Gospel Story Finder

Paul loved to save dimes. He saved shiny new dimes and tarnished old dimes. He saved the dimes he received for his birthday.
Grandma would give Paul dimes after he pulled the weeds in her flower garden. Grandpa would give Paul dimes for helping him herd the cows into the barn for milking.
Father would give Paul dimes for helping with the yard work. Mother would give him dimes for watching his little brother.
Paul had a lot of dimes, but no place to keep them. He put dimes in his sneakers, but they hurt his feet when he walked. He put dimes in his pockets, but they fell out when he ran and jumped. So Paul took all his dimes and put them on his dresser. He kept putting more and more dimes on his dresser. Soon the top of the dresser was full of dimes.
One morning at breakfast Mother said, “You have so many dimes on your dresser that I can’t dust it.”
“And I have no place to set my new goldfish,” said his big brother.
“I have an idea,” said Father. “I’ll show you when I come home from work today.”
When Father came home, he was carrying a box. He handed it to Paul. Inside it were many green paper tubes, an envelope with the bishop’s name on it, and a small jar.
“How will these help me with my dimes?” asked Paul.
“Come with me, and I’ll show you,” said Father.
They went to Paul’s room. Paul made lots of piles by counting ten dimes into each pile. Father had him put one dime from each pile into the envelope. Then Paul recounted the remaining dimes the same way. Every time he had five piles of ten dimes, Father put them into a green tube and closed it. When no more tubes could be filled, Paul put the leftover dimes into the jar and put it on the dresser.
“What do we do now?” Paul asked.
“Let’s see how much money you put in the envelope so that we can fill out the tithing slip,” said Father. “Then you can take your tithing money to the bishop on Sunday. Tomorrow after work I’ll take you to the bank, where you can turn in your rolls of dimes. The bank will keep your money in a savings account.”
The next day Father took Paul to the bank. The lady behind the desk took all of Paul’s neatly wrapped dimes. She gave him a small book with his name printed on it. Inside, the book it told him how much money he had given the lady.
On Sunday Paul went to the bishop’s office. He proudly gave his tithing envelope to the bishop.
“Thank you,” said the bishop. “I’m sure that the Lord will bless you for paying your tithing.”
Paul felt very happy. He knew the Lord had already blessed him.

When I would attempt to walk half a block in my neighborhood, I often experienced shortness of breath, light-headedness, and joint pain. I had been a runner previous to contracting the virus, and now I could only walk slowly. Many times I would fall on my knees to pray that I could get up and feel up. The fatigue got worse every time I tried to get up and do too much. One day I got up and my back went out. I fell to the floor in tears and pain. I cried out to Heavenly Father, “I can’t take it anymore!” He knew I was down and helped me up once again. I would often tell myself, “Just hold on.” There was not much else I could do. By choosing to hold on to hope in Christ and continually calling upon the Lord, I was able to press on.

Sally Millerchip’s introduction was a bit different. “I lived across the road from the Grices from the age of two,” she explains. “I always wanted to join their church one day, but my family said no. They sent me to a parochial school. I always had questions about many things.”
So she kept in touch with the Grice girls. “I attended church with them on and off for three years,” she admits. Then came Sharline’s baptism. “I had such a good feeling inside,” she recalls. “During the testimony time, I sat next to Rachael and could clearly hear the Spirit whispering to me, ‘Go on up there.’ I tried to explain to Rachael, asking her to come with me. Rachael hesitated, so I told Sarah I had to go up. She was really surprised. Eventually we walked up to the stand together, and I was just able to say, ‘I know this church is true,’ before bursting into tears.”
Sarah’s tears were spirit filled also. Prior to Sally’s desire to see Sharline baptized, Sarah had been earnestly praying about her friend. “I really wanted Sally to accept the gospel,” she says, “and when she only came to church on and off for so long, I pleaded with the Lord that she would have an answer to her searching. When I heard her testimony, I knew my prayers were being answered.”
Sally’s own baptism seemed like a miracle too. “My Dad said I must wait until I’m 18,” she recalls. “Two years is a long time, so we all prayed about it—the missionary sisters included.”
Gradually Mr. Millerchip’s time limitations decreased to a year—then six months. “I never gave up praying,” Sally says. “Then one day I decided to set a goal date of 17th March, because Sister Dickerson would be returning home to the States after that, and I wanted her to be there. I told my mum about it, knowing she would mention it to Dad. That evening I left them downstairs and went to my room. I prayed very hard. I also asked the Lord for both parents to come to my baptism.”
Next morning Sally was getting ready for school. As she passed the kitchen door on the way out, her father called, “So you want to be baptized on the 17th, do you? Well, you can’t.” Sally’s heart sank. “Not the 17th,” he went on, “because I’m out walking that weekend, but if you want to be baptized on the 10th, then that’s okay with me.”
“And he did attend,” smiles Sally. “He came in frosty and went home warmed.”

