Gospel Story Finder

It was Easter Sunday here in Southern Australia, and I was staying at a friend’s house while my mum was away for the weekend. As it turned out, the people that usually provided the music at church had gone away too.
I am only a beginner at the piano, but when asked to play, I reluctantly accepted as there was no one else. That Sunday I realized what an important part the sacrament hymns play in our meetings. Even though I only played with my right hand and missed many notes, the congregation sounded like angels.
I am grateful for the Saints that provide the music for us in sacrament meeting, and even though I was terrified, I am truly grateful for that Sunday because it helped me develop my talents.

Heath’s parents, John and Dawn Edwards, have encouraged their children to share the gospel, and Heath has had the opportunity to see what can sometimes happen when you do.
“Before my brother Blake went on his mission, church was something I just did and I really didn’t know if it was true. But when my brother left, I was like, Man, he’s gone for two years. He’s giving up his whole life to serve the Lord,” Heath says. “To me that was something that really woke me up. Now I do have a strong testimony and I do know this church is true.”

Several years ago, while preparing for a business trip, I began to experience chest pain. Out of concern, my wife decided to accompany me. On the first leg of our flight, the pain intensified to the point that it was difficult for me to breathe. When we landed, we left the airport and went to the local hospital, where, after multiple tests, the attending physician declared us safe to continue our travel.
We returned to the airport and boarded a flight to our final destination. As we were descending, the pilot came on the intercom and asked me to identify myself. The flight attendant approached, said they had just received an emergency call, and told me there was an ambulance waiting at the airport to take me to the hospital.
We boarded the ambulance and were rushed to the local emergency room. There we were met by two anxious doctors who explained that I had been misdiagnosed and actually had a serious pulmonary embolism, or blood clot, in my lung, which required immediate medical attention. The doctors informed us that many patients do not survive this condition. Knowing we were far from home and not sure if we were prepared for such life-altering events, the doctors said that if there was anything in our lives that we needed to consider, now was the time.
I remember well how almost instantaneously in that anxious moment, my entire perspective changed. What seemed so important just moments earlier was now of little interest. My mind raced away from the comfort and cares of this life to an eternal perspective—thoughts of family, children, my wife, and ultimately an assessment of my own life.
How were we doing as a family and individually? Were we living our lives consistent with the covenants we had made and the Lord’s expectations, or had we perhaps unintentionally allowed the cares of the world to distract us from those things which matter most?
I would invite you to consider an important lesson learned from this experience: to step back from the world and assess your life. Or in the words of the doctor, if there is anything in your life you need to consider, now is the time.

This is a change-about story. Color, then cut out the squares at the end of it and put them in a small paper sack or other container that you can’t see into, then read the story aloud with a friend or your family. Whenever you come to a blank, fill it in by drawing a word out of the sack.
From the time Benjamin woke up that morning, everything seemed to go wrong. To begin with, when he decided to wear ____________________ to school, he couldn’t find it because it was hidden under ____________________. So he had to put on ____________________, instead, even though it was upside down and inside out.
“It’s not funny!” Benjamin muttered grumpily when his reflection in the mirror showed ____________________ draped around his neck and ____________________ hanging down in front. He sighed. This was going to be a dumb, crazy, mixed-up day.
Just then Mother called, “Hurry, Benjamin, so you’ll have time to eat ____________________. Your teacher will be pleased if you have ____________________ for breakfast.”
“I’ll be late if I eat that!” Benjamin exclaimed. He snatched ____________________ out of the refrigerator and dashed out the front door, putting on ____________________ to keep him warm.
“Wait!” Mother called. “You forgot ____________________ and money for ____________________!”
But it was too late. Already ____________________ bus was rounding the corner and coming to a stop. Most of the seats were filled by ____________________, ____________________, ____________________, ____________________, and ____________________. In place of ____________________, the regular driver, ____________________ sat behind the wheel.
“Climb aboard!” he snapped, sounding just like ____________________. “We can’t wait here all day!”
With a great clashing of ____________________, the driver raced down the street, narrowly missing ____________________ and a lady pushing ____________________ in a baby buggy. In the back of the bus, a chorus made up of ____________________, ____________________, ____________________, ____________________, and ____________________ suddenly began to sing. There was no doubt about it—it was another dumb, crazy, mixed-up day!
At school, things were even worse. During math, the teacher asked, “Benjamin, what is nine times seven?” and he answered ____________________. During social studies, Benjamin tried to hand in ____________________ for his homework, and it spilled all over ____________________ on the teacher’s desk. And at noon he found that Mother had packed ____________________ and ____________________ for his lunch. “Oh, no!” he groaned. “When will this dumb, crazy, mixed-up day ever end?”
After lunch period it was time to practice with the band, one of Benjamin’s favorite classes. But when he reached in to take his horn out of the case, he found ____________________ there instead.
“Come, come, Benjamin,” the band leader scolded, “Whoever heard of playing that in a school band? If your horn isn’t here, borrow ____________________.”
Poor Benjamin was so embarrassed that he bolted out the door and ran blindly down the hall. On the way he bumped into ____________________ and ____________________. At last the bell sounded, and school was over for the day. Benjamin rubbed his jaw with ____________________ and sighed with relief.
After ____________________ bus took him home, Benjamin hurried into the family’s cheery kitchen. At least Mother always set out a delicious after-school snack. But not this time! There on the counter was ____________________ to eat and a glass with ____________________ in it!
Benjamin lost his appetite. “I’ll just put on ____________________ and go to bed,” he declared. “And I’ll stay there until this dumb, crazy, mixed-up day is over.”
And that’s what he did.

