Gospel Story Finder

Special education students and their buddies skate each Friday afternoon at the Bountiful Ice Rink, which is half a block from their school.

A buddy encouraged Trent to skate, and the ice immediately captivated him. As he progressed, Trent became a skating buddy to others. When one child was too timid to try, Trent said, “Come on. If I can do it, you can too.” He flashed his smile and soon had the boy gliding easily on the ice.

There is a living God who loves us and is constantly nearby and available. Doubt need not be part of our lives. The reality of God’s influence is felt by all Church members who comply with divine laws. It can also be tangibly felt by nonmembers, when it is his will. This is evidenced by the following experience in the São Paulo Temple.

The temple was opened to the public during the month of September 1978 before being closed in preparation for the dedication. Among the many visitors who felt the influence of this special temple was a certain nonmember newspaper reporter.

During the tour he eventually arrived at the door of the celestial room. Those few people who were accompanying him saw him abruptly stop and bow his head. He remained in that position for some time, with his eyes closed and head bowed. Then he slowly moved his head from side to side and at the same time opened his eyes, as if to inquire by this gesture “Who is there?” or “Is anyone there?”

After some time his head was raised and his eyes opened. His expression indicated that he knew something holy was there, and those about him witnessed the tears streaming down his face. He had felt the beautiful influence of the Spirit found so often in the temples. He knew something good was there and felt joy inside. It was a real, tangible feeling.

In England, when John Taylor was seventeen, he was appointed to be a preacher in his church. He was given assignments to preach in areas outside the city.
John: The Lord has commanded us to pray always in His name.
After John arrived in Canada, he continued to go to church and study the Bible. He and his wife, Leonora, joined with some of their friends to study the Bible.
John: We need to pray that God will send His servant to give us the truth!
Leonora: Yes, and to pray that we will know it when we hear it!
In Kirtland, Ohio, Elder Heber C. Kimball called Elder Parley P. Pratt to serve a mission to Toronto, Canada.
Elder Kimball: Elder Pratt, you will find a people prepared for the gospel, and they shall receive thee.
Elder Pratt: If a servant of the Lord extends such a promise, I will go to Canada.
When Elder Pratt first visited with the Taylor family, John Taylor began to study what Elder Pratt preached.
John: If I find your religion true, I shall accept it, no matter what the consequences may be; and if false, then I shall expose it.
For three weeks, John Taylor followed Elder Pratt wherever he preached. He studied and prayed about what Elder Pratt taught.
Elder Pratt: Joseph Smith translated this book, the Book of Mormon.
On May 9, 1836, John and Leonora Taylor were baptized.
Elder Pratt ordained John Taylor as an elder, and they worked together to spread the gospel. Their first baptisms were President Taylor’s parents, Agnes and James Taylor.
John Taylor remained loyal to the truth of the gospel.

