Gospel Story Finder

Victor and Susana Mendoza of the Ramona (Spanish) Branch, Hemet California Stake, have found that rotating the opportunity to teach is an excellent way to come up with innovative lessons. “Our family home evenings are truly exciting,” writes Sister Mendoza. “Our children each take a turn and invent ways to make family home evening different and interesting. For example, Victor Daniel makes invitations and gives them to us in advance so we can be on time. When Jasmin finishes her lesson, she gives us a certificate of achievement for paying attention. Melissa tells us interesting stories she has learned in seminary.
“It wasn’t easy at first, but we put our faith in the Lord, and He has helped us. I testify that holding family home evenings has strengthened our marriage as well as our family. Our bonds of love grow stronger each week. We’re grateful to Jesus Christ for showing us the way and for giving us His Spirit in our home and in our hearts.”

One day I received a letter from one of my former missionaries. He had labored under me while I was a mission president, and now he was in the armed forces. He was successful in bringing a young man into the Church. This young man wrote him a letter, and he sent it to me to read. It read something like this:
“I have just written a letter to my mother and to my best girl. I have been quoting to them out of the Book of Mormon.” Then he started mentioning the words of Nephi, Alma, and some of the other great prophets. He continued, “They are the best letters I have ever written.” You know, it is wonderful when the gospel gets into someone’s heart enough so that he can write to his mother and his best girl and have them be the best letters he has ever written.

The story is told of a man who became known as the town idler. He was unwilling to work, unwilling to seek employment. He simply lived off the efforts of others. Finally the townspeople had had enough. They decided to take him to the outskirts of town and banish him. As one of the townspeople escorted him in a wagon to the edge of town, the driver felt a wave of compassion sweep over him. Perhaps the derelict should be given one more chance. Accordingly, he asked, “Would you like a bushel of corn to get a new start?”
The derelict responded, “Is it husked?”1
Sometimes we find people on the scriptural dole—they want the scriptures husked before they partake. They want the gospel in a series of entertaining sound bites or video clips. They want the Sunday School teacher to prepare and spoon-feed them the lesson with little preparation or participation on their part.
In contrast, the Savior once invited His learners to go home because they could not understand His words. He commanded them to pray, ponder, and “prepare [their] minds for the morrow,” when He would “come unto [them] again” (see 3 Nephi 17:2–3).
The lesson was this: It is the responsibility not only of the teacher to come prepared but also of the learner. Just as the teacher has the responsibility to teach by the Spirit, so too the learner has the responsibility to learn by the Spirit (see D&C 50:13–21).
The Book of Mormon records: “The preacher was no better than the hearer, neither was the teacher any better than the learner; and thus they were all equal” (Alma 1:26; emphasis added).

On the night of May 22, 2011, amid the sound of blaring sirens, a massive tornado touched down in the heart of Joplin, Missouri, USA, destroying homes and lives. The Joplin First Ward was hit hard by the twister, but right away Bishop Chris Hoffman and the ward council started accounting for ward members.
“We had a response plan in place because we had talked about these preparations in ward council before they happened,” he said. “We also relied on the Spirit to know what to do. Power lines were down. Cell phones didn’t work. We prayed and listened for answers, and they came—they always came. It was gratifying for me as a bishop to hear members say, ‘This is what I’ve done,’ instead of, ‘What do you want me to do?’”

Many of the pioneer faces in my mind are the faces of friends in Nigeria, West Africa. When I first arrived there in January 1984, I met Cecilia and learned of her creative pioneering in what seemed to me the overwhelming task of day-to-day living. I said, “You are my teacher.”

She responded, “I will be your teacher.”

I told her that I didn’t know if I could learn very fast, because she had so much to teach me. She smiled gently and said, “I will teach slowly.”

And she did. I lived as Cecilia’s neighbor for several months, and I will be grateful all my life for the things she helped me learn. I am a better pioneer because of this great soul and others in our neighborhood who allowed me to follow in their footsteps for a little while.

It still amuses me that my companion, Ann, and I were sent to teach Cecilia and others about self-reliance. While I hope we were able to share some information about health and sanitation that made a difference for them, I know that I personally learned the greatest lessons. Most of those lessons I learned from them had to do with self-reliance. I’m convinced that Cecilia and her sisters can handle any emergency. Forging onward, ever onward, they are indeed blessed, honored pioneers.