a purple puppy
a squashed skateboard
a green giraffe
a brass button
a prickly pelican
a limp lantern
a cuddly kitten
a wilted watermelon
a zany zebra
a dozing dodo
a pink porcupine
a leaping lizard
a helpless hippo
a jogging jackal
a snoopy skunk
a squeaky saxophone
a broken bicycle
a cinnamon camel
a strawberry soda
a toothless tiger
a sassy snake
an orange octopus
an angry alligator
a happy hobo
a nippy noodle
a crispy cracker
a leaky lemon
a rattling rollerskate
a grinning gorilla
a bouncing broom
a prancing pony
a dippy donkey
a frisky frog
some jiggling gelatin
a bent bucket
a polka-dot pumpkin
a croaking company
a rusty rainspout
a friendly fox
a dimpled doughnut
a quirky quince
an exotic explorer

Another time, Harold was standing in the open doorway, watching a thunderstorm outside.
Suddenly his mother shoved him away from the door.
Mother: Move, Harold!
Harold: Ouch!
Seconds later, a bolt of lightning came down the chimney of the kitchen stove. It shot out the front door and split a tree trunk outside!
He was thankful his mother listened to the promptings of the Holy Ghost. Several times she protected the life of the boy who would become the eleventh President of the Church.

A young man said that while playing on his soccer and basketball teams, he had to tell his coaches that he would not be able to play on Sundays. This was hard to do as he felt a commitment to the team, but his coaches were very impressed with his commitment to his religion. Later, he invited his soccer team to visit the church meetinghouse. All the players and the parents were impressed with the beauty of the church and had lots of questions about the pictures inside.

I knew of a couple in the Tongan islands who discovered what their mission together was. Years ago as a young missionary, I was impressed by this couple who were always helping the missionaries and others. Every time I went to their home I would find them reading the scriptures or making a meal for a missionary or taking care of a neighbor’s child or preparing a Relief Society lesson or doing some sort of service. They were not blessed with children of their own, but they were always helping other people’s children.

Years later, back in Tonga as the mission president, I was asked if I would visit an elderly widow named Luisa. When I was given the address, I realized it was the lady I had come to appreciate so many years before.

It was late afternoon when we drove up to her home. I was surprised to see that hardly anything had changed. It was a neat, clean home, but a very humble one. As I walked up to the house I noticed her waiting by the open door. As she held her hand out I realized that she had gone blind. Embracing her, I realized also that she had not long to stay in this life as she had a frail body of skin and bones.

We sat and visited, and she talked about her desire to help the “poor” people. I suggested that she may need some help herself. She kindly informed me that she was rich and had nothing to worry about.

I was a little confused and began to inquire. I found that she and her husband had often saved money to pay their air fare to the New Zealand Temple only to end up lending it to someone else who needed it more. When all the facts came out, I said to her, “Luisa, how can you say you don’t have anything to worry about? You have no husband, you have no children, you’re blind, you are in poor health, you live in a poor home, you haven’t been to the temple. How can you say you’re rich?”

Then she stopped all of my questions by quietly informing me that she was rich because she knew the Lord was pleased with her life. She said, “I know I will be with my husband soon. I know the Lord will bless us with a family. I may not have done all that I could do, but I know that the Lord is pleased with what I have done.”

Consider D&C 6:7, wherein the Lord says, “Seek not for riches but for wisdom, and behold, the mysteries of God shall be unfolded unto you, and then shall you be made rich. Behold, he that hath eternal life is rich.”

Luisa had taken the time to discover her mission and calling in life and had done whatever was necessary to fulfill it. She had obtained the “wisdom” spoken of.