In the summer of 2001, Sister Oaks and I were in Manaus, Brazil. I spoke to about 100 missionaries in that great city on the Amazon. As I stood to speak, I was prompted to put aside some notes I usually use on such occasions and substitute some thoughts on the importance of timing—some of the scriptures and principles I have been discussing here.
I reminded the missionaries that some of our most important plans cannot be brought to pass without the agency and actions of others. A missionary cannot baptize five persons this month without the agency and action of five other persons. A missionary can plan and work and do all within his or her power, but the desired result will depend upon the additional agency and action of others.
Consequently, a missionary’s goals ought to be based upon the missionary’s personal agency and action, not upon the agency or action of others. But this is not the time to elaborate on what I told the missionaries about goals. Instead I will share some other applications of the principle of timing, giving illustrations from our personal lives.
Because of things over which we have no control, we cannot plan and bring to pass everything we desire in our lives. Many important things will occur in our lives that we have not planned, and not all of them will be welcome. Even our most righteous desires may elude us or come in different ways or at different times than we have sought to plan.
For example, we cannot be sure that we will marry as soon as we desire. A marriage that is timely in our view may be our blessing or it may not. My wife Kristen is an example. She did not marry until many years after her mission and her graduation.
The timing of marriage is perhaps the best example of an extremely important event in our lives that is almost impossible to plan. Like other important mortal events that depend on the agency of others or the will and timing of the Lord, marriage cannot be anticipated or planned with certainty. We can and should work for and pray for our righteous desires, but despite this, many will remain single well beyond their desired time for marriage.
So what should be done in the meantime? Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ prepares us for whatever life brings. This kind of faith prepares us to deal with life’s opportunities—to take advantage of those that are received and to persist through the disappointments of those that are lost. In the exercise of that faith, we should commit ourselves to the priorities and standards we will follow on matters we do not control and persist faithfully in those commitments, whatever happens to us because of the agency of others or the timing of the Lord. When we do this, we will have a constancy in our lives that will give us direction and peace. Whatever the circumstances beyond our control, our commitments and standards can be constant.
The commitments and service of adult singles can anchor them through the difficult years of waiting for the right time and the right person. Their commitments and service can also inspire and strengthen others. Wise are those who make this commitment: I will put the Lord first in my life, and I will keep His commandments. The performance of that commitment is within everyone’s control. We can fulfill that commitment without regard to what others decide to do, and that commitment will anchor us no matter what timing the Lord directs for the most important events in our lives.
Do you see the difference between committing to what you will do, in contrast with trying to plan that you will be married by the time you graduate or that you will earn at least X amount of dollars on your first job?
If we have faith in God and if we are committed to the fundamentals of keeping His commandments and putting Him first in our lives, we do not need to plan every single event—even every important event—and we should not feel rejected or depressed if some things—even some very important things—do not happen at the time we had planned or hoped or prayed.
Commit yourself to put the Lord first in your life, keep His commandments, and do what the Lord’s servants ask you to do. Then your feet are on the pathway to eternal life. Then it does not matter whether you are called to be a bishop or a Relief Society president, whether you are married or single, or whether you die tomorrow. You do not know what will happen. Do your best on what is fundamental and personal and then trust in the Lord and His timing.
Life has some strange turns. I will share some personal experiences that illustrate this.
When I was a young man I thought I would serve a mission. I graduated from high school in June 1950. Thousands of miles away, one week after that high school graduation, a North Korean army crossed the 38th parallel, and our country was at war. I was 17 years old, but as a member of the Utah National Guard, I was soon under orders to prepare for mobilization and active service. Suddenly, for me and for many other young men of my generation, the full-time mission we had planned or hoped for was not to be.
Another example: After I served as president of Brigham Young University for nine years, I was released. A few months later the governor of the state of Utah appointed me to a 10-year term on the supreme court of the state. I was then 48 years old. My wife June and I tried to plan the rest of our lives. We wanted to serve the full-time mission neither of us had been privileged to serve. We planned that I would serve 20 years on the state supreme court. Then, at the end of two 10-year terms, when I would be nearly 69 years old, I would retire from the supreme court and we would submit our missionary papers and serve a mission as a couple.
I had my 69th birthday two years ago and was vividly reminded of that important plan. If things had gone as we planned, I would have submitted papers to serve a mission with my wife June.
Four years after we made that plan I was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles—something we never dreamed would happen. Realizing then that the Lord had different plans and different timing than we had assumed, I resigned as a justice of the supreme court. But this was not the end of the important differences. When I was 66, my wife June died of cancer. Two years later I married Kristen McMain, the eternal companion who now stands at my side.
How fundamentally different my life is than I had sought to plan! My professional life has changed. My personal life has changed. But the commitment I made to the Lord—to put Him first in my life and to be ready for whatever He would have me do—has carried me through these changes of eternal importance.
Faith and trust in the Lord give us the strength to accept and persist, whatever happens in our lives. I did not know why I received a “no” answer to my prayers for the recovery of my wife of many years, but the Lord gave me a witness that this was His will, and He gave me the strength to accept it. Two years after her death, I met the wonderful woman who is now my wife for eternity. And I know that this also was the will of the Lord.

The storm came up quickly. It was blinding white. I was driving from one state to another, and I could hardly see. My white-knuckled hands gripped the steering wheel as I searched for any sort of landmark. I felt relieved when I made out two taillights from what must have been a semi-truck. Their red beam gave me something to follow.
I inched along behind the truck for almost an hour. I thought the cars passing me must be crazy for going so fast in this weather. I was certain that I would see the wreckage of one of them farther up the road.
Turns out the people in those cars had a far better perspective than I did. As I started to climb a mountain pass, my little car couldn’t keep up with the taillights. When the truck pulled ahead of me, I realized the “blizzard” was actually powder coming off its very snowy top. It was only snowing lightly, and I could actually see the road quite clearly.
Had I seen the whole picture from the beginning, I would have realized that the truck in front of me that I’d thought was a beacon was, in fact, the reason for the storm. Sometimes we get so caught up in our own personal blizzards that we miss the big picture. The Lord knows our big picture, even when we do not. If we trust in Him, we can avoid the personal blizzards that can be so harmful to us, and we can make it through the storm safely.
Kari B., Virginia, USA

