Gospel Story Finder

Violet was asleep when a rumbling sound woke her up. At first, she thought it was thunder.
But the rumbling got louder and louder. It shook her bedroom windows.
Violet sat up quickly. This was an earthquake!
She and her family had moved to Peru not long ago. She knew that earthquakes often happen here. And she and her family had prepared for them and practiced what to do. But this was much scarier than she thought it would be. She could feel her body shaking!
Violet ran to the kitchen and crawled under the table. A few seconds later, her brother and sister joined her. So did Mom and Dad.
“Good job remembering what we practiced,” said Dad. “Is everyone OK?”
Violet’s brother and sister nodded.
But Violet was scared. She closed her eyes. It was hard to ignore the shaking around her.
Then Violet remembered to pray. She folded her arms and bowed her head. “Dear Heavenly Father,” she whispered, “please take care of my family.”
Violet kept praying. She felt like someone was giving her a hug. When she finished, she looked up. Mom and Dad had their arms folded. Her brother and sister did too. They were all praying! The ground was still shaking. But Violet felt peaceful in her heart and mind.
At last, the shaking stopped. Violet and her family stayed under the table a little longer, just to be safe.
“How do you feel?” Mom asked Violet.
“OK,” Violet said. “At first I was really scared. But praying helped me feel better.” She gave Mom a hug. She was glad Heavenly Father had helped her feel peace.
Illustrations by Toby Newsome
Talk to your family about what to do in an emergency.

Carrie hurried around the corner of the grocery store aisle, trying to keep the cart out of the reach of her six-year-old brother, Andy.
“No fair!” he cried. “You’ve pushed it the whole time we’ve been here.” He tried to grab the cart, but nine-year-old Carrie twisted it away quickly, accidentally hitting a row of ketchup bottles lined up neatly on a shelf. Two of the bottles crashed to the floor, shattering and spraying the bright red contents everywhere. The two children stared in horror at the broken glass and scarlet ketchup.
Mom came around the corner just then, saying, “I want you two to stay with me. …” Her words trailed off as she saw the mess on the floor and the misery on Carrie and Andy’s faces.
“It looks like there’s been an accident,” she said. “It’s all right. Sometimes things break and have to be cleaned up. There’s no use crying over spilt ketchup.”
Mom found a clerk, who cleaned up the mess without getting mad at Carrie or Andy. Carrie still felt terrible. She knew it wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t been swinging the cart to keep it away from Andy. Before they left the store, she quietly told Mom how the bottles had been broken. Mom listened solemnly while Andy stood with a scared expression on his face.
“Are we in trouble?” Andy asked, struggling to keep from crying.
Mom hugged Andy. “No, I think you feel badly enough about what happened that you’ll be more careful in the grocery store from now on. But, Carrie, what do you think you need to do to make up for the store losing those two bottles of ketchup?”
“I think I need to pay for them. I didn’t mean to break them, but it was still my fault.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Mom said. “I can lend you the money for now, and you can pay me back at home.”
At the cash register, Mom explained that Carrie had been playing around with the cart when the bottles broke, and so she wanted to pay for them. The clerk thanked Carrie for being so honest, and Carrie felt much better.
At home, Carrie didn’t feel quite as good when she gave Mom part of the money she’d been saving for a tape player, but she was still glad she didn’t have that sick feeling in her stomach that she had felt when the bottles exploded on the floor. She remembered how red everything looked. She had been afraid she would see that stain on the floor forever, reminding her of her mistake, but it had come clean with a wet mop.

Once when Enrique López, 16, of Caracas, and four of his friends had a free period during school, they went to a friend’s house. “Someone took out some beer. I didn’t think they would try to get me to drink, because they all know about my religion—but they did. I said, ‘No, I don’t drink that stuff.’ They started criticizing me and saying there was nothing wrong with drinking and a little bit wouldn’t hurt. But even a little bit does hurt you in the end. I said no. After a while they said, ‘Oh, this is a waste of time.’ So they stopped, and we went back to class. I think they respected me.”