Sweat trickled down Randy’s back as he lugged the heavy wire cage onto the grass. “Boy, it’s hot for March, Honeybun, even for Georgia,” he said to the black-and-white rabbit. “You’ll be comfortable in the shade of this apricot tree, though, and you can munch some nice fresh grass while I’m at soccer practice.” Randy brought the hose and filled Honeybun’s dish with water.
“Isn’t that Jim’s rabbit?” Dad asked as he walked by pushing the lawn mower.
“Yes. I’m pet-sitting while he’s away this weekend. Honeybun’s going to win a blue ribbon for Jim at the county 4-H contest this summer,” Randy said. He petted the rabbit gently, stroking the soft fur on her flanks and lightly tickling her ears. She was happily chewing the long grass poking through the bottom of the cage as Randy left for soccer practice.
After practice, Randy went home with a friend and stayed until late in the afternoon. When he returned home, Dad was waiting for him in the front yard. “I just moved Jim’s rabbit back into the shade, Randy,” he said. “The sun had traveled to that side of the apricot tree long ago, and I’m afraid his rabbit was in the sun too long. She doesn’t look good.”
Randy ran to the backyard and crouched by the cage. Honeybun was lying on her side, panting. She stared at Randy listlessly. Every few minutes she struggled to get up, only to fall over again.
“Come on, Honeybun! Get up, girl!” Randy urged. He got some water from the hose and sprinkled the trembling form. Honeybun shuddered and lay still, barely breathing. “Oh, no,” Randy groaned.
Dad squatted down by the cage and shook his head.
Randy went into the house and lay on his bed. What if Honeybun died? How could he ever explain to Jim what had happened? He stared at the ceiling for a long time; tears began to slide down his cheeks.
Dad came to the door of Randy’s room. “I’m afraid that the rabbit’s dead, Son,” he said quietly. He put his arm around Randy’s shoulder, and together they went outside and buried Honeybun in the freshly plowed earth of the vegetable patch.
“Dad, would you tell Jim for me?” Randy asked. “I don’t think that I can do it.”
“You took the job, Randy. You’ll have to tell him.”
“Please, Dad,” Randy begged. “I just can’t face him. What if he’s mad? Maybe he won’t be my friend anymore.”
“It’s never easy to give someone bad news, Son, especially if it was your fault. But I think you need to tell Jim yourself.”
Randy turned away and got his bike and wheeled slowly out of the yard. He wanted to get away from everything, as far away as possible. As he rode, the breeze brushed back the hair on his forehead and dried the sweat on his neck. But it couldn’t blow away the terrible lump in his throat.
Randy slowed down as he passed the ice-cream store on Main Street. He dug into his pockets, but they were empty. Next door he saw Alec’s Pet Shop. Usually she had birds or kittens in the window. Randy’s eyes almost popped when he saw the new display. Several fat, sleek, black-and-white rabbits frolicked on artificial turf! A sign read: “Dutch Rabbits—$8.00.”
Randy began thinking, What if … ? Rabbits are rabbits, aren’t they? They don’t come when you call their name, or sleep on the end of your bed. Jim probably couldn’t tell the difference, and he could still win a blue ribbon.
Randy raced home and counted the money in his savings bank. There was the five-dollar bill that Grandma had given him for his last birthday, some quarters from his allowance, and a bunch of dimes, nickels, pennies. Altogether he had $9.49. Randy stuffed the money into his pocket and practically flew downtown on his bike. He felt sure that his troubles would soon be over.
“I’d like to see that big rabbit, the one over in the corner,” he told the shopkeeper. “Is it a male or a female?”
“That’s the only female,” he answered. “She’s a beauty.”
Randy tried to cuddle the rabbit, but quickly dropped it. “Ouch!” he cried. “This rabbit scratches!” The rabbit scooted across the floor and squeezed close to the wall. Randy took some pellets from an open bin and held out his hand. “Come here, Honeybun,” he called hopefully. The rabbit scrunched even closer to the wall and pressed her ears tightly against her body.
“She’s not very tame, is she?” Randy said aloud, thinking, She’s not at all like Jim’s Honeybun, who loved to eat from his hand and sit quietly in his arms to be stroked.
Randy and the shopkeeper finally cornered the big rabbit and got her back into the pen.
“Do you want to buy her?” the shopkeeper asked.
Sadly Randy shook his head. He knew that his wonderful idea wouldn’t work. This rabbit couldn’t replace Honeybun. He knew what he’d have to do. Telling Jim would be hard, maybe the hardest thing that he’d ever done, but it was the only thing to do. And he would offer the money to his friend so that Jim could decide whether or not to replace Honeybun. Randy climbed onto his bike and started home.

Each of us remembers with affection the teachers of our youth. I think it amusing that my elementary school music teacher was a Miss Sharp. She had the capacity to infuse within her pupils a love for music and taught us to identify musical instruments and their sounds. I well recall the influence of a Miss Ruth Crow who taught the subject of health. Though these were Depression times, she ensured that each sixth-grade student had a dental health chart. She personally checked each pupil for dental health and made certain that through public or private resources, no child went without proper dental care. As Miss Burkhaus, who taught geography, rolled down the maps of the world and, with her pointer, marked the capital cities of nations and the distinctive features of each country, language, and culture, little did I anticipate or dream that one day I would visit these lands and peoples.