A while ago, my parents went away for a few days and I stayed with my grandmother. When it was time for bed, she said: “Megan, come say your bedtime prayer.”
“I don’t know how,” I said.
“It’s easy,” she explained. “You start out by calling upon Heavenly Father. Then you thank Him for your blessings. After that you can ask Him for whatever you need. It’s also important to ask Him to help other people. Then you end your prayer by saying ‘in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.’”
“That doesn’t sound so hard.”
“It isn’t,” she replied. “Let’s try it.”
Every night after that, I said my prayers and my grandmother helped me. The last night I was with her, she sat down on the bed beside me and put her arm around my shoulders. Her eyes were kind, and her voice sounded quiet and serious.
“Megan,” she said, “I want you to remember that your Heavenly Father loves you and that He is always near. Don’t forget to talk to Him. Since I’ve joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I know that it’s very important to stay close to Heavenly Father and Jesus. You will be much happier and have a more peaceful life. I know that your parents aren’t interested in the Church at this time, but maybe someday they will be.”
After I went home, I tried really hard to do what my grandmother said. Sometimes I couldn’t think of very much to say when I prayed, and sometimes I was awfully tired. After a while I started to forget, and many days would go by before I realized I hadn’t said my prayers. When I was away from my grandmother, it didn’t seem so important anymore.
Then something happened that made me remember what my grandmother had told me. Mom and Dad and I were traveling to visit my uncle, who was sick in the hospital. It had been snowing for a long time, and the wind sounded like a siren. It was getting harder and harder to see because of all the blowing snow in the dark night. Mom said we should turn back. Dad said we should keep going because my uncle needed us. As we went around a corner, the car didn’t turn—it went straight into a ditch! We were fine, but the car was hopelessly buried in snow.
Dad went up to the highway. He was gone a long time, and when he came back, he looked cold and tired. “I couldn’t see a yard in front of my face,” he said.
“Did any cars go by?” asked Mom.
“A few, but they didn’t seem to see me. They just kept going.”
“If we start the car,” said Mom, “at least we could keep warm.”
“We need to get the car up on the road first,” said Dad. “There’s too much snow packed around it. I’m going back up to the road to see if I can get help.”
By then the wind sounded like a person who was screaming for help. My feet throbbed with cold, and I was shivering hard. I felt afraid, more afraid than I had ever felt in my whole life. I started to cry.
“It’s all right, Megan,” Mother said, squeezing my hand. “Your father will take care of us.”
When Mom said “father,” I remembered that I had another father, a Heavenly Father, and that my grandmother had said He would always be there if I needed Him.
I slid off the car seat onto the cold hard floor. I knelt down and folded my hands in front of me and closed my eyes. I thanked Heavenly Father for Mom and Dad and for my two pet mice, Sylvester and Henry, and for Gladys, my goldfish. I told Him that I needed His help, and that my grandmother had told me He would help me. I asked Him to please get us out of the ditch. I told Him that I was sorry I had forgotten to say my prayers. Then I ended my prayer the way my grandmother had taught me, in the name of Jesus Christ.
“What are you doing, Megan?” Mom asked as she peered down at me.
“I was saying a prayer,” I said.
There was a moment of silence, and I thought for sure that she would get mad, but she didn’t. I heard a small coughing sound, like she was trying to get a lump out of her throat. Then she said, “I don’t suppose a prayer will hurt.”
I didn’t feel cold anymore. I felt warm and peaceful. I climbed up into the front seat beside Mom. I sang some songs. Mom even sang a few of them with me. Quite a long time passed, but things didn’t seem so bad anymore. We were in the middle of “Jesus Loves Me” when we heard a roaring sound, and a few moments later Dad opened the car door and poked his head inside.
“Get out of the car,” he said. “A truck driver’s going to pull us out with his rig.”
“Thank goodness!” Mom exclaimed. “Someone finally saw you!”
“Well, it was kind of strange,” Dad said. “This trucker was going really slow. In fact, he was hardly moving at all. When I thanked him for stopping, he told me he did it because he kept getting this feeling that he should slow down. He said the feeling got so strong that he couldn’t ignore it, so he stopped. That’s when he saw me.”
“That is strange,” said Mom.
“Thank you, Heavenly Father,” I said out loud.
Mom looked at me. Dad looked at me. Then they both looked away without saying anything at all. As I scrambled through the snow toward the truck, I knew that tonight, and every night after this, I would remember to say my prayers.