May I share with you how my earthly father taught me to discover my identity and God’s plan in my life?
One Saturday morning when I was 13 years old, I was mowing the grass as part of my weekly chores. When I finished, I heard the door close at the back of our house and looked to see my father calling me to join him. I walked to the back porch, and he invited me to sit with him on the steps. It was a beautiful morning. I still recall him sitting so close to me that our shoulders were touching. He began by telling me he loved me. He asked me what my goals were in life. I thought, “Well, that’s easy.” I knew two things for sure: I wanted to be taller, and I wanted to go camping more often. I was a simple soul. He smiled, paused for a moment, and said: “Steve, I’d like to share something with you that’s very important to me. I’ve prayed that our Heavenly Father will cause what I say now to be indelibly imprinted in your mind and on your soul so that you’ll never forget.”
My father had my full attention in that moment. He turned and looked at me in the eyes and said, “Son, protect the private times of your life.” There was a long pause as he let the meaning sink deep into my heart.
He then continued, “You know, those times when you’re the only one around and no one else knows what you’re doing? Those times when you think, ‘Whatever I do now doesn’t affect anyone else, only me’?”
Then he said, “More than any other time in your life, what you do during the private times of your life will have the greatest impact on how you confront challenges and heartache you will face; and what you do during the private times of your life will also have a greater impact on how you confront the successes and joy you will experience than any other time in your life.”
My father received the wish of his heart. The sound and cadence of his voice, and the love I felt in his words, were indelibly imprinted in my mind and on my soul that day.
I have learned over the years that the greatest miracle of that day on the steps of my childhood home was that, in the private times of my life, I could go to God in prayer to receive revelation. My father was teaching me how I could learn of God’s foreordained blessings. In those private moments, I learned the Book of Mormon is the word of God. I learned God had foreordained me to serve a mission. I learned that God knows me and hears and answers my prayers. I learned that Jesus is the Christ, our Savior and Redeemer.
Though I have made many mistakes since that memorable day with my father, striving to protect the private times of my life has remained an anchor amid the storms of life and has enabled me to seek safe haven and the healing, strengthening blessings of our Savior’s love and atoning sacrifice.

“I always had in the back of my mind the thought that one day I would be a missionary. When I was old enough to serve on a mission, there was a terrible depression, and Dad was out of work. I did all kinds of odd jobs to earn and save enough money for a mission. I still remember the day I received my call: My boss, who was not a Mormon, called me in and told me he was very proud that one of his boys had been called to be a missionary. He gave me a check for fifty dollars, which in those days kept a missionary going for three months. I was called to New Zealand, and I served there for three full years. When I arrived there, I remember thinking that I was going to help those people become good, solid Christians. But after three years, I realized that they had taught me as much about being a good Christian as I had taught them—lessons of patience, kindness, gentleness, and compassion. Their Polynesian life-style was different from anything I had ever seen, and it was beautiful to see. That mission experience really changed my life and gave it new direction.

The importance of not mistreating others is highlighted in an anecdote about Hillel the Elder, a Jewish scholar who lived in the first century before Christ. One of Hillel’s students was exasperated by the complexity of the Torah—the five books of Moses with their 613 commandments and associated rabbinic writings. The student challenged Hillel to explain the Torah using only the time that Hillel could stand on one foot. Hillel may not have had great balance but accepted the challenge. He quoted from Leviticus, saying, “Thou shalt not avenge, nor bear any grudge against the children of thy people, but thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” Hillel then concluded: “That which is hateful unto you, do not do to your neighbor. This is the whole of the Torah; the rest is commentary. Go forth and study.”

Grandmother also composed poems and hymns and was a great example of obedience to the law of tithing. She grew flowers and sold them at market, and from the proceeds kept the Lord’s portion in a little plastic purse. She was deeply spiritual and taught the gospel to all of her family. Once when my father resisted her, she told him that one day he would bear his testimony from the pulpit.

“That’s something you’ll never see,” he replied. But eventually both he and my mother, as well as we children, served full-time missions in different parts of the world, including El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Uruguay, and Spain.