Last year’s Mutual theme, “Arise and Shine Forth,” reminded me of a girl I went to high school with named Lisa. She was a cheerleader. It was a large school, and I didn’t know her well.

One Saturday night I went to a farewell party for Lisa and her younger sister, who were moving to Idaho. Some kids were drinking alcohol, and they repeatedly offered beer to Lisa and her sister. I even heard one person shout, “Come on, just one drink! It’s your party, just one drink for us!”

But Lisa and her sister both refused the drinks. They just smiled and said no. I thought being a popular cheerleader meant that you did the “popular” thing—drink. I wasn’t a member of the Church then, but their strength and courage surprised me.

Two weeks after my 16th birthday my family moved to North Africa. This was not my idea of fun, and I suspected my parents of plotting the entire thing just to make me miserable. The driving age in Morocco is 18, so I wouldn’t be getting a driver’s license, and the school I would be attending had no newspaper or track team—the two things I enjoyed doing. Worst of all, in my junior class at the international school, there were 11 girls and only 3 boys. It was going to be a long year.
At home I had a big group of friends. We went to church and acted like we were doing what was right. But on the weekends we went to parties together, and we sometimes did things I knew weren’t right. I felt torn apart, wanting to keep myself clean, but also wanting to prove that I could do what I wanted. That feeling hadn’t gone away when we moved.
After we’d been in Morocco about a week, I started to make a few friends. My new friend Amy wasn’t a member of the Church, but she was different. She didn’t just pretend to do what was right; she did it. She didn’t seem to have anything to prove. Angie and Lisa, on the other hand, didn’t even try to hide the wrong things that they did. There is no legal drinking age in Morocco, and they took advantage of it. They were having a party at Lisa’s house that weekend, and I was invited.
After my first day of class at my new school, I met the cutest guy I’ve ever seen.
“Are you Rebecca?” he asked as he walked toward me. My heart was beating loud and fast, but I managed to say yes.
“I’m Tony. I hear you’re a Mormon.”
I nodded, wondering what this was all about.
“Are you a real Mormon?” he asked, “or do you just go to church because your parents make you?”
I fumbled with my backpack and said, “I don’t know.”
“Well, when you figure it out, let me know,” he said. Then he left.
I didn’t go to the party at Lisa’s house that weekend. My mom said she needed help unpacking, so I stayed home opening boxes and hanging up clothes.
After I had worked for a while, I stopped my chores and told my mom that I needed a break. I went outside to think.
I walked outside the wall around our house where there was a dusty dirt road that shepherds walked down every morning and evening, taking their sheep and goats to pasture. I soon came to a field where garbage had been burned. A tangerine peel lay in the road, and I angrily kicked it into the grass. Why do I have to be here? I wondered. Why does anything ever have to change? Why does life have to be so hard?
I thought about Tony and his question. What did he want me to say? Am I a real Mormon? Who do I want to be? Would he ever think about dating me if I said I was a real Mormon?
As I turned the corner to go back home, I saw something that made me stop. Across the street, in the middle of an empty field, stood a beautiful little tree. It was not much taller than I was, and its leaves and branches were thin and delicate.
I looked at that tree for a long time. I thought about the parties I had gone to in the States and the things I had done. I thought about the choices I needed to make and about who I wanted to be. I thought about standing alone, sort of like that tree.
It was two weeks before I talked to Tony again. He found me serving refreshments in the school gym on parents’ night. Because parents were invited, wine was being served along with soda and punch.
“So, Rebecca, I brought you a drink,” Tony said. “A toast to a new school year.” He held out a plastic cup half filled with wine.
My heart started pounding again.
“No thanks, Tony. How about a doughnut?”
“No thanks? I bring you a drink, and you don’t want it? Why? Are you afraid your parents will find out?”
“No.”
“Are you afraid you won’t be a real Mormon? Don’t worry, no one in your church will find out.”
I looked down at the table and then up at Tony. “I am a real Mormon. This doesn’t have anything to do with my parents. I just don’t want to.”
Tony looked disgusted. “Well, that’s too bad,” he said. “We could have had fun together.” He dropped the cup into the trash can and walked off. I watched him go and then leaned back against the wall and let out a sigh.
I didn’t have many dates that year, although Tony let me know that if I changed my mind he’d be happy to take me out. But I had a great year anyway. Amy and I got to know some of our Moroccan neighbors, and although we didn’t speak French or Arabic very well, we had a good time laughing together. I went to the prom that year with my brother (he turned out to be a great dancer).
It’s not easy feeling left out, but I felt so good about my decision to be a “real Mormon.” I felt more happy and peaceful than I had in a long time.
I was learning to stand alone.