During this time, letters arrived in camp from Sam Brannan, who was now sailing for California on the Brooklyn. Among the letters was the contract promising a safe exodus for the Saints in exchange for land in the West. Brigham read the contract carefully with the apostles. If they did not sign it, Sam’s letters suggested, the president of the United States could order the Saints to disarm and cease gathering together.6

Brigham was unconvinced. As wary as he was of the government, he had already decided to try working with it rather than against it. Shortly before leaving Nauvoo, in fact, he had instructed Jesse Little, the new presiding elder in the eastern states, to lobby for the Church and accept any honorable offer from the federal government to assist the Saints’ exodus. Brigham and the apostles quickly perceived that the contract was nothing more than an elaborate scheme designed to favor the men who had drafted it. Rather than sign the agreement, the apostles decided to trust in God and look to Him for protection.7

When the temple was ready, I also helped with the setup during some of the dedication sessions. In one of them I had one of the most sacred spiritual experiences of my life.
I was asked to help in one of the corridors of the floor where the celestial room was located and just before the dedication session began, I was asked to occupy the only seat that was available within the room. It is difficult for me to put into words what I felt in that sacred place, I can only say that I wanted to keep that feeling of peace and joy for the rest of my life.

In Farmington, Utah, USA, 135 years ago, Bishop John W. Hess was concerned about the behavior of the children in his ward. He called the mothers of the ward together and talked about the importance of guiding the minds of young children.
Aurelia Spencer Rogers listened, and then discussed it with Eliza R. Snow, who visited Farmington in the spring of 1878. Sister Snow in turn met with Church President John Taylor, who authorized Bishop Hess to form an organization for children in his ward. The Farmington Ward Primary Association was formally organized on August 11, 1878, with Sister Rogers as president.
Today, approximately one million children all over the world benefit from Primary each week. Primary leaders and teachers strive to support parents in their role to help children gain testimonies of Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the restored gospel.
From a story by Rosemary M. Wixom, Jean A. Stevens, and Cheryl A. Esplin, Primary General Presidency

My mother taught us when we were very young that we must never ridicule the unfortunate. Her mother died when she was six. My mother worked in the fields from a very early age. One day some teenagers were picking fruit. One of the girls laughingly mimicked one who suffered from cerebral palsy, saying, “Look who I am,” and she named the handicapped person. They all laughed as she threw herself into a stumbling walk. Suddenly she fell as if struck down. They gathered around her in great fright. Presently she recovered, but there was no more fun at the expense of the handicapped. Mother never forgot what she saw, nor to teach a lesson from it.

When I was young, I didn’t get to spend a lot of time with my dad; he went to college all day and worked most of the night. It was really wearing him out, but he had himself, my mother, and four children to support.
I used to play with the wooden toys my dad made for us. When he had time, he made such things as blocks, wooden animals, and puzzles. But my favorite was the little knife he carved for me from a small piece of wood. It wasn’t using the knife to fight an imaginary foe that intrigued me so much—it was the fact that my dad had made it himself, just for me and no one else.
I was so proud of my dad. I thought there was nothing better than someone who could turn an ordinary piece of wood into something as magnificent as my little knife. I would just sit and hold it in my hands, looking at it and thinking about the time he spent making it for me.
Years later, when my dad was out of school and had a good daytime job, I was able to spend a little more time with him, but the value of that knife never lessened.
One day I walked outside. What I saw sent a flood of memories into my mind. My dad was sitting on the steps of our house, a pocketknife in his right hand, and in his left a piece of wood slowly taking the shape of a little knife. I could see little slivers of wood fly as he whittled and whistled a happy song. He turned to me and smiled.
Before I knew it, I was sitting right next to my dad, a pocketknife in my right hand and a piece of wood in my left. Twice as many little shavings of wood flew as my dad taught me how to carve a little knife by myself. Mine didn’t look nearly as good as his, but it was okay. My dad was sitting next to me, and that was all that mattered.
Every once in a while, I looked up at him, all smiles, to compare my knife with his, as he kept carving the wood and whistling his songs. Once he caught me looking at him and gave me a big smile and winked at me. That made me feel good because he would wink at me when he was really happy. I winked back.