The snow lay in a thick blanket all around our small farmhouse. Inside, the warm, cheery lights were a sharp contrast to the cold dreariness outside. It was the first Christmas Eve that our family had spent together in the last five years. My oldest brother had been away at college and hadn’t had the money to return for every Christmas. My older sister, who had been married for three years, was visiting with her husband. For the first time in a long time, our family felt complete.
That Christmas Eve was a special one and has given me many fond memories. Bright lights sparkled on the Christmas tree that blessed the room with its scent. Everywhere festive holly, garland, wreaths, or some other ornamentation decorated the house. The sounds of laughter mixed with the faint Christmas carols that came from my sisters singing to each other in the upstairs bedrooms. From the kitchen drifted the heavenly aromas of turkey, potatoes, and pumpkin pie.
It was in the midst of this happy scene that I heard my mother calling me from the kitchen. Slowly I pushed myself up from the floor, where I had been sitting listening to one of my brother’s stories about college, and dragged myself into the kitchen.
My mother was wrapping up a beautiful golden pumpkin pie.
“James,” she said without looking up. “I need you to run this pie over to Clair. I promised him that I would bring it, but I just don’t have the time. Thank you!”
I opened my mouth to protest, but she had already hustled me out the door so I had no chance to argue. I couldn’t believe it. It was Christmas Eve, all of my family was having a great time, and I was stuck driving alone in the snow to a strange old man’s house to deliver a pie.
It was barely noon, but already a gray dreariness hung in the sky. The icy wind had picked up and the dark clouds hung low, giving every indication of an impending snowstorm. With luck I wouldn’t be gone long, and I’d beat the storm back home. I climbed into the old pickup and started the engine.
Clair was our closest neighbor, but it still took a while to get to his house. I didn’t know much about him, not even his last name. His wife had died before I was born, and all of his children were grown, married, and lived far away. I supposed he was at least 80 years old, just a lonely old hermit. The rest of his farm had been sold a long time ago, but he still lived in the same house, the house he had built himself. My mom said he flatly refused to leave, even when his children begged him to move in with one of them. He even refused to go to visit them over Christmas. He would say, “I just can’t leave my home.” His home now was really little more than a two-room shack. It was old, weak, and run-down—much like the man who lived in it—but he loved it.
When I pulled up to the shack, I wasn’t surprised to see that all the lights were off. After all, I thought, it was the holidays and even Clair must have some friends to visit somewhere, right? Still, I had a pie to deliver, so I decided to make sure no one was home. I knocked lightly and waited. After a few minutes, I tried the door handle. The door opened easily.
“Who is it?” a voice growled.
“It’s James from down the road,” I answered above the rising wind.
“What do you want?” the voice asked.
“I brought you this pie …” I began.
“What kind of pie?” he demanded.
“I think it’s pumpkin.”
“Well bring it in and shut the door. It’s awfully cold outside.”
“Yes, sir,” I answered, ducking inside. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. I flipped the switch and the lights flickered on. The small room was a far cry from the cheeriness of my own home. I shivered slightly.
“Excuse me, sir,” I said softly. “Is there a reason it’s so cold in here?”
“Of course there’s a reason,” he snapped. “Would I be sitting here in the blasted cold for no reason? I just don’t have the strength to build a fire, that’s all. And stop calling me ’sir.’ My name’s Clair.”
Without waiting for permission, I started building a fire in the cold fireplace. It wasn’t long before the light and warmth of the fire was spreading all about the small room.
“Much better,” I said.
The fire seemed to lift the old man’s spirits as well. Cheerfully, he demanded, “Well now, James. Let’s cut up that pumpkin pie, shall we?”
I really wanted to get back home and was tempted to excuse myself, but one look at the lonely man’s expectant face, and all I could do was ask where the forks and plates were. As I was serving large helpings for both of us, Clair said, “Of course I would be doing this if I had the strength, but since my illness, some days it’s just too hard.”
I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t even known he was sick.
When we had finished one piece of pie, and I was dishing up another, I finally asked him, “How could you raise five kids in a house like this?”
After I said it, I realized how rude it must have sounded, but he didn’t seem to notice. He thought a moment and said, “Well now, James, just because this house is small doesn’t mean it wasn’t big enough. There was plenty of room for love, and this house has seen a lot of it.”
“But why do you still live here all alone?”
“Oh, I’m not alone at all,” he sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Sure I could go live with my children or grandchildren and be surrounded by people. But here I’m surrounded by memories. This house has seen better days, happy days full of laughter, love, and joy.
“Christmases were never this dull before. We’d have a large tree in that corner with all the children’s presents underneath it. Their stockings would hang above the fire, and in years when the farm was doing well, there would be twice as many presents and a big turkey dinner as well.”
Clair paused and leaned forward intently. “But it wasn’t the turkey, the presents, the tree, or anything else that made Christmas special, James. It was having our family together, sharing our lives and love. That is what made Christmas a happy time. The outside world could go on its merry way, or even end for all we cared. When we were close together nothing else mattered. And now that everyone close to me is gone, I can still sit alone remembering those happy times and it’s like they’re all here.
The silence that followed as I thought of what he had said was suddenly broken by a fierce howl of the wind. It startled both of us, and I hurried outside. The storm had hit suddenly and viciously. The snow swirled all around so that I could barely see a few feet in front of me. I walked a few feet away from the house and tripped over a large pine bough that had broken off in the wind. I ran back into the house with the branch in my hand.
Clair looked at me in puzzlement, but I didn’t say anything until I had the branch standing up in a corner, supported by some books.
“There!” I said with satisfaction.
“What is it?” Clair asked.
“It’s your Christmas tree, of course.”
Clair looked at it, frowning. Then he started to laugh. It was a wheezy, tired laugh; but it grew steadily stronger, as if he were just out of practice. I couldn’t help joining him.
And so, with the wind shrieking outside, the snow piling up deeper and the day growing later, Clair and I set about decorating the tree. Clair had given his decorations away to his children, so we cut paper snowflakes and strung popcorn. Then I draped them over the little branches according to Clair’s directions. I tried to get Clair to sing Christmas carols with me, but he protested, saying he was too old. No amount of coaxing seemed to work, so I sang twice as loud.
When we were finished, we sat in silence, admiring our work. The sorry little tree only stood three feet high. No fancy presents lay beneath it, and no lights shone from its branches. But we both agreed it was the prettiest Christmas tree we had ever seen. It was even more beautiful to me than the lavishly decorated tree at home.
That thought gave me an idea.
“Clair,” I asked, “how would you like to come home with me and spend Christmas with my family?”
Clair looked almost angry. “James, I already said that I didn’t want to be surrounded by a bunch of people when I’m perfectly happy here.” He paused for a moment. “I’m not going to burden your folks when I’ve got my own home.”
“You won’t be a burden,” I said. “They’ll love it.” When I saw that he wasn’t going to budge, I added softly, “And besides, no amount of memories can replace the love of living human beings.”
Clair looked away in silence. For a few minutes he sat stubbornly still. Then I saw tears fill his eyes and he asked, “What about our tree?”
I grinned. “We’ll leave it here and it will be waiting when you get back.”
“All right, I’ll go, but just for an hour or so.” He sighed heavily, but I could see the twinkle in his eyes.
In the increasing dimness of the dying firelight I gathered a few things that Clair wanted to take so that he could still have his memories with him for Christmas. By now the snow was so bad I could hardly see my way to the truck and had to use the wall of the house to guide me. As we pulled away from Clair’s house, I looked in the rearview mirror. Through the snow, the house was just a dark form, a place where, minutes before, Clair and I had shared a pumpkin pie. The little house that had been built with such loving care was just a house, I realized.
But for some reason, I felt a strange sense of peace—glad that the little house could have had one more happy memory. Clair must have felt this same peace, for he began to sing softly, “Silent Night, Holy Night.”
All the way home we sang Christmas carols. Despite the slow treacherous drive, we were home sooner than I had expected. It was late and I knew my mom was worried, but I quickly explained what had happened. The family welcomed Clair as if he were one of us.
The next morning, Clair’s daughter arrived unexpectedly with her husband and children. They had come to surprise him for Christmas, and after a few days of pleading, he gave in and went to live with her family. Before he left he said something to me about thanks for showing him that love comes from people, not places. He telephoned Christmas Day every year until he passed away. And now, when I look back at my favorite Christmas memory, it is not one of a big Christmas feast, a bright Christmas tree, or even the beautiful sound of my sisters singing carols. Rather, it is the memory of eating pumpkin pie in a small, lonely shack, a humble three-foot branch decorated with paper and popcorn, and the memory of a lonely old man singing “Silent Night” that fills my heart with love.