“I started ballet at age seven because I wanted to be a princess,” says Bianca Carnovale, from Sydney, Australia. Soon after she began training, she learned that the dance world does not stop to remember the Sabbath day. She had to decide where she stood.
As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Bianca strives to keep Sundays free from work and other activities that take her away from worship. Whether it’s sports or performing arts, the decision for Latter-day Saints to set these activities aside on the Sabbath can sometimes be emotionally challenging.
Not wanting to let anyone down, knowing that Sunday pieces would have to be choreographed without her, Bianca also struggled. Her teachers would say, “No company will want you; why would they choose you over someone who will dance on Sunday?”
But Bianca remembers, from as young as seven, talking with her mother about dancing on Sundays. When she had to miss out on exams and performances, those talks helped Bianca understand that pleasing God was more important.
She studied at Marni’s School of Performing Arts until the age of 14, then won a spot in the pre-professional program at the National College of Dance in Newcastle, which was two hours away from home. For the next three years, Bianca lived in Newcastle five days a week, an experience that prepared her to move to New York City, USA on her own.
Although she still never danced on a Sunday, at age 17, Bianca was accepted into New York’s prestigious Ballet Academy East, where she had the exciting opportunity to study the Balanchine ballet method.
It wasn’t always fun. “There were times in New York, away from all my friends and family, I felt I had no one,” Bianca remembers. “Crying one night . . . I remember praying to my Heavenly Father and asking Him for [a hug]. I will never forget the warmth that flooded my chest. Although it made me cry more, they were definitely happy tears, and I did not feel alone anymore.”
After almost two years, the COVID-19 pandemic shut down New York and sent Bianca home, where she had to find a job, but kept up her ballet training. Later, she prayerfully considered a full-time mission, but was prompted to move to Melbourne where she hoped to get into the Australian Ballet Company.
Then the lockdowns started again, and Bianca soon missed performing. She began dancing in the park, just to get outdoors, but then her mother suggested she try ballet busking when the lockdowns ended. At first, Bianca thought the idea was crazy, but when her friends from Church also encouraged it, she gave it a go.
Bianca choreographed dances in her flat, then ventured into the city streets to perform them. “At first, I only had headphones, but started dancing anyway. Then I got speakers. From there, I learned all the tips and tricks of busking: using cones and roping off a stage area . . . perfecting choreography . . . [managing] a crowd. Busking was a whole new world.”
Bianca still dreamed of getting into a ballet company. While busking, she kept training and auditioning. One company that seemed interested in her asked, “Why don’t you . . . perform on Sunday, and then go to church?” With Bianca’s insistence that Sabbath observance was more than just going to church, that opportunity fell through.
“I wanted so much to dance professionally,” Bianca reflects. In her prayers she even told Heavenly Father how inspiring it would be to all the little dancers if she got into a ballet company without working on Sundays. “Looking back, I now laugh at trying to tell Heavenly Father what was best.”
Bianca ponders a lesson taught by Elder D. Todd Christofferson: “We ought not to think of God’s plan as a cosmic vending machine where we (1) select a desired blessing, (2) insert the required sum of good works, and (3) the order is promptly delivered.”1
“I knew Heavenly Father wanted me to dance,” she says. “I knew He wanted me to strive towards getting into a ballet company, but as the years went by it became very apparent that He never promised me I would actually get into one.”
Pursuing her dream to work for a company has made Bianca an exceptionally skilled performer, but as of March 2022, she has supported herself completely on busking—a path that has had unexpected outcomes.
While she was dancing one day, she recalls, “I happened to see the glowing face of a 13-year-old girl . . . I’ve been that girl before, and I know that feeling. I can make people smile and cry; I wouldn’t change that for anything . . . I always wanted to serve others . . . now Heavenly Father has provided me with the opportunity to serve in the most unique way!”
“Getting into a company would be inspiring,” she continues, “but I think it is so much more inspiring that I would keep His commandment.”
President Russell M. Nelson once said, “Obedience brings success; exact obedience brings miracles.”2
Echoing his words, Bianca proclaims: “Heavenly Father has told me, ‘If you keep my commandments, I will show you miracles’.
“Do I trust Him? Yes!”