Don was moved to a rehabilitation center in Denver, Colorado. He was quite unprepared for what he encountered at his new residence in the paralytic ward. Everyone seemed depressed, discouraged, and despondent. Patients could not understand how Don, who was in an equally distressing condition, could seem so happy. Some of them asked, “Why are you always so happy and smiling?” Don replied, “My smile keeps the tears from my eyes, and my laughter keeps away the feeling of unhappiness.”
With courageous determination Don took advantage of the special care he now received. Long after others would tire and leave the gymnasium, he would remain—trying, trying, trying. Through his valiant effort, accompanied by humble prayers to his Heavenly Father, he was finally strong enough to go up and down the parallel bars alone; and then he was able to walk with braces and crutches. His new mobility permitted him to attend church services. This spiritual comfort brought him great joy, but he was totally surprised by the reception he was given upon his return to the hospital. Everyone teased him for going to church! In his characteristic way, Don’s smile merely broadened at their taunting. He resolved to do something about the gloomy atmosphere in this, his new home, so he happily embarked upon the next chapter of his mission.
In the days that followed, he could be seen wheeling himself down hallways and into every room where patients would receive him, preaching the gospel to all who would listen. He became known cheerfully as “the prophet,” a title that he accepted graciously.
In the evenings he often sang as he accompanied himself with his guitar. Others began to join in, and the spirit spread. Friday nights soon became known as the time for singing and entertainment and patients joined together with singing and laughter. Patients began to smile and call each other by name.
On the night of Don’s departure, a special program was held in his behalf. His many new friends shook the rafters with a song sung in his honor: “Too Many Chiefs and Not Enough Indians Around This Place.”
The courage and spirit of this young man had affected the lives of others and left an indelible impression.
Two of the residing patients and two members of the nursing staff who waved good-bye to Don had accepted the gospel of Jesus Christ as a result of his influence. Many looked to the future with new hope, and each felt a personal loss at his departure.

On July 24, Pioneer Day, the Utah Boys decided to help the campers celebrate. With good-humored exaggeration Zeb wrote of their fun:
“We were up at daylight and called out the ‘National Guard’ [the boys] which fired a volley of musketry, and any kind of guns that were handy. Then the ‘Martial Band’ struck up ‘Hail Columbia’ (the band was composed of tin pails, pans, bake-kettle lids, bells, and various instruments of music); then there was another volley by the Guard; and at sunrise, the firing of cannon (which was about 3 inches in length), and concluded the morning performance with an Indian jig.”
That night the boys held a “grand ball” at the “Bachelors Hall,” meaning a square dance in front of their tents.

One of my favorite activities as a priesthood leader is visiting members of the Church in their homes. I especially enjoy calling upon and talking with members who commonly are described as “less active.”
During the years I served as a stake president, I often would contact one of the bishops and invite him to prayerfully identify individuals or families we could visit together. Before traveling to a home, the bishop and I would kneel and petition our Heavenly Father for guidance and inspiration, for us and for the members with whom we would meet.
Our visits were quite straightforward. We expressed love and appreciation for the opportunity to be in their home. We affirmed that we were servants of the Lord on His errand to their home. We indicated that we missed and needed them—and that they needed the blessings of the restored gospel. And at some point early in our conversation I often would ask a question like this: “Will you please help us understand why you are not actively participating in the blessings and programs of the Church?”
I made hundreds and hundreds of such visits. Each individual, each family, each home, and each answer was different. Over the years, however, I detected a common theme in many of the answers to my questions. Frequently responses like these were given:
“Several years ago a man said something in Sunday School that offended me, and I have not been back since.”
“No one in this branch greeted or reached out to me. I felt like an outsider. I was hurt by the unfriendliness of this branch.”
“I did not agree with the counsel the bishop gave me. I will not step foot in that building again as long as he is serving in that position.”
Many other causes of offense were cited—from doctrinal differences among adults to taunting, teasing, and excluding by youth. But the recurring theme was: “I was offended by …”
The bishop and I would listen intently and sincerely. One of us might next ask about their conversion to and testimony of the restored gospel. As we talked, eyes often were moist with tears as these good people recalled the confirming witness of the Holy Ghost and described their prior spiritual experiences. Most of the “less-active” people I have ever visited had a discernible and tender testimony of the truthfulness of the restored gospel. However, they were not presently participating in Church activities and meetings.
And then I would say something like this. “Let me make sure I understand what has happened to you. Because someone at church offended you, you have not been blessed by the ordinance of the sacrament. You have withdrawn yourself from the constant companionship of the Holy Ghost. Because someone at church offended you, you have cut yourself off from priesthood ordinances and the holy temple. You have discontinued your opportunity to serve others and to learn and grow. And you are leaving barriers that will impede the spiritual progress of your children, your children’s children, and the generations that will follow.” Many times people would think for a moment and then respond: “I have never thought about it that way.”
The bishop and I would then extend an invitation: “Dear friend, we are here today to counsel you that the time to stop being offended is now. Not only do we need you, but you need the blessings of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. Please come back—now.”