“If I weren’t a Mormon” seemed to be my favourite phrase this month. If I weren’t a Mormon I wouldn’t be getting up at 5:30 in the morning, braving 6° C. and less temperatures just to go to seminary. If I weren’t a Mormon I’d be more accepted at school, and I’d have fun going to “all weekend” parties with friends, and I wouldn’t have to put up with all those jokes aimed at my religious beliefs. If I weren’t a Mormon life would be so much easier.
When I finally reached school that morning I was cranky, depressed, and tired. I wouldn’t be like this if I weren’t a Mormon, I thought. I missed the bus because Dad likes long family prayers. And Mum couldn’t drive me because she had to go to some Relief Society meeting.
I was late for class so I took a shortcut through the back of the library where I saw my ex-boyfriend embracing a “perfect 10” blonde. We had stopped going out because I wasn’t willing to compromise my standards. Seeing those two together was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I ran into a nearby empty room and cried.
When I finally made it to class I slipped into my seat just before I was marked absent. The daily notice sheet was read out loud reminding us of the upcoming long weekend and the camp planned at The Entrance, a coastal holiday town about five hours north of Sydney, Australia. That’s just what I needed. I wondered if Dad and Mum would let me go? No, they wouldn’t because I have to go to church Sunday and I have to go to family home evening Monday.
I was so bored in maths that I calculated how much more pocket money I’d have and all the things I could buy if I didn’t have to pay tithing.
The next morning the alarm went off at 5:30 as usual. Time to go to seminary again. Why should I have to go? Why get up at 5:30 every morning? Then I heard Mum’s cheery voice telling me that if I didn’t get up I’d be late.
The topic that morning was, “What has Joseph Smith done for you?” I could answer that easily. If it weren’t for Joseph Smith I wouldn’t be a Mormon.
“Will you read Doctrine and Covenants, section 122, verses seven and eight, please?” my teacher asked.
Wearily, I took out my scriptures and started reading. At first I was not really listening, but then something made me start to pay attention to the words.
“And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.”
I choked out the last verse, tears brimming. “The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he?”
A few days later I was standing on the balcony of the Opera House, watching the boats on the water under the harbour bridge. I couldn’t remember why I had felt so restricted because of my religion. My problems seemed pretty small and insignificant compared to those of Jesus Christ and Joseph Smith. I felt selfish as I asked myself, “Art thou greater than he?”
I was standing on a balcony overlooking the greatest harbour in the world in the greatest country in the world. The lights of Sydney seemed to be towering and challenging the stars above. “I’m so proud of my country,” I said to myself. “It’s so full of unique beauty, people, and culture. I thank God for our beautiful flora, fauna, and freedom. And I’m proud to be a part of the ever-growing and only true church in the world.”
My favourite phrase still is, “If I weren’t a Mormon,” but in a different way. If I weren’t a Mormon I wouldn’t have such a wonderful family, such great friends, and such a clear understanding of the purpose of life.
By the way, I calculated how much tithing I have paid, and when I look at how much God has given me, there’s no comparison.