The air was cold in the barn, and Dave Peters’s breaths came out in white puffs. “Magdalena Katalena Hoopensteiner Walleniner Hokum Mokum Pokum was her name!” Some of the notes were a little high, but he sang them out anyway, trying to fill his mind with them. “She had two hairs on the top of her head; one was alive and the other was dead.” The cow swished her tail back and forth and chewed slowly on some hay. The cold didn’t seem to bother her much.
“Won’t be long now, lady,” he said, and pinched his first two fingers against his thumb to strip the cream out.
Dave’s hands were getting awfully cold—they weren’t yet used to the fall chill and he never had been able to get the hang of milking with rubber gloves on.
Now Rod Wilson—that was a different matter. Dave laughed to think of how Rod could milk a cow with gloves on, ride a calf without a rope, swim across the narrow part of the lake and back in less than two hours. But not for long—the lake would be frozen up before long. He thought how they would have to go out boating again a time or two before it was too late. No—it was already too late.
He stood up and lifted the heavy bucket over to the can. One more cow and then—warmth! He turned to their big holstein, who had been waiting in the adjacent stall. “She had two teeth in the front of her mouth;” he sang, a little off key, “one pointed north and the other pointed south. Oh, Magdalena Katalena Hoopensteiner Walleniner Hokum Mokum Pokum was her name.” And he leaned his loose blond hair against the cow’s tight black and white hair and breathed his white breath down toward the bucket as he milked. The singing stopped—it was useless—and he shut his eyes against the cold air, pushing his head against the cow’s flank and trying to lose himself in the rhythm of the tug, tug, tug, squirt, squirt.
Rod Wilson, Dave thought, sounding the words in his mind. Why? And he thought of that morning at school when between the second and third periods he overheard in the hall, “Rod’s not sick. He died last night.”
The cow was warm, and Dave hunched himself closer. He wished he could use gloves like Rod. It hadn’t taken long for the story of what had happened to sweep through the school; it went like a fire in the wind. Dave heard all the details, even though he didn’t want to: out late at night in his boat, dropped something into the water by accident, dove out to get it, never came home. It was all conjecture anyway, Dave thought. How were all those people who weren’t there supposed to know what happened?
Just a few more minutes and he would be done. It was so cold. Dave picked up the rhythm, listening to the changing sound of milk squirted against milk as the bucket filled. If the cats would come in, he would give them a taste. They were experts at catching the stream of milk in their mouths—Dave didn’t have to be a good shot. But sometimes he deliberately missed and hit them on a leg, the tail, or their bodies. Then they would lick it off fastidiously. Real economists, those cats.
Rod was a better shot at it than Dave. Dave thought of the summer night a couple of years before when Rod had been helping him with his chores so they could go out on the lake together. Rod had the holstein, and Dave had the jersey, and things were going along pretty fast before Rod started shooting him with milk. But Dave had the advantage—he had a cow between him and Rod, and Rod was in clear view. At least the last pint from each cow, before stripping, landed not in the buckets but on the cows, on Rod and Dave, on the walls and floor. They had started laughing so hard that Dave’s dad came out to see what was up. He failed to see the humor in their battle.
Dave started stripping the big cow and tried to swallow the lump that kept rising in his throat. It made it a little hard to breathe. He had to open his mouth to let the air in, and that made it seem a lot colder than breathing through his nose would have done.
In a few moments he was finished. He lugged the bucket over to the milk can that stood in the corner. This cow gives entirely too much milk, he thought. He tipped the bucket and drained it into the can, watching the milk seep down through the filter. Then he put the bucket on the floor and removed the filter. It would go into the trash pile; the rest would go into the house for washing. Next summer his dad promised to pipe hot water into the barn. Dave wasn’t sure he liked the idea. That meant more minutes in the cold during the winter—and that his mom would no longer offer to wash up the equipment.
The filter dripped warm milk down his fingers and onto the floor. That milk-squirting battle he and Rod had had was nothing compared to what happened after Dave’s dad left that night, Dave thought. He remembered he had started it that time. They were just finishing Dave’s chores—Rod’s parents were wealthy, and he never had many chores to do—and were still damp from the squirting. It was then that Dave had thought, I wonder if this filter will stick to Rod’s back. The moment of thought became the moment of action, and the barn was soon filled with flying filters, milk-drenched; their clothes started dripping, a few filters hung on the ceiling and walls. And yes, Dave smiled, the first one had stuck on Rod’s back. It had taken him completely by surprise. In fact, Dave had won that battle. They were teachers back then; and Rod almost had his Eagle award in Scouting. Dave had taken a little longer to get his.
Now they were priests and almost ready to graduate from school. Almost every Sunday they sat together to bless the sacrament. But next Sunday, Dave thought—and he threw the filter as hard as he could against the wall. Then he let the cow out. After their filter war there had still been some hanging on the walls the next morning when Dave had gone out early for the morning milking. Maybe this one would freeze and harden and hang there all winter. Rod would have gotten a kick out of that.
Some friend you are, Dave thought. Here your best friend dies and the next day all you can think of are the milk wars you had and some silly thing he would get a kick out of.
He was finished early and almost impulsively went out of the barn through the cow’s door, and instead of heading to the house across the lawn, he headed toward the lake through the corral. Rod always ran to the lake, Dave thought, and started to run himself. Not too much longer and it would freeze over. Then he could go out and skate on it.
Rod’s mom hadn’t liked the idea of them skating on the lake. “What if the ice isn’t thick enough?” she wanted to know.
It had been Rod’s idea, and he had the answer. “We have a safe and scientific answer,” he said. “A certain depth of ice will support a certain amount of weight. We drill down and see how deep the ice is at different points of the lake. If it’s well over the danger point, we know we can go out on it.”
Dave stopped running and started to walk. It was too cold to run; the air burned his throat and lungs. Rod had all kinds of crazy ideas and they always seemed to work.
He wouldn’t have stopped to walk, either, Dave thought. He would have run all the way and then would have been waiting cool and comfortable at the boat when you came up. Dave could keep up when he wanted to; he could even sometimes win their races. But not in the cold. Dave never could run in the cold.
I wonder if it gets cold in the spirit world, Dave thought. I wonder if Rod can run there.