Tyler was playing tag with his cousins when he heard his grandma calling.
“Everyone come inside!” she said. “It’s time for dinner!”
Tyler’s whole family was together for a family reunion. Even Uncle Robert and his family had come from far away!
As everyone gathered together, Tyler noticed Grandma holding a basket. He wondered what it was for.
“I’m going to pass this basket around,” Grandma said. “It’s for your phones.”
Tyler heard several of his cousins groan.
“Our family doesn’t get together very often,” Grandma said. “This way we can listen to each other better. We can all get our phones back after dinner.”
Uncle Hyrum made a funny face. “Welcome to the No-Phone Zone!” he said as he put his phone in the basket and passed it on.
Tyler looked at his phone. He liked playing games on it, and he was waiting for a text from his best friend, Ethan. With a sigh, he put his phone in the basket and handed it to his cousin. Then he heard a ping. Was that a text for him? He barely stopped himself from reaching for the basket again.
“Thank you,” Grandma said. “Now let’s say a prayer and eat.”
After the prayer, Grandpa brought in a plate piled high with hamburgers and hot dogs from the grill. They looked delicious! Tyler helped his little brother put a burger on a bun, then grabbed a burger and two hot dogs for himself.
Grandma laughed when she saw his plate. “You eat just like your dad did when he was your age.”
Tyler smiled back. “I’m a growing boy, Grandma.”
Aunt Tracy laughed too. “That’s exactly what your dad used to say!”
After dinner, Tyler’s grandparents, aunts, uncles, and older cousins all told stories. Usually Tyler didn’t stick around to hear the grown-ups talk. But this time he didn’t want to leave the table. He’d never heard these stories before!
Tyler especially liked the stories about Dad.
“Did Dad ever get in trouble?” he asked.
“Oh yes!” Grandpa said. “He was always making crazy inventions—like toasters that also opened the blinds … or at least tried to!”
“What do you mean? All of my inventions worked perfectly!” Dad said.
Everyone laughed.
Grandma looked at Tyler. “We’re proud of your father, and we’re proud of you too!”
Tyler felt a little embarrassed, but mostly he had a happy feeling inside. Suddenly Tyler realized that he hadn’t even thought about his phone for an hour. He had been having so much fun!
When Dad said it was time to leave, Tyler gave Grandma a big hug. “Thanks, Grandma. This was the best dinner ever!”

I had the strangest feeling when the whole family left for church without me. My mother and father didn’t make half the fuss I had expected when, just before time to leave, I announced, “I don’t want to go to meeting today.”

“Oh!” Grandma said, raising an eyebrow.

“Why not, are you sick?” Mama asked.

“Sort of,” I replied. “I’m sick of listening to long, boring talks.”

“Well, sounds as though we have only a part-time Mormon,” Papa remarked.

“I am not a part-time Mormon,” I protested. “I’m one all the time.”

“Your testimony sounds a bit shaky to me,” Papa responded.

“What does a testimony have to do with going to church anyway?” I asked.

“Everything,” my sister Laura chipped in. “If a person knows the gospel is true, she tries to do what she’s supposed to.”

“You’re preaching,” I objected.

“What will you do while we’re in church?” Mama asked.

“I’ll play with Joyce and Joan and their cousins.”

“Church is out by five. You can play with them after that,” Mother suggested.

Everyone was looking at me like I had two heads. I was annoyed. Couldn’t I be different just once? I knew plenty of kids that didn’t have to go to church, and their parents didn’t go either.

“If we wait until after church, we can’t finish our hut down by the river,” I explained.

Shaking her head, Mama sighed, “So Papa is right. We do have a part-time Mormon in the family.”

Feeling hurt, I asked, “How come?”

“Just think it over,” she answered.

And off my family went to church without me. I almost ran after them as they passed through the gate, but then I overheard Laura say, “She won’t really miss meeting. She’ll catch up with us before we reach the corner.”