Mark and his mom tromped through the snow to the car. Dad had scraped the frost from the windows and warmed up the car, but he wasn’t coming to church. He was reading on the sofa instead.
“I hate going without Dad,” Mark grumbled as he settled into the front seat beside Mom.
“I’m sad that Dad’s not going with us too,” Mom said as she backed out of the driveway. “But I still love going to church.”
“Well, I do too,” Mark said. “But you know what I mean, right? I wish our family could be more like Doug’s family.”
Doug was Mark’s best friend at church. Doug’s dad went to church every Sunday. He always had a smile and a high-five for Mark.
Mom rounded the corner onto the main road. “I do know what you mean,” she said. “Doug has a wonderful family. And I always thought our family would be more like that. It’s hard that it isn’t. I hope Dad can work out his questions and problems and start coming to church with us again. But that’s for him to figure out. You and I can’t do it for him, and worrying won’t help.”
“What will help?”
Mom paused for a minute before she answered. “Keep loving him. Pray for him. Work on our own testimonies. Try to be happy. Remember what a good dad he is, even if he’s not the same as other people’s dads.”
Mark thought how good it felt to get into their nice, warm car with the windows cleared. “I think I understand,” he said.
Mark thought about Mom’s words all week long.
He thought about them on Tuesday night when Dad sat down to help him with homework.
“You’re working really hard,” Dad said. “You know what? I think you’re going to be really successful all through school. I hope you always remember how important it is to get a good education.”
He thought about her words on Wednesday afternoon when Dad surprised him by picking him up at school. They ate lunch together and watched ice skaters in the park.
“I don’t have to teach a class until later today, and I just wanted to hang out with you,” Dad said.
Mark thought about Mom’s words on Thursday evening when he came home from Webelos and found Dad listening to music while grading papers.
“Isn’t this song amazing?” Dad asked. “It was written by one of my favorite composers.” Mark had to agree that the music was beautiful.
And Mark thought about her words on Saturday morning when Dad took him snowshoeing. They saw intricate ice crystals clinging to tree branches, a rabbit whose fur had turned white for snow camouflage, and crows feasting on winter berries.
“Remember how blessed we are to live in this world, Mark,” Dad whispered as they watched wispy clouds drift overhead.
On Sunday, when it was time for church, Mark saw Dad lying on the couch. He had been praying that Dad would come to church this week, but he stopped and gave Dad a hug before he went out to the car. “I love you, Dad,” he said. “You teach me so many good things. I’m glad you’re my dad.”

My faith was tried more seriously as I considered what to do about a full-time mission as a convert to the Church. I testify that as I exerted my faith, Heavenly Father strengthened my heart and melted the hearts of my parents, who had been adamantly opposed to my serving. But Heavenly Father went before my face and softened their hearts. I was able to serve with their blessing, and in giving back some of the love I had been given, as I served, I received, as usual, more blessings than I deserved.