Sitting on the stand of the St. George (Utah) Tabernacle, waiting for her performance to begin, Sheena Rosander couldn’t help remembering the year before when she had been waiting to perform at a high school talent show.
“It was one of the only times I really had the jitters before a performance,” says Sheena. “I followed a rock group and knew immediately that the classical song I loved to play on the piano wasn’t really what kids wanted to hear. I depend so much on the Spirit to help me play, and that Spirit just wasn’t there.”
But this night, things were different. Thankfully, the Spirit was in abundance as her six functioning fingers flew over the keyboard of the grand piano creating music, the kind that brings a lump to the throat.
Sheena Rosander, 18, from Hurricane, Utah, was born with what some people consider a disability. But to Sheena, having only a partial thumb and no fingers on her left hand is a gift. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have all 10 fingers, like how much easier keyboarding would be,” says Sheena. “But I usually just find a way to go around it. My mom wanted me to peel potatoes, and I was really struggling with that potato peeler. So I decided when I have my own family I’ll just have baked potatoes. There’s always a way to do things.”
And that’s pretty much how Sheena has been able to enjoy her favorite activities, like playing and teaching tennis, playing the violin, teaching piano lessons, and competing at performing-arts festivals.
In fact, she’s used her good attitude as a springboard to propel her into positive social situations. On her first day of kindergarten, when Sheena proudly displayed her hand at “show and tell,” one child told her it looked like a Cabbage Patch doll’s hand. Delighted, she added several Cabbage Patch dolls to her already thriving collection. Her favorite had red hair and blue eyes, just like Sheena.
That kind of confidence comes naturally. Even before she was born, her mother, Toni, decided all her children would learn to play piano. Sheena began lessons at age five.
“She was determined to play the piano,” recalls her teacher, Tammy Drake. “Her hand was never an obstacle. She would compensate with her right hand to achieve a full sound. Then one day, she began playing with her left hand, using her thumb and pinky stub. Sheena has shown all of us a new kind of courage and determination. Some listeners never even know about her hand. She plays beautifully.”
But piano wasn’t Sheena’s only interest. She developed a love for sports, particularly basketball. Just before ninth-grade tryouts, however, Sheena experienced what she would term the greatest challenge of her life so far. She developed immune thrombocytopenic purpura, or ITP, a blood disorder which causes bleeding under the skin. Her disease prevented her from playing basketball since even an accidental bump on her head could cause a major brain hemorrhage.
After a year of transfusions, cortisone, and other medications, Sheena faced the decision of whether or not to have her spleen removed. As she had done since she was a small girl, Sheena turned to the Lord in prayer for a confirmation of her decision. After her surgery, she continued to worry. What if the ITP returned and kept her from her normal activities?
“I kept asking Heavenly Father if I was done with it,” she says, “but I never felt like I was getting an answer. Then my friend Liesel Bennion and I went to EFY [Especially for Youth] at BYU—Idaho. I had a wonderful counselor there who gave a devotional about the woman who had suffered with an issue of blood for 12 years and touched the hem of the Savior’s garment. When she read the words, ‘Daughter, be of good comfort: thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace’ (Luke 8:48) and sang a song called ‘Close Enough to Touch,’ my heart started pounding and tears sprang to my eyes. I knew at that moment I was done with the ITP. In a way I felt I also had touched the Savior’s hem by exercising faith in having the surgery.”
Not long after, the two friends decided to enter the Miss Hurricane pageant. This was not new to Sheena. She had tried out the previous year and had won the talent award but bombed the interview. So, in her typical style, she practiced with anyone who would interview her and tried out again. “I was so excited when I got first attendant, with talent and interview awards. And I was so happy for Leisel to be chosen queen. We’ve had a lot of fun together.”
As a senior at Hurricane High, Sheena loves performing, competing with the high school tennis team, and attending to her many responsibilities as mayor of the Hurricane Youth City Council. She loves family outings with her four siblings, going to school games, yelling and cheering, and watching old movies.
But while Sheena loves average teenage activities, she is far above average in her desire to serve and be obedient to the Lord. As Brother Stewart Wilson, her seminary teacher, says, “Sheena doesn’t lead with charisma. She leads with consistency. She lets her choices speak for themselves and carries the Spirit with her wherever she goes.”
Sheena doesn’t really see herself as a leader, just someone who knows what she wants to do and does it. “I’m really comfortable just slipping out of a room if I don’t like the movie my friends and I are watching,” says Sheena. “But I usually find most of the group out on the trampoline with me long before the movie is over.”
Friends, family, and fun are all a major part of Sheena’s life. But the most important aspects to her are faith and character. “Everyone has some kind of handicap and some distinct talent,” she says. “I think the best advice is to count your blessings and find something you can do well.
“Then remember,” she adds, “nothing is impossible. If you run into an obstacle, find a way to either go through it or around it. Then bring the Spirit into your life so you can put your trust and faith in the Lord to help you.”