Thompson remembered from his boyhood in Norway speeding down mountains on skis. Why can’t mail be delivered this way, he reasoned.

In January of 1856, Thompson set out on his first mail run from Placerville, California, on the western slope of the Sierras, to Carson Valley on the east side, nearly one hundred miles away. To travel on top of the snow, he wore ten-foot-long, twenty-five-pound runners that he had whittled himself. Observers and Thompson both called them Norwegian snowshoes.

His first winter trip might have been Thompson’s last, because at one point he mistakenly trusted a snowbridge across a chasm. It had seemed firm and solidly frozen, but when he reached the center, it began to pull away from the cliff behind him. Fortunately, he managed to grab a tough pine root on the cliff ahead just as the bridge collapsed and fell into the rocky abyss below. He thanked God and vowed he would never make that mistake again.

As he went on, he had to judge correctly the safety of the icy crust of fifty-foot drifts. He kept his bearings by observing trees, wind direction, rock and mountain formations. When nighttime came, he stayed on course by observing the stars. He slept warmly at night by setting a stump afire, hollowing a cave in a snowdrift facing the fire, and lining the cave with pine boughs.

It took three days’ travel for the longer, steeper climbs of the eastward crossing and two days to return to California. When the citizens of Placerville, California, heard Thompson’s High Sierra whoops as he skimmed down the last slope carrying mail from Carson Valley, they cheered. “Snowshoe Thompson!” they shouted, and the name “Snowshoe” was born.