In 2019, when my wife and I went to buy some plastic containers for the house, we decided to buy a small one that at first, we thought would be used for garbage. However, when we got home, I had the feeling that I should use it to store the rice, since at that time we were using a smaller container. When we added the rice that we had, it was half full. At that time, I had a job, and the little container remained half full.
I lost my job in November 2019, and my wife was the only one working in our family. A few months later, in March 2020, the country closed with the arrival of the pandemic, and I was not able to find a job, but we witnessed a miracle. During the months from March to June the little container that we used to store the rice was filled, and not only that, but it also stayed full all that time. We had so much rice that I was able to give some to the people who asked at my door.
As I reflected on it, I realized that the same thing that Elijah the prophet promised to the widow of Zarephath was done to me (see 1 Kings 17:10–16). I am very grateful to my Heavenly Father for providing food for my family in these difficult times that we went through.

1 One day Tanner got a picture of Jesus. He loved the picture. He wanted to share it with somebody. He knew that not everybody knows about Jesus.
2 “Mom, can I give my picture of Jesus to somebody?” Tanner asked.
“Sure,” Mom said. “Who will you give it to?”
“I’m going to give it to my teacher, Mrs. Young. I like her because she reads me lots of stories.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Mom said. “I’m proud of you.”
3 When Tanner got to preschool, he gave the picture to Mrs. Young. She was happy to get a picture of Jesus. Tanner was happy she liked it.
4 A few days later, Tanner and his family made a book that looked like the Book of Mormon golden plates. Then they wrote their testimonies in the book.
“Mom, can I take our book to school to show Mrs. Young?” Tanner asked.
“Yes, you can,” Mom said.
5 The next day at school, Tanner carried a backpack with his family’s golden plates inside. He told Mrs. Young about the book his family had made. Tanner’s teacher was very interested.
6 When Mom picked up Tanner from school that day, his teacher went to talk to Tanner’s mother.
“Tanner brought something very interesting today,” Mrs. Young said. “Can you tell me more?”
“How would you and your husband like to come to dinner at our house?” Mom asked. “We can talk more then.”
“That sounds great,” Mrs. Young said.
7 A few months later, Tanner and his mother went to Mr. and Mrs. Young’s baptism.
“I’m very happy I shared my picture of Jesus with my teacher,” Tanner said.
“I know that she is too,” Mom said. “You are a big reason why Mrs. Young and her husband are being baptized today.”
8 Tanner had a happy feeling as he watched Mrs. Young be baptized. He smiled as Mom leaned over and whispered, “Four-year-olds are great missionaries!”

When my mother was sixteen, one Sunday her Sunday School teacher taught about the concept of love. She invited all the youth in the class to go home and tell their parents that they loved them.
My mother listened and laid hold upon the words of her teacher. After the class ended, she waited for her classmates to leave and then said to her teacher, “I can’t do what you asked me to do. I can’t tell my father I love him.”
You see, at the time her father was a mechanic on an army base. He wasn’t active in the Church. And he was often rough, gruff, and mean, just as you might expect from an army mechanic. At that time, “I love you” was not something they said to each other in their family.
“Well,” the teacher said, “you have to do it. Your father—especially your father—needs to hear those words from you. He deserves your unconditional love.”
So my mom went home. All week the words of her teacher stayed with her. Finally, on Saturday night, knowing she would be facing her teacher the next day, my mom found her courage.
Her father had just walked into the kitchen to put out his cigarette. My mom got up her courage and blurted out the words “Dad, I have something to tell you. I love you.”
With those words, her father turned around with his back toward my mom and leaned against the fridge with his head bowed down. My mom thought he was angry. He just stood there, back turned and head down.
Then my big, burly grandfather turned around, and he was weeping. My mom hesitated, and then she stepped over to him. He wrapped his arms around her and said, “I love you.”
As long as she could remember, this was the first time that he had hugged her and said those words to her.
It was then, with those words, that my grandfather’s heart began to soften. Years later, when I would visit my grandfather, the first thing he would do was hug me and tell me he loved me. When I knew him, he was a faithful member of the Church. I wonder what would have happened if my mother had not laid hold upon the words of her Sunday School teacher.
When my mother laid hold upon the word and acted on it, my grandfather did the same: he laid hold upon her words. And that opened the door for other significant blessings in their life.

