost will whisper to you that the gospel is true. That knowledge can change your lives!

I didn’t feel like I was a good learner growing up. All my siblings were really smart. They got good grades. They took the hardest classes. I kept trying out for the hardest classes, but I was never accepted. Math was very hard. So I thought, “Well, I guess I’m not smart.” I didn’t think that could change.
Then one year I had a teacher who gave me the confidence I needed. My teacher saw more talent in me than I did. She said, “Clark, you can be a good student. You just need to believe in yourself.”
So I kept trying. I studied harder. I also worked to be more organized. I learned how to keep track of my homework. Turning off the TV helped me to focus on my schoolwork. Soon, I became a better student. And my confidence grew.
When I went on my mission, I saw that I didn’t have to learn on my own. I asked Heavenly Father for help. And I listened to the Holy Ghost. As I worked hard, I was able to teach and help people. When I came home from my mission, I went to college. I prayed for God’s help in every class. I became a better student and even started to love math!
I thought that being smart meant that you knew a lot and school was easy. That isn’t true. If you are willing to involve the Lord in your learning and work hard to improve, you are smart!
If things are hard right now, remember that you are a child of God. You have incredible potential. You can do hard things. Just keep practicing. Ask Heavenly Father for help. He wants you to succeed. You can do this!

It’s a long drive from Magrath, Alberta, Canada, to Calgary, and the torrents of rain pelting the highway didn’t make the trip seem any shorter. Most of us were tired, so we stretched out on the seats and mattress in the back of the family van while mom and Grandma Briggs sat up front and talked. I remember thinking we were in the middle of a real cloudburst and then drifting off to sleep.
When I regained consciousness, I ached all over. No wonder. The impact of a violent crash had stuffed me into a small space near the side door. My legs were scraped and bleeding; my breath came convulsively. I seemed to be alone except I could see grandma lying in the wreckage, and I heard moans. Soon strangers pulled me from my painful trap, and I approached grandma, who whispered, “Everything is going to be all right.”
Briggs, my 13-year-old brother, had been thrown out the rear door of the van. He said that when he found me I was hysterical. He shook me by the arm to help me get control of myself and told me to quit screaming and pray. I calmed down. And I did pray. He stumbled back to the highway and flagged down a car, even though his arm and collar bone were broken and his head was cut.
Evidently my mother had lost control of the van when it hydroplaned through a large puddle. We had crossed the road, skidded down an embankment, and then continued forward until the wheels hit a culvert and we became airborne. We crashed into the dirt and rolled several times, then came to rest upright near a dirt road that led to a farmhouse. Mother was seriously injured, with a crushed chest and a lacerated forehead; she was trapped in the wreckage and couldn’t be moved without help.
It was hard not to panic. We were far from home on vacation, and though we had been on our our aunt’s new home, we didn’t know anyone in the immediate area. (We were later to find out that we were close to Vulcan, a small town about 35 miles from Calgary.) And we weren’t where we could be easily seen from the road. But my brother’s words stuck in my mind, that I should be quiet and pray. Whenever I did start to get upset and worried, I prayed and felt calm again.
There were two girls in the car Briggs flagged down. They in turn stopped a car with a CB radio, an ambulance was at the scene in two and a half minutes. We were lucky. There was a small emergency hospital in Vulcan, and we received care quickly.
There was only one phone for patients to use. My mother asked to be wheeled to it. She called my father back in Salt Lake City; then she called my uncle in Calgary, and he came immediately. When he arrived, the first thing room asked him was if he could find the elders. Approaching the hospital desk to inquire, he was met by two men in their 50s or 60s.
“Has anyone here been asking for elders from the Mormon church?” they asked. “Yes!” he said, and led them to our rooms. They said they had been driving down the road, had seen the Utah license plates on the smashed van, and felt inspired to check at the hospital. They said they were both high priests. Before leaving, they gave a blessing to my brother, my cousin, my mother, and me. We never did find out their names or where they were from, but later we sent a letter to the editor of the local paper in an effort to thank them.
It was in the hospital that we also learned that Grandma Briggs had died at the scene of the accident. But her words of assurance had helped me to understand that she was ready to rejoin grandpa in the spirit world and that she had felt peace in her heart as she passed to the other side.
I learned another important lesson, too. And that is that the Lord does hear and answer prayers, and that he can direct worthy priesthood holders to be in places where they can help others. Though we all suffered serious injuries, we recovered. And the priesthood blessings at a time of need were a great comfort to us. I will always be grateful to those two men who took time to obey a prompting of the Spirit that led them to the hospital, and thankful for the peace that came to my heart when I prayed, telling me everything would be all right.