“Eight, nine, ten. Hooray!” I cheered as I counted my last dollar. “Mom, I’ve finally earned enough money to buy the space shuttle.”
“That’s great, Jacob,” Mom said. “You’ve worked hard, and you’ve wanted that model for a long time.”
She was right. For the last month, I’d been mopping floors, watering plants, taking out garbage—and thinking about the space shuttle model. It had cool flag stickers for the wings and booster rockets that snapped off.
“Can we go to the store now?” I asked.
“It’s almost dinnertime,” Mom said. “Then it will be time for family home evening. But we could go tomorrow after school.”
“OK,” I said. One more day wouldn’t hurt.
After dinner, Dad spread out 10 pennies, 10 dimes, and 10 one-dollar bills on the living room floor.
“Tonight we’re going to talk about tithing,” Dad said.
“What’s that?” asked my four-year-old brother, Willy.
“It’s money we give to Heavenly Father,” Dad said. “It’s one-tenth of what we earn.”
“What’s one-tenth?” I asked. I knew it was a fraction. But in second grade we had only learned about halves and thirds.
“There’s a simple way to remember,” Dad said. “It’s a dime from a dollar, a penny from a dime.”
“What happens to our tithing?” Tod asked.
“It helps the Church grow,” Dad said. “Some of it is used to build new church buildings and temples.”
We practiced paying tithing with the dollars, dimes, and pennies on the floor. It was fun to play with all that money.
But then I thought of my own dollars. I had a sinking feeling. Did I owe one of those dollars for tithing?
“Do I have to pay tithing on my space-shuttle dollars?” I asked. But I didn’t really want to hear the answer. I was tired of mopping floors.
“Well,” Dad said, “one of those dollars you earned belongs to Heavenly Father. But no one forces you to pay tithing. It’s something you choose to do.”
For the rest of the night, I thought about doing the right thing—that is, when I wasn’t thinking about the space shuttle. Would it hurt to skip tithing this time? Surely one dollar wouldn’t make much difference to the Church.
The next day I raced home after school. “Let’s go buy the space shuttle, Mom,” I called.
“OK,” she said. “Get your brothers, and we’ll be on our way.”
In the car I wondered if I was doing the right thing. I wanted to pay tithing, but I really, really wanted the space shuttle.
At the store I went straight to the model aisle and grabbed the box. For some reason, though, holding the box didn’t feel as good as I thought it would. And the longer I held it, the worse it felt.
Holding the dollars in my other hand didn’t feel right either. Maybe it was because I knew one of them didn’t belong to me. Last night Dad said one-tenth isn’t very much to give to Heavenly Father when you think of everything He gives to us.
“Mom,” I said quietly, “are there any jobs I can do to earn some more money?”
“There are always lots of jobs,” Mom said.
“Maybe I should buy the space shuttle in a few days. Can we come back?”
“Sure,” Mom said.
On the way home, I held nine dollars in one hand and one in the other. I felt a little disappointed. But I didn’t wonder if I was doing the right thing. I knew I was.

When I was young, we moved to the city of Cartagena. Many boys there were smoking marijuana. I feel that I was blessed because I was never invited to do it. When I was ten or eleven, I became a Boy Scout. I was the only one in my public school, so I was chosen to be the leader for many things, and I wore my uniform in parades. I remember collecting things for the poor people in the city. I remember the joy of giving.

The way for you to be happy is to love others and to be obedient. You can set a good example at school and in your family. You can also set an example as a good citizen of your country. If we want to have strong nations, they must start with you children.

The farm is busy today! Liam uses his hands to give the rabbits their food. He feels their soft fur with his fingers. Then Liam’s eyes spot some tools that need to be put away. He makes sure the shovel and hammer go in their right places in the barn. Liam hears Mom calling! His ears listen. Mom is going to make breakfast. She asks Liam to crack eggs into a bowl. Liam is glad he can use his hands, eyes, and ears to help!

During that week the missionaries’ preaching brought success. On Wednesday they interviewed a Mr. Wilkeson, who was a leader in the Mount Pleasant Methodist group. “He could not stand our words,” the diary reads. “Whether he will receive the truth the Lord only knows. He seemed honest.” Thursday, a wet day, their preaching at Weathersford drew only a small congregation. But at Mount Pleasant that evening a fine meeting developed: “One man, [Eleazer] Nickerson declared his full belief in the truth of the work. Is with his wife who is also convinced to be baptized on Sunday. Great excitement prevails in every place where we have been. The result we leave in the hand of God.”