Several years ago I was serving as a branch president in Hong Kong that covers the entire Kowloon Peninsula. I got a call from the missionaries that this family from Nepal was investigating the Church and asked if I could meet with them.
The address was clear out of the way in the new territories but I went anyway. I was invited into this small apartment where a father, a mother, and three teenage boys lived. The area is less than 300 square feet and there was no furniture, they slept on the floor.
The father speaks broken English and I could not understand too much of it. With the help of one of the sons interpreting, I found out more about this family: the father worked as a security guard and the mother swept the streets. The two older brothers, both have had one year of college in Nepal studying physics and math, could not afford to go to universities in Hong Kong. They were working as hard labor in construction sites.
Looking at their meager living condition, I asked the father what I could do for the family. I was expecting something like financial aid or something. But, through his son, the father said, "I want to move my family closer to the church, and I want my sons go to university..." Now that was a tall order.
But as I looked into his eyes, I was impressed with the simple faith of this good man. I said, "Can we have a prayer together? I am going to ask you to say the prayer, in your own language..." I knelt down and the father and the family followed.
I do not speak Nepali BUT I knew the father poured out his heart to our Heavenly Father for he was choking up during the prayer and I felt the spirit was there. It was a long prayer. While the father prayed, something came to my mind, what it was I did not know, but I knew that it has something to do with the family's desire. I simply could not blot that out of my mind. And that something was at the back of the Tsuen Wan Chapel. A long distance away.
It was so clear to me that I saw it in my mind again and again.
When the father finished his prayer, we got up from the floor. I wanted to leave and asked him if he could take me to the bus stop so I can take the bus to the Chapel. I remembered feeling like Nephi "And I was led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which I should do." (1 Nephi 4:7). But when I get to the back of the chapel, there was a bulletin board with lots of paper ads on it. Most of the ads were about rooms for rent. one of the ad caught my eye, not because of the color or the shape of the ad, but because of the address. It was 100 yards from the chapel! I called the number and it was a rental agency, I asked if it was vacant and it was. To make the long story short, I was able to make arrangement for this family to rent the place.
In answering the earnest prayer of a father, I gain inspiration and became the instrument of the Lord in moving this family from the new territories to only 100 yards to the chapel.
You'll be interested to know the rest of the story; the whole family was baptized, sealed in the temple. They met President Shumway when he was visiting Hong Kong. Both of the sons received their mission calls and one of them served here in Hawaii, completed his mission and is now studying at BYU-Hawaii. He's Brother Hemal Pun who offered the invocation this morning.

For example, when I was ordained a deacon, our bishopric stressed the sacred responsibility which was ours to pass the sacrament. Emphasized was proper dress, a dignified bearing, and the importance of being clean inside and out.

As we were taught the procedure in passing the sacrament, we were told that we were assisting every member in a renewal of the covenant of baptism, with its responsibilities and blessings. We were also told how we should assist a particular brother—Louis—who had a palsied condition, that he might have the opportunity to partake of the sacred emblems.

How I remember being assigned to pass the sacrament to the row where Louis sat. I was hesitant as I approached this wonderful brother, and then I saw his smile and the eager expression of gratitude that showed his desire to partake. Holding the tray in my left hand, I took a piece of bread and pressed it to his open lips. The water was later served in the same way. I felt I was on holy ground. And indeed I was. The privilege to pass the sacrament to Louis made better deacons of us all.

Included in his dreams was a desire to be a student body president. He got over his miserable junior high defeat and decided that he would run when he got to high school. But just a short time before he was to announce his candidacy, his best friend told him he’d decided to run and asked Greg to be his campaign manager. Greg complied and helped him win, deciding that he could run for the office when he got to Ricks College.

Let me conclude with a story about the BYU-Idaho Center and miracles.