Dave reached the boat and squatted in the dirt beside it. I wonder who put the boat back, he thought. I wonder how they found him and how they knew where to put the boat. He thought of how that had been his idea, to build the boat, and how he had shown Rod how to do it. Now that was something Rod wasn’t good at—he had wasted a lot of good lumber trying to build his share of the boat. Dave remembered what Rod had said when Dave had mentioned it once: “I’m not too good at this, and I need to learn. What if you die or something? There wouldn’t be anyone here to show me how to build things. I need to learn.” And then he had laughed and shoved Dave, and they had started wrestling. That was another thing Rod was good at. Dave could beat him almost all the time when it came to pure grapple; but if beat meant pin, Dave was the sure loser.
I wonder what Rod’s doing right now, Dave thought, and then he began to whistle softly to himself. He was a little afraid. The quiet night, black and starless, the black and quiet lake where his best friend had drowned the night before, the thoughts of spirits and ghosts—he began to whistle the tune to “Magdalena Katalena” very softly to himself. But as he did, he thought to himself, I’ll bet Rod wasn’t afraid last night. And then he thought, as he shoved the boat out into the lake and jumped in after it, wetting only one leg and that only to the ankle, that it all wasn’t fair; it just wasn’t fair.
He turned his back to the front of the boat and began to row in deep and heavy strokes. It isn’t fair, he thought to the rhythm of his work, that Rod should have to die when he was so capable and so happy and so spiritual—how could a guy like that drown anyway?
He rowed on out to the spot where he heard that Rod had drowned and sat back in the boat and looked up into the sky. It was as black as the water beneath him, but the water scared him. If it could get Rod, he thought, what would it do to me? And he saw in his mind Rod’s face, white in wet blackness, a pale oval beneath the boat, clawing up to air but never finding it. Dave tried to shut the vision from his mind. He thought of the roadshow earlier that year, in the spring, when Rod had played the turnip and Dave had been the dwarf. Rod had been in Dave’s garden, a turnip almost as large as the gardener. They had laid him on Dave’s kitchen table up there on the stage, and Dave had brought out a knife to cut through his red and whiteness.
No, Dave thought to himself and sat up in the boat. You’re really morbid, aren’t you, Peters? So he tried to see Rod somewhere else, and where he saw him was at a special stake meeting as one of the youth speakers. “I’ve been assigned to speak on why I’m going on a mission,” he had begun, and Dave had groaned. What an awful way to start a talk, he had thought. But he did have to admit one thing: even if Rod wasn’t the best speaker in the world, when he spoke people listened because they knew he meant every word of what he said.
Dave gripped one oar by its end and squeezed it hard. What happened here last night? he thought. How could you let yourself drown? It’s unfair! And then Dave finally leaned over the edge to look into the clear black water. He thought of the legends that always circulated around the town in the summer that the lake was bottomless—and that giant prehistoric fish had been seen by skin divers again that spring.
The lake had been where Dave and Rod spent their free time. That blackness was a deep blue during daylight hours, the kind of blueness whose color by itself invited one to enter. Dave could see Rod, standing on the bow of the boat, clad in cut-off jeans and no shirt, saying, “See ya later, pilgrim!” and then jumping in. He could stay underwater longer than anyone else Dave knew.
He dipped his hand into the water. It was terribly cold, the kind of cold, he thought, that could cramp a person’s muscles in a moment. Why had Rod jumped in? Dave wondered. He knew better. He should have been more careful. They had lots of plans together—plans that would make him be careful. Like Ricks College next fall, where they would room together in the dorms; like the missions they had planned. Rod would be glad to see him make it. Dave remembered the long talks they had had about missions and girls and the gospel and their parents. They had shared fears and doubts. But later Rod became set and firm, his doubts gone. He knew where he was going. And he always knew the right things to say to help Dave make up his mind to do what he knew he should do—even though it sometimes took a lot of discussing before those right things came out.
Dave looked back up at the sky—there were stars out now; the clouds had parted some—and he felt the lump growing in his throat again, and thought, Don’t be stupid. Crying won’t bring him back. And he thought, I’ll bet Rod wouldn’t cry over you. He’d just smile and touch your hand at the funeral and whisper, “Take care, buddy. See ya before too long.”
But those thoughts didn’t help, and Dave’s throat swelled until he felt he couldn’t really breathe, and the white puffs that had been coming from his mouth and nostrils nearly stopped for a moment. And then the hurt pushed itself up and out his eyes so they glistened in the darkness and his breath caught, then rushed out, then caught again, and his eyes glistened.
And he lay back in his rowboat and sobbed in the dark over the lake.
“Why did it have to be you, Rod?” he said out loud. “You were the good one, the strong one. I won’t do much good here. But you were good; you could even milk with gloves on—” and then he smiled through his tears and laughed a little even while he was crying.
“Rod would think you’re a pretty dumb guy,” he said to himself. Then he whispered. “We were pretty good friends, weren’t we, Rod?”
He leaned over the edge of the boat. The white puffs of air floated over the water. They were coming more freely now. Heavenly Father, he said in his mind, Rod was a pretty good guy, and I’m sure you were proud of him. You know we were close friends—best friends—and I’m really missing him. I think we did everything together. I’m feeling kind of alone.
Then he closed his eyes tight, and felt the cold tears on his cheeks, and thought. All I ask of thee is to help me become the kind of person Rod was. I want to see him again.
Dave sat up straight on the boat’s crossbar. He and Rod had had a boat race once. A neighbor had loaned them his boat. They were going to go two out of three, but they didn’t need to. Dave won the first two races. They had laughed and teased each other, and then Rod had jumped out of his boat and swam in four or five quick strokes over to Dave’s boat and started rocking it till he had swamped it.
We haven’t had a good tussle like that for a long time, Dave thought.
And then he said, half aloud, “Beat you to shore, Rod.” He started rowing as hard as he could, puffing out the white air until his lungs felt raw. Getting a little out of shape, aren’t you, Peters, he thought to himself. Maybe you ought to go out for basketball this winter.
The boat hit the bank and he clambered out, getting both feet wet and not caring. He pulled the boat up completely onto the bank and left it there without looking back. His house was over a mile from the bank, and his folks might be getting worried, he thought. He took off in an easy run, singing under his breath, “Her lips stuck out like two big weiners; she used them round the house like vacuum cleaners. Oh, Magdalena Katalena Hoopensteiner—” his white breath clearing the way through the black night before him.