Well! I’ll show her, I thought.

To prevent my weakening, I changed quickly into my old sweat shirt and jeans. Already Joan and the others were calling for me over the picket fence.

I had a strong urge to shout, “I’m not going.” Instead, I met them at the gate.

Usually going to the river was exciting, but today it wasn’t. There was still time to change my mind and attend church with my folks, for they always left early. While I stood, debating, Joyce asked, “Well, what’s bothering you? Did your old cat die or something?”

“Of course not, silly. Come on, let’s go,” I answered decisively.

I didn’t feel much like talking, so I ran ahead, making the other girls race to catch up. When we came to the river, we were winded.

The river! Big deal! I thought. It’s nothing more than a trickle through sand and rocks, and I thought it would be so great!

The sun was sizzling hot, my clothes were sticky, and a rock was in my shoe. Suddenly Joyce wailed, “Oh, look! Someone has caved our hut in.”

Sure enough! All our hard work of cutting and placing tamarack branches was wasted. The hut was a wreck.

Discouraged, I plopped down against a boulder in the shade of a black willow, shaking the gravel out of my shoes. A gnat that wouldn’t be shooed away buzzed my ears.

“Who wants a tamarack hut anyway?” I snapped.

Indignantly, with hands on her hips, Joan stood before me. “Look! Something is bothering you. What is it? You’re the one who thought the hut was so important.”

“Ah, I’m all right,” I said. “I just have some thinking to do, OK? Why don’t you all forget about me and go have some fun?”

“C’mon, let’s let the old potato sit and stew,” Joan urged. “The last one in the river is a mud turtle!”

There was a scramble as the girls pulled off their shoes and stockings, and I was left alone.

I sat and thought, If I need a testimony, I’d better do something about it. All my life I’ve heard people get up in church and say what they’re thankful for. Being thankful is important. Our Heavenly Father wouldn’t want to bless us if we weren’t thankful. But a testimony must be more than that. I thought hard.

When Joseph Smith went into the woods to pray, he saw the Father and the Son. So he had a testimony. He knew Jesus Christ was the Son of God. Hot as the day was, that thought made my skin prickle, and I shivered.

In Sunday School we had talked about an angel of God coming down and showing the gold plates to the Three Witnesses of the Book of Mormon. So of course they had testimonies.

But I had never seen an angel or seen a light or heard a voice from heaven. So that’s probably why I was in this sorry state, sitting in the dirt against an old lava rock in my grubbiest clothes, while my sisters sat in church in their crisp pink and blue dresses beside Papa, Mama, and Grandma. Then like a bolt, the thought struck me! None of my family has seen or heard anymore than I have!

I learned back against that boulder ready to cry. I wanted a testimony too! “Please help me, Heavenly Father,” I prayed.

Gradually, a sweet, sweet feeling swept through me. Why, I did have a testimony. I had always had one. If I knew Joseph knew and that the Three Witnesses knew that Jesus Christ was the Son of our Heavenly Father—then naturally I knew too. How wonderful! Tears trickled down my gritty cheeks. “Thank you, Heavenly Father,” I whispered.

I ran to the riverbank where my friends were playing. “Hey, everybody, c’mere,” I called excitedly.

“Well, look who’s come alive,” Joyce said. Eagerly they came.

“Come on, let’s go home. This is no way to spend Sunday,” I told them.

Timidly one of the cousins said, “Mama and Papa would never let us do this at home.”

“Of course they wouldn’t,” I agreed. “And we’re not coming to the river anymore on Sunday. We’ll fix that hut tomorrow.”

“Then the hut matters?” Joan asked.

“Sure it does. Tamarack huts are important.”

The family was already home when I got there. I hurried and scrubbed away my disgrace. No one paid any attention to me except Mama. “Did you have a good time at the river?” she asked.

“I suffered,” I answered.

The following Sunday was fast day, and I had been saving a surprise all week for my family. I was the first one at the pulpit when it was time to bear testimonies. I knew exactly what I was going to say.

But when I looked down at the people, their faces blurred. I was scared. My heart pounded and my throat was dry. I couldn’t remember one single word I had planned to say. Lying on the pulpit was a slip of paper with the title of the closing song, “I know That My Redeemer Lives.”

Tingling from head to toe, I took a deep breath and said, “Oh, how very much I know that my Redeemer really and truly lives.” Tears began to sting my eyes. Fearing I might cry, I could only add, “in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”

Reaching my seat again, I squeezed in between Laura and Papa. His big brown hand closed over mine and his smile was broad and warm.