In 2007, I took to the Board of Education a proposal to build an athletic facility that could also double as an auditorium. It used collapsable bleachers and chairs and could handle about 10-12 thousand people. It was about half the size of this building. It would not start until the new Manwaring Center was complete. The Board approved it. A couple of days later, I got a call from President Gordon B. Hinckley. He said, “Brother Clark, I have been thinking about your building.” He then talked with me for a few minutes about the possibility of making it bigger and building it sooner. And then something quite extraordinary happened. All of a sudden, his voice got much louder and much stronger as he said, “Brother Clark, I am here to tell you today to build it bigger and build it now.” He was emphatic!
And so, we did. It was not easy to get it approved, and not easy to build it. This beautiful and sacred place was built on time and under budget only with the help of legions of angels. I am so grateful that President Hinckley, a prophet, seer and revelator, foresaw that we had to build it much bigger and much faster. However, I have come to understand that his urgency about what he saw was not only about this building, but also about building up the kingdom of God and establishing Zion on this campus, and in the world.

My 97-year-old father recently passed away. Whenever someone asked him how he was doing, his consistent reply was “On a scale of 1–10, I’m about a 25!” Even when this dear man could no longer stand or even sit and had great difficulty speaking, his answer was still the same. He was always standing up inside.
When my dad was 90, we were in an airport and I asked him if I could get him a wheelchair. He said, “No, Gary—maybe when I get old.” And then he added, “Besides, if I get tired of walking, I can always run.” If we are not able to be “all in” the way we are presently walking, then maybe we need to run; maybe we need to recalculate our route. We might even need to make a U-turn. We might need to study more intently, pray more earnestly, or just let some things go so we can hang on to those things that really matter. We may need to let go of the world so we can hang on to eternity. My father understood this.

I told a little story at the Bountiful Temple dedication. Let me share it with you. A young couple gave birth to a son. They named him Amazing, hoping that somehow he would live up to his name and do something great. Actually, he never did. In fact, all that he did was rather mundane. He never really accomplished anything great. He married, lived on the family farm, raised a family, and was the brunt of jokes all his life because of his name.

Finally, he said to his wife, “When I die, please do not put my name on the grave marker; maybe that will stop all the jokes.” Later he died, and she was true to her promise but decided there ought to be something inscribed. She had them put “Here lies a man who loved and was faithful to his wife for sixty years.” And now the people read the inscription, then point and say, “That’s amazing!”

Sister Asay recalled another incident when she poured out her heart to her Father in Heaven: “Carlos has always made me feel that I’m the greatest person in the world, and I just never want to let him down, or do anything that will slow his progress.” She told of the time she had the responsibility of handling their very meager finances. “We had our money budgeted in little envelopes,” she explained. At that time her young student-husband was teaching school and also going to night school. As he left for school one morning with full confidence in his sweetheart and wife, he said, “I’ll need the tuition money ready so I can register after school tonight.” Colleen had this horrible feeling come over her. She realized that through some misplanning, perhaps paying a bill before it was due or something like that, there was no money for the tuition.
“He trusted me. I just couldn’t let him down. He needed the money then so he could continue his schooling, and there was no money and no way of getting it unless it was to just drop out of the sky.” With a desperate feeling, and yet with the unwavering faith she had developed over the years, she talked to her Father in Heaven: “There is no money. What am I going to do? Carlos thinks there is, and he is coming home, and I just can’t disappoint him.” Sister Asay hesitated a minute, then leaned forward and reverently bore testimony: “That was one of the greatest spiritual experiences I’ve had,” she said, “and I’ve had a number of them.
“You know, when I got up from my knees, I looked out of the window. I saw the postman coming down the walk. The thought came to me immediately, ‘There will be some money in the mail.’ I confidently walked to the mailbox and—nothing. I could hardly believe it. My heart sank. There was no money. Disappointed and heartsick, I turned to go back in the door, full of concern, thinking of Carlos’s education and our future. At that moment the postman came back around the corner of the house. ‘Here is a letter,’ he said. ‘It was in the bottom of the bag and I didn’t notice it.’” She quickly opened the letter to discover a seminary check—two payments in advance—for the exact amount of the tuition. “I just started to cry,” she said. “The Lord did hear my prayers. I said to the children, ‘Look, here is some money from the Lord.’” Those dear little children sensed their mother’s excitement and ran all the way up and down the block, where there were nonmembers, and publicly announced to all their friends, “The Lord has sent us some money.”
“That’s how instantly I’ve had prayers answered,” Sister Asay explained. “Sometimes answers don’t come that quickly, but sometimes they do!”