I conclude with an example from my own life. I once had a treasured friend who seemed to experience more of life’s troubles and frustrations than he could bear. Finally he lay in the hospital terminally ill. I knew not that he was there.
Sister Monson and I had gone to that same hospital to visit another person who was very ill. As we exited the hospital and proceeded to where our car was parked, I felt the distinct impression to return and make inquiry concerning whether my friend Hyrum might still be a patient there. A check with the clerk at the desk confirmed that Hyrum was indeed a patient there after many weeks.
We proceeded to his room, knocked on the door, and opened it. We were not prepared for the sight that awaited us. Balloon bouquets were everywhere. Prominently displayed on the wall was a poster with the words "Happy Birthday, Daddy" written on it. Hyrum was sitting up in his hospital bed, his family members by his side. When he saw us, he said, “Brother Monson, how in the world did you know that today is my birthday?” I smiled, but I left the question unanswered.
Those in the room who held the Melchizedek Priesthood surrounded this, their father and grandfather and my friend, and a priesthood blessing was given.
After tears were shed, smiles of gratitude exchanged, and tender hugs received and given, I leaned over to Hyrum and spoke softly to him: “Remember the words of the Lord, for they will sustain you. He promised you, ‘I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you’ (John 14:18).”

In addition to the summer farm work, Franklin’s father kept him busy at home. To make sure he didn’t run out of jobs around the house and to develop his sense of responsibility, his father had fifty chickens in the backyard. Franklin had to feed and water the chickens, keep the chicken huts clean, and gather the eggs. Since there were more eggs laid than the family needed, he was allowed to sell the extra eggs and keep the money. Brother Richards said, “I’m grateful that I had a father and mother who taught me the joy of working, the value of spending less than I made, and the importance of paying my tithing.”

The Lord’s special concern for widows is abundantly evidenced in the scriptures. Of course this concern also extends to all single mothers. They have so many demands placed upon them. They must provide the food and clothing and other necessities for the family. They also need to nurture their children with an extra amount of love and caring.

I recently received a letter from the son of a sister in this circumstance, and I quote a paragraph from it: “Mom was able to be a full-time homemaker while our family was young. This is where she wanted to be, but some 28 years ago, with four children ages 5 to 14, she was forced to take on employment outside the home in order to provide for us as a suddenly single parent. While we know this is not the ideal situation for raising a family, Mom worked diligently to continue nurturing us in the gospel and tending to all family duties while working full-time to support us financially. Only now as a parent myself, blessed to have my wife at home to care for our children, have I begun to understand the scope of Mom’s situation and trials in caring for us at that time. It was difficult and trying and I wish that I had done more to make things easier for her. I will be eternally grateful for her sacrifice in setting an example by teaching us how to work and how we should live. The wisdom of the proclamation on the family rings especially true to me now because of the experiences we shared as a family.”

• Moscow, Russia, Monday, June 24: The third “Music and the Spoken Word” performance is videotaped during this evening’s Bolshoi Theatre concert before 2,400, seated three-deep in the five circular balcony tiers of this renowned hall. For many, another rich, emotional evening occurs, the same as at all concerts in the former Eastern Bloc lands. Hope and the Spirit of the Lord seem to press everywhere!
The first encore, “Hospodi Pomilui” (meaning “Lord, have mercy on us”), a hymn during which that phrase is repeated seventy-seven times, seems this night to be as a great prayer of national penance in this land that has been seen by many as a symbol of oppression. The choir’s great, emotional pleading of the words powerfully moves the entire audience.
At the dinner of state held after the concert, the vice president of the Russian Republic announces that on May 28, less than a month ago, this largest of the fifteen republics in the Soviet Union has given official recognition to the Church throughout the entire breadth and depth of the republic, which covers three-quarters of the land mass of the Soviet Union and holds approximately 150 million people.
Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve joins the choir entourage, enlarged this day by the hundred or more Utahns joining Brother Jon M. Huntsman in the dedication of a factory in Armenia that will produce high-tech concrete to house homeless Armenians suffering from a 1988 earthquake. In appreciation for the service the Church rendered to quake victims, a plot of land in the city of Yerevan is given to the Church by officials of the Armenian Soviet Socialist Republic. Elder Russell M. Nelson and Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve and Elder Hans B. Ringger of the Seventy express gratitude for the gift. The site will be used to construct a multipurpose building containing offices, a Church meetinghouse, and residences for Church volunteer workers helping to train Armenians in home construction.
• St. Petersburg, Russia, Thursday, June 27: How is it possible for the emotional, spiritual, and musical highs to keep on going! Tonight six encores are performed to a cheering, crying audience! For the second time, an audience will not stop clapping until the last choir member has walked offstage, audience and choir members poignantly waving good-bye to each other.
“Wonderful! Wonderful! Spiritual! Spiritual! Leningrad is happy again! This is a holiday,” calls out a man in strongly Russian-accented English. The concerts are now over. But a day remains for visiting new Russian friends and tomorrow’s closing fireside of choir music and the testimonies of Russian converts. Elder Nelson tells the choir: “You have been totally successful in all we expected you to do.”