Carol Lyman of the Cedar 13th Ward, Cedar City Utah West Stake, told of an event that occurred when the family went to watch the oldest son, Jason, at the Cub Scout Olympics. Two-year-old Sam had been playing near an irrigation ditch, had slipped, and had fallen into the water. His six-year-old sister, Angela, immediately screamed for her mother, then grabbed her little brother, whose head was still above the water, and pulled him to safety. The rescue saved Sam from being trapped in a covered culvert extending more than 100 yards.

Living honestly is also important in our lives. Once, when I was in charge of a huge project in Italy, the people I worked with encouraged me to do something dishonest. “Everyone does it,” my coworkers said. “It’s just the way things are done.” Maybe what they were saying was true. But I refused to do something I knew was wrong. We decided together to do the honest, right thing, and our project was successful.

Finally, I would like to share with you one more interesting experience, which Brother and Sister Edwin Q. Cannon, Jr., had on their mission in West Africa.
The story concerns an outstanding black Latter-day Saint family by the name of Sampson-Davis, who reside in Accra, Ghana.
In 1963 Brother Sampson-Davis graduated with a degree in electronics from Oxford University in England and was hired by the Philips Electronics Company in Eindhoven, Holland. Sister Sampson-Davis came over from Africa to join her husband in that Dutch town, and one day she met the Mormon missionaries, received a Book of Mormon, and had the first missionary discussion in the boarding house where she was living.
I feel somewhat embarrassed, however, to tell you that the Dutch landlady with whom Sister Sampson-Davis boarded told her in no uncertain terms to have no further contact with those Mormons.
The Sampson-Davis family eventually went back to Ghana, and fifteen years later, in 1978, Sister Sampson-Davis came in contact with the Church again and faithfully started to attend the Sunday meetings. The family was taught the missionary discussions, gained a strong testimony; and Brother Ted Cannon baptized the mother, two sons, and a daughter in a swimming pool in Accra.
The oldest boy, Crosby Sampson-Davis, started to prepare himself for a mission, which resulted in his mission call earlier this year. Two weeks ago Elder Sampson-Davis left the Missionary Training Center to serve in the England Manchester Mission. Interestingly enough, the father joined the Church one month before his son left for his mission. So the whole family is now united in the faith!
Brother and Sister Cannon really have seen the fruits of their labors, and they have choice memories of the time they spent with our Heavenly Father’s children in Africa.

The entire family enjoys drama. They put on skits, puppet shows, and brief musicals during family home evenings and for summer activities. One of their favorite skits was a Western, which they did for a Primary talent show in Emmett, Idaho. Nicholas liked it because he got to fall into a pie tin filled with whipped cream. Ashley liked it because she had a beard made of chocolate—yum! Sometimes they wear animal noses and play zoo.

When asked about the reasons for his gauged ears and pierced tongue, one young man says, “I was just curious. Now, it’s my play toy,” referring to his habit of clicking the barbell through his tongue against his teeth. His tongue piercing, however, has also affected his speech.
When pressed a little more, he admits his piercings convey an inaccurate image of what he is really like. “My teachers confronted me and said I was quite a surprise. They said I wasn’t anything like the way I look. They had been expecting the worst. Some people assumed I didn’t want to graduate.”
His body piercings have affected his relationship with some friends and their parents as well as his ability to get jobs. “My friend’s dad asked me, ‘Why the change of heart?’ He won’t let me hang around with his son, my friend, as much. We were supposed to room together at college, but his dad won’t let him.”
This young man has also been turned down for jobs he has applied for, and he knows that there are certain places of business that won’t even accept his application.
Why make things more difficult for himself? This young man just shrugs off the idea that his choice has affected his life, although he does not have a difficult time listing the areas in which his choice has actually made things harder.