It is not uncommon for family members to have mistaken ideas about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Loving and clear communication can do much to ease any tension that may arise in these situations. I joined the Church when I was a teenager. Shortly after my baptism, I learned that my Catholic grandmother believed I would no longer consider myself her grandson due to my newfound faith. What a relief it was when I was able to clear up this misunderstanding!

Today in Primary we talked about how Travis and Luke will become deacons next year. They’ll be able to pass the sacrament then. But it made me wonder … why don’t I get the priesthood too?
We went to a corn maze for FHE and got SO LOST! While we were walking around, I asked Dad about the priesthood. He said boys and girls have different responsibilities. He also said that whenever someone serves in a Church calling, they’re using priesthood power. Both women and men. I didn’t know that.
I couldn’t focus on my homework today. Mom asked what was wrong. I guess I’m still wondering about the priesthood. She said when she has a question that doesn’t have a clear answer, she puts it on the “back burner” of her mind. She doesn’t ignore the question, but she doesn’t let it crowd out all the things she DOES understand. She has the faith to wait for answers, and she trusts that Heavenly Father knows what’s best. That’s OK, I guess, but I hate waiting.
A cool thing happened today. Mom said maybe I should pray about my question, so I went to my room and asked Heavenly Father to help me understand why boys get the priesthood and girls don’t. I can’t even explain what happened next. I felt warm all over. I think Heavenly Father was trying to tell me that He loves me just as much as He loves Travis or Luke or my brothers—or anyone. I felt so happy! And when I get old enough to have a Church calling, I’ll be using priesthood power too.
Auditions for the school play are tomorrow! I’m so scared!!! What if I forget my lines? Mom said I could ask Dad for a blessing, and he blessed me to not feel too nervous. I feel a little better now. Dad told me that giving a blessing is an act of service for someone else, just like everything else we do with the priesthood. He said that when he needs a blessing, he asks our home teachers. I’d never thought about it that way.
I’m 12 now! My birthday was pretty crazy because it was also the last performance for the play. I only forgot one line! So today was Sunday, and I had my first meeting as part of the Beehive presidency. We talked about what we can do to help Sara feel comfortable at church. I had no idea. Then I remembered what the bishop said when he set me apart for my new calling. He said that God would help me know the needs of the girls in my class. When I remembered that, I had an idea of an activity that Sara might like.
Sara loved our activity on Wednesday and even came to church today! Travis and Luke are both passing the sacrament now. I think I understand what Dad meant about all of us having different jobs. We use priesthood power in different ways, but we all serve each other.
Hello, old journal! I’m 24 now and—wow—I’ve learned a lot! I understand way more about the priesthood now than I did when I was 12. If you’re looking for answers, don’t stop! Heavenly Father and Jesus love you and want to bless you.

These athletes as well as other missionaries soon learn that some of the fruits of their labors are harvested later by others. Alan Astle, a BYU guard, had one such experience. While tracting in England, he and his companion kept a record of every door they knocked on. “I remember one lady we tried several times was always too busy to talk to us, but I thought she was a good prospect. Right next to her name in our book I wrote ‘good.’ About four months later I got a letter from this lady, thanking me in countless ways for putting that comment next to her name. The new missionaries in the area saw that, went back, and she was baptized. She’s brought about five or six others into the Church so far. I just got a Christmas card from her, and she’s still thanking me for writing ‘good’ next to her name.”