“You’re too holy.”
Twelve-year-old Ian Caloobanan was astounded at his friend’s words. He didn’t consider himself holy.
His friend continued, “Ever since you joined the Mormons, you’ve become a killjoy. You don’t drink with us anymore. You don’t have fun with us on Sunday. You’re too holy.”
The words hurt, and yet … what else could he do? He had been baptized and now held the Aaronic Priesthood. He had changed, and as far as Ian was concerned, he had changed for the better. But holy? Well, maybe not yet.
Ian, who lives in the Las Piñas Philippines Stake, was baptized when he was 10. When the elders gave him the lessons, they asked him to pray to know that the Church was true. He did. “I felt happy and very light,” he says. He realized later that it was the Holy Ghost bearing testimony of the truth to him.
Before he joined the Church, Ian used to drink tea with his friends. He also went to cheering practice on Sundays, preparing to lead cheers at his school’s sporting events. But he stopped doing those things. Instead, he started going to church, even though he is the only one in his family who does. His father supports Ian in his Church attendance, and his stepmother, who is not a member, takes him to church and then picks him up afterward.
When asked why he comes to church when it would be easier to stay home, he says simply, “I come because I want to keep my faith strong.”
“Ian is a good example of what it means to be a disciple of Jesus Christ,” his bishop says. “He faithfully comes to church, and he doesn’t get upset. He has many friends here. He was excited to receive the priesthood and asked his father to buy him a white shirt so he could wear it when he passes the sacrament.”
Ian’s joy at finding the gospel is hard to contain. He has given one of his teachers a copy of the Book of Mormon and invited him to meet with the missionaries. Some of his schoolmates respect him for his new standards and have asked him questions about the gospel. Others ridicule him.
Ian just keeps on keeping the commandments the best he can.
Having experienced a measure of joy as well as persecution in joining the Church, Ian has wise counsel for all of us: “Keep the faith. Study the scriptures. Pray. Trust in Jesus Christ. Commit yourself to living the gospel. Change for the better.”
And isn’t that what Church membership is supposed to do? Help us change for the better. Help us, eventually, become what Jesus wants us to be—holy.

I was on a basketball team when I was in third grade. After playing the first and second quarters, we’d practice shooting the basketball during halftime. One boy never brought a ball but always tried to get mine away from me and play keep away. It happened every halftime, and it wasn’t much fun.
My mom and I decided that we needed to do something about it—but what? We could talk to his parents, we could confront him about it, but neither seemed the right thing to do. After thinking about it, we decided to bring another ball for him to play with.
At the beginning of halftime of the next game, before he could start his tricks, I handed him my basketball and said, “Why don’t you use this?” He stopped for a minute, then started shooting baskets. I went to the bench and got the other ball from my mom and started shooting baskets, too. He saw me and said, “Oh, you brought another ball.” But he didn’t try to take it from me. I kept bringing two balls and sharing one with him. After about three games, he started bringing his own ball.
Was what I did hard to do? No. I learned that sharing is better than bringing one thing and not sharing and that sometimes we have to go even farther, if the other person isn’t willing to share with us.
I still bring two basketballs to my games. After all, you never know who needs a little extra friendship.

The Summiteers (girls who’ve certified in the camping program) agreed. Though smaller by about half in numbers, they were no less enthusiastic about their own independent campsite and schedule. Like the Adventurers, the Summiteers represented a cross section of wards and stakes.
This group made no duty roster. Instead, “everyone pitched in when the work needed to be done. The whole campsite was a group effort.”
The Summiteers did have one planned activity—an overnight canoe trip across Sylvan Lake. It began as a survival trip, “but by departure time, we’d packed a little food in the canoes.” Feeling like true mountain explorers, the group at one point had to make their precarious way through a patch of bullrushes where one canoe got stuck.
“The lake was calm as a mirror that night,” they recalled. “You almost hated to disturb it with your paddle. And the forest was quiet. For a few hours there, we were the only people in the world.”
Even though they ended up packing food, the girls felt that they possessed the necessary knowledge to live off the land.
“Not many girls could eat a snake or a gopher,” one confessed, “but we do know what kinds of edible vegetation to look for. We’ve had enough training to be able to survive.”

Sometime later, I was home one evening with my brothers and sisters. We heard a whining noise coming from outside. We went to the window and peered out into the darkness. Soon, Major, our large German shepherd, passed through the light from the window. We could see something was terribly wrong! Fearfully my older brother and I went outside and were able to get Major back into the light and see why he was trembling in pain. He had had an encounter with a porcupine, and countless quills had been thrust into his nose, mouth, tongue, and chest.
Immediately we called for my father to come home. He had been working late at the college. He came quickly and sadly announced, “We will probably have to put him to sleep.” We understood what that meant, and, through our tears, we said, “If you are going to put Major to sleep, you will have to put us to sleep first.”
Dad had no choice but to pull out the quills one by one. We watched in agony as Major winced and howled in pain as each quill tore away some of his flesh.
It was not long until he had fully recovered and was back on duty, faithfully protecting us and our farm from all intruders. Unfortunately, some months later, he had another encounter with a porcupine and had to suffer all that pain again.