When our family was living in the state of Massachusetts, we had our home in the little country town of Weston, about 20 kilometers west of Boston. It was a very quaint, sophisticated community with a population then of about 11,000 people. Weston had many picturesque, winding country roads lined with hand-fashioned rock walls. The small business section was completely deserted by 9:00 P.M. each evening. Yet for all its quaintness, Weston had its problems, especially with many of the high school and junior high school students who used drugs and brought liquor into the town where alcoholic drinks were not sold.
However, I would like to tell you about one Weston High School student who was too busily engaged in other pursuits to become involved with drugs or alcohol. This young man spent a lot of time on the ski slopes. Being an avid skier in that area is not unusual, but what this boy did with his talent is unusual. He was an expert skier and loved the sport. In fact, he was an instructor and spent even his spare time teaching others to ski. You could regularly see him coming down the mountainside very close to one of his pupils, who was oftentimes years older than he. They would start slowly but gather speed as they made graceful turns down the slope, all the time carrying on a conversation, laughing, enjoying the invigorating air and the sparkling sunshine. Observers would take note and follow the pair with their eyes until they reached the bottom, regarding them as just two more skiers having a great time.
What the onlookers did not realize was that one of the skiers was blind. This young, Weston High School student was teaching the blind to ski. He did it free of charge. When he first had the idea, he discussed it with others and was advised by all to forget it. He was told over and over that it would simply be impossible.
But this young man had witnessed the hopelessness of some of the blind people and wanted to share with them one of the pleasures of his life. He wanted them to have a feeling of accomplishment and success. He wished to give them a new dimension to their lives. He wanted them to feel that they were real, whole individuals. He really cared. He cared enough to devote the time and necessary patience to develop a rapport of love, encouragement, and understanding with these people to help them build faith in themselves and in their own abilities. Gradually mutual friendships blossomed.
These blind people placed their trust in this young man. He was their friend. He was the only one they would permit to put on their ski boots and help them into the bindings on their skis. In their training, he said that helping them develop an attitude of trust and faith in themselves was the important thing. After that, the technique would come easily.
The last I heard, he had been successful in teaching 13 blind people to ski and was in the process of teaching more. He had even been requested to write a manual on teaching the blind to ski. He possessed then, and I am sure he still does, the confidence that comes with success. But more importantly, he has developed lasting friendships and has learned how to love and share through worthwhile service.

One of the first doctrines that I heard when I joined the Church was about the temples. Missionaries taught about the temples using a picture of the Salt Lake Temple. Being a Christian from my childhood, I was excited to learn about the temples as I already have a fair idea of the holy places that God used to dwell. I learned about the tabernacle that Moses built in the wilderness and the temples built by Solomon and the one built during the time of Herod.
On my mission, I understood something interesting and amazing. While in the early days of the Restoration, they constructed the first temples in Utah, and members around the globe immigrated to Utah, which some people used to refer to as Zion. But Church leaders later emphasized the need to establish Zion wherever we live.
After our marriage, Asha and I had to spend our entire bonus amount which we got from our company in buying our plane tickets to Hong Kong. We had to spend a considerable amount of money towards the travel, stay, and other expenses. Though it was possible for us to do this then, we know that it is the most challenging thing that most of the members will do.
After understanding this doctrine on my mission, I was yearning to hear the announcement of a temple in India. That day came much before the time I anticipated, filling my heart with unspeakable joy and happiness. My wife and I were happy that we no longer have to travel a long distance to be in the Lord’s temple.
Much before the announcement of the temple came the good news to Bangalore that President Nelson and Elder Holland were going to visit Bengaluru. While many of us were not sure about the purpose of his visit, we knew that something was going to happen as a result of his visit. One member in our ward told the congregation on the fast and testimony Sunday that she strongly felt that the prophet was going to announce about a temple in India. To our surprise came that good news and flooded social media during the wee hours of Monday.
The prophet’s visit became even more exciting, and my family with several other families waited for his visit to see what he would counsel us. I was excited to get an opportunity to pray in that meeting and listen to his message from just a few feet away. His words strengthened my testimony significantly. He helped us realize how we should be preparing ourselves for the temple.
He counselled us that we should stop contentions, love one another, and be honest and fair. He told us to remember to follow the ABCs, In which ”A” stands for ancestors and antiquity, “B” stands for being worthy, and “C” stands for teaching children the gospel. After uttering these things, he invoked a powerful blessing on all of us. Without a speck of doubt, I know that he is the prophet and living witness of Heavenly Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