The youth of the Tampa Florida Stake had a great idea. They decided that every youth in the stake should have a subscription to the New Era. So they went to stake members asking for contributions to pay for the subscriptions. In return for the contributions, they pledged to finish landscaping the front of the recently completed stake center. The response from stake members was excellent, and the young men and women soon raised enough money to meet their goal. The orders were sent in, and soon every home in the stake in which a youth resided was receiving a copy of the magazine.
One day shortly before a stake conference, the young men and women of the stake showed up at the stake center and went to work landscaping. They put in turf and shrubs and soon had the place looking great. One young nonmember bicycling past thought it looked like so much fun that he stopped and joined in. As a little extra incentive, there were barbecued hot dogs for all the laborers. Because of the industry of the stake youth and the generosity of the stake membership, the stake center looks a lot better, and every youth was exposed to a potentially life-changing influence.
One of the youth to receive the magazine was Heather Duke, 14, of the Tampa Third Ward. “I like it,” she says. “I haven’t found a story yet I don’t like. It’s helped me a lot, and I’d like to keep taking it. I read it every time it comes out. I just sit down before I go to bed and read the whole thing, and my sister reads it with me.
“Before I got my gift subscription, all I knew about the New Era was that it was a Church magazine. I didn’t know it had so many interesting stories in it. I’m getting two other youth magazines, and I read the New Era more than I do those.”
Those who worked on the project received as much pleasure as those who benefited from it. Lisa Mirsky, 16, reported, “I really enjoy doing service projects. So I just started calling around the ward, and I soon had about ten sponsors. Nobody turned me down. The ward was really supportive of us. One of the first people I called said, ‘Put me down for three subscriptions.’ They were really glad to do it.” Lisa found she did not really need a slick sales pitch. “I just went out and said, ‘As a youth service project, we’re hoping you’ll contribute seven dollars for the New Era to go to the home of a youth who doesn’t have it,’ and they said, ‘Sure.’”
As always, the reward of service was happiness. “I was really happy to take part in the project. I knew it was what I was supposed to be doing, and I felt a great satisfaction in doing it. It was something that could make a real difference in people’s lives. I love the New Era myself. Whenever I get it I sit down and read it right away. First I read the Mormonisms, then the Message, and then I go on from there and read the whole thing—every month. I know that it’s helped me. I’m the only member of the Church in my family, so it’s especially welcome.” Giving the New Era has a special meaning for Lisa. “The first year I got the New Era, my best friend gave it to me as a birthday present, and I just renewed my subscription in July.” So a kind favor is passed on. “I loved the project,” she added. “I’d like to do it again.” The landscaping on the chapel also brought great satisfaction and some sincere appreciation. “The Sunday after we had done the service project, everybody said, ‘Oh, it looks so great outside!’ They loved it.”
Debbie Carter, 14, of the Tampa Third Ward, tells the same story. “It was fun. It was no trouble getting people to contribute. I telephoned people, and then I went out and picked up the money they had promised.” How many turned her down? “Nobody. I even called some inactive members, and they thought it was a great idea.”
D. Briane Adams, the stake Young Men president, helped the youth organize and carry out the project. He was thrilled with the response, both on the part of the youth and the membership of the stake. “It may be that this thing will sow seeds that won’t be evident for years. I’ve found that some of the kids come from pretty tough situations, but when given half a chance, they’ll respond in quiet, positive ways. If you were to go out and visit them and ask them to come to church, they think they’ve got an image to uphold, and they would say ‘no way!’ But if they sit down in an idle moment and pick up the New Era because there’s nothing else lying there and read about good positive experiences, they may say, ‘that’s not so bad.’ That was our whole idea. Even if we touch one kid out of the whole stake through this program, it’s well worth the effort. And you never know who’s going to come in the home. It might not be just the kid. The parents may pick it up, or some friends may look at the pictures. I think there will be benefits from this that we won’t ever know about.”
In the meantime, there are some benefits he does know about—increased enthusiasm on the part of the youth of the stake and sincere gratitude from the active youth who had not been able to receive the magazine because of financial or other reasons.
And of course the stake center’s looking better than ever. The results have been exciting. But of course that’s what happens when some great young men and women get a great idea and make it happen.
If you would like to organize a similar project in your stake, your stake executive secretary can help you order the gift subscriptions. You might wish to provide each youth in the project with a pledge sheet something like this one used in the Tampa Florida Stake.
HELP US PUT THE NEW ERA IN THE HOME OF EVERY YOUTH IN THE STAKE.
____________________________________Name of youth obtaining pledge
As a service project, on January 14, the youth of the Tampa Stake will begin landscaping the area between the stake center and Fletcher Road. Your donation (pledge) of $8.00 will provide a one-year subscription to the New Era for a youth who does not now have this excellent publication. We have been counseled by our leaders to take steps to place this publication in the homes of all youth from the ages of 12 to 18 who would not normally receive it. We will also accept pledges for subscriptions to go to new converts as they are baptized in the stake, at $8.00 per subscription. In return for your pledge, we guarantee at least four long hard hours or completion of this phase of landscaping work—whichever comes first.
MAKE YOUR PLEDGE BELOW:
NAME No. of subscriptions TOTAL$