I’ve gotten lots of great birthday presents in my life, but what I got from my dad on my eighth birthday takes the cake. And it all started when he asked me a single question in a room full of people.
That room was in our church building, and the people filling it were my family members. I had never seen so many of them in church at one time! We were all there to see my cousin Bre get baptized.
As I watched Bre’s parents take pictures of her in her white dress, I started feeling really excited about my own baptism.
I went over to look at the font, thinking about what my special day would be like. Would the water be warm? Would all my family be there? I hoped I would feel the peaceful, clean feeling that I had heard other people tell about. All of these thoughts were tumbling around in my mind when Dad walked over and asked the question that changed everything.
“Chris, who do you want to baptize you?”
Here’s the thing: my dad couldn’t baptize me because he wasn’t a member of the Church.
My mom is a convert, which means she got baptized later in life. But my dad never seemed to want to be baptized, and that made me sad sometimes. I didn’t talk about it very much because I didn’t want to make him feel bad. But this time, I decided to tell him.
“I want you to baptize me. You’re my dad!”
I still remember the look on his face. First he was surprised. Then he looked kind of sad. Then his expression turned thoughtful, as if he were thinking about something important.
“C’mon, buddy. We’ll talk about it later,” he said, wrapping his arm around me as we headed to our seats.
The next day, I stood with my dad again—this time in front of the bishop’s office. It was time for me to meet with the bishop for my baptismal interview. I was pretty nervous, and it seemed like Dad was too. He kept pacing back and forth in front of the office door. After I had my interview, Dad walked right up to the bishop.
“What do I have to do to be able to baptize my son?” he asked.
The bishop froze, right in the middle of his handshake. You should’ve seen the smile that came across his face! He told my dad that he needed to be baptized and receive the Aaronic Priesthood. My dad said that he was finally ready to make these special promises with Heavenly Father.
You can probably guess how this story ends. A month later, I stood in the baptismal font dressed in white. The water was warm. My family was there. Best of all, my dad was standing next to me, ready to baptize me.
I know that lots of kids are still waiting and praying for a family member to get baptized. It’s hard to wait, but we can keep being good examples and never give up hope. Knowing this makes me feel even more grateful for the decision my dad finally made—the decision that gave me the best birthday of my life.

Romeo and I have been friends since childhood. He became very unhappy with me when he discovered that I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in October of 2013. He criticized me for joining the Church, and often said to me, “I just do not understand why in the world you chose to join a cult.”
I tried very hard to convince my friend that the Church is not a cult or a devilish movement as he perceived. I encouraged him to investigate the Church and invited him to meet with the full-time missionaries. But my friend forcefully insisted that under no condition could he accept the Book of Mormon as a second Bible. Under no condition could he accept the Prophet Joseph Smith as a true prophet of God. And under no condition could he become a member of the Church.
After much effort to speak with him about the restored Church and gospel of Jesus Christ, I decided not to talk to my friend anymore about the Church, the Book of Mormon and the Prophet Joseph Smith. Rather, I decided to just be a good friend to him.
Not long after, I enrolled in the PathwayConnect online program in 2019. I thought my good friend would also be interested in pursuing his education, so I introduced the PathwayConnect program to him and invited him to enroll. He enrolled and found that it was rewarding. He enjoyed his affiliation with the Church through the PathwayConnect online program as he interacted with members of the Church throughout the world. They shared gospel thoughts related to the weekly academic lessons.
One evening in December of 2020, my friend called me on the phone to inform me that he had finally made up his mind to join the Church. He explained to me how a feeling of peace, joy and belonging filled his mind and soul whenever he attended a PathwayConnect gathering and participated in group charts online.
I then asked my friend, “What about the Book of Mormon and the Prophet Joseph Smith?” To this he responded, “Because you and other members have shown me and believe the Book of Mormon to be the word of God, and Joseph Smith to be a true prophet of God, I too believe!” He later invited the full-time missionaries of the Church to teach him and was baptized in early 2021.

Coach Ken Jenks has some good news and some bad news for the boys on his soccer team. As members of a recreation-league soccer team, they’ve had incredible success. The LDS boys, who have teamed up with nonmember friends, are some of the best soccer players in the area.
The coach starts with the good news. “Well, boys, we’ve got a great team, and the Southern California Soccer League championship is in the bag,” he says. Then his face clouds a bit, and he delivers the bad news. “But we’ll be playing three games, and one of them is on a Sunday. How do you feel about that?”
Five hands reluctantly but firmly go up. Eric Miller, 14, Jeff Jenks, 14, Justin Bonsey, 14, and twins Trent and Travis Weaver, 15, stand up and tell the group, “We can’t play on Sunday.” The boys, who are members of the Cypress First Ward, Cypress California Stake, aren’t happy about the idea of missing out on the biggest game of the season, but they are sure about their decision.
Although the controversy of the games on Sunday still continues in Orange County sports leagues, the boys’ stand is beginning to make a difference. Many local sports organizations are holding Sunday games less often.
So, as expected, the soccer team plays well on Saturday and wins easily. Then the Mormon boys wish their team the best and go to church on Sunday. The non-LDS members of the team play the championship game and lose. The team takes third place.
Eric shrugs his shoulders, “This game is a temporary thing. I really would have liked to play that championship game if it hadn’t been on Sunday, but I know that keeping the Sabbath will help me return to my Father in Heaven.”
Justin echoes Eric, “It was an individual decision for me, too. I know that it is right and so it didn’t bother me either. The next day some of the kids at school were a little upset, but I think they respected me for staying with my standards.”
And respect from peers, parents, coaches, and other players is a valuable by-product of the sacrifice these boys have made. But perhaps even more important than that is the fact that their example does not go unnoticed by the younger boys waiting for their turn to play the game—but not on Sunday.
Editor’s note: Because of the stand these and other LDS boys have made, regular-season soccer games are no longer held on Sunday in Orange County, California.

Harold B. Lee tells the experience of praying very hard for a material blessing he needed badly. He states that one day while he was praying for this blessing, he remembered that he had recently received some income that he had not yet tithed. It was as if, he said, the accusing voice of the Lord was saying: You want a blessing from me but you have not been obedient to the laws upon which such blessings are based. (“Faith,” address delivered at Brigham Young University, 28 Jun 1955, tape in Historical Department Archives.)
He said that he went and paid the tithing on that income, and then he again sought that particular blessing of the Lord.