In 1995 I saw this joy personified as I accompanied the missionaries in Santiago, Chile, to visit some of their converts. At the Basuare home, eight-year-old twin boys, Nicolas and Ignacio, met us at the door, dressed in white shirts and ties, just like missionaries. Their father had been baptized three weeks earlier, and the following week he baptized his wife and sons. We talked of their conversion. They shared their feelings of love for the missionaries and the joy they were experiencing in living the gospel and keeping the commandments.
I asked Nicolas if he would like to be a missionary when he grew up. He answered yes, and we shook hands on the promise that he would prepare for the day. Then I asked Ignacio the same question. He hesitated and replied, “I’m not sure I can make that promise. I’m only eight years old.”
I persisted, “Nicolas made the promise. Wouldn’t you like to do the same?”
He still hesitated and said, “I don’t know if I could be ready.” I could see I had taken on more than I could manage, so I said, “Perhaps you had better talk this over with your father.”
He went to his father, who took him in his arms and said, “Ignacio, Jesus was a missionary. He walked the streets like Elder Sheets and his companion and made the people happy by teaching them to keep the commandments. Wouldn’t you like to be like Jesus?”
“Yes, Papi, I would.”
“Do you think if we work together, you can be ready to be a missionary when you are 19 years old?”
“I think so.”
“Wouldn’t you like to make the promise to Elder Mickelsen that you will do that?” He came to me, and we shook hands to confirm the promise. I marveled that this young father, a convert of just three weeks, could be so sensitive in helping his family follow the Savior and how he emulated the missionaries in teaching his son.

When I was a Beehive, our stake leaders decided to hold a New Era Bowl. The Mutual groups of each ward and branch were to form teams, and each team was to read the back issues of the New Era for a whole year, then come together for a competition. For weeks at Mutual activities, my team members and I studied the magazine issues and quizzed each other.
One Sunday afternoon, as the competition grew nearer, I took a couple of New Era issues with me to a nearby canal bank to read. It was quiet there, and I could count on not being interrupted. I sat on the bank by the slow, brown water and read article after article. I only remember one article in particular, now. It was an article on Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. The last paragraph challenged every person to ask God if Joseph Smith was a prophet and if the Book of Mormon was true.
“Well, of course I knew it was true,” I thought. “I was baptized, wasn’t I? I went to church, didn’t I? I had borne my testimony in sacrament meeting, hadn’t I? Of course I knew. Surely people like me didn’t have to actually go through the motions of praying about it.”
Then I read the paragraph again. “Every person …”
Well, every person would probably include me, I reasoned. Sure, I could pray—what could it hurt? I set the magazine down, and there in the dirt of the canal bank I got on my knees. This would be simple. I would ask, and God would answer that it was true. I bowed my head, but before I got one word out, fears began to creep in.
I had asked for things in prayers before and had not received the answers I wanted. When I was nine, I prayed to be able to walk on water like the Apostle Peter. I tried it in the bathtub. It hadn’t worked. When I was 10, I prayed that if God could move mountains, could He please move a perfume bottle on my dresser just to let me know He could. Didn’t happen. What if Heavenly Father really didn’t answer prayers? Maybe He just didn’t answer mine.
Yet somehow I couldn’t back away. The article said every person.
Pushing my fears aside, I finally started my prayer and explained the problem to Heavenly Father. I told Him about the article I’d read. I told Him I was pretty sure the Church was true anyway, but the article said every person should pray. Then I said, “Please help me know if the Church is true. I think it is, but would Thou help me know?” Then I ended my prayer.
I never made it to my feet before a warmth that was physical as well as spiritual filled my whole body, mind, and heart. There wasn’t a corner of me that wasn’t filled with confidence, the confidence of knowing—really knowing—the Church was true, Joseph Smith was a prophet, and the Book of Mormon was true.

In early 2002, while I was serving in the Relief Society general presidency, the Church instituted a security system that required those of us who frequented the extended Church campus in Salt Lake City– including Temple Square, the Conference Center, Church Office Building, Relief Society Building, and so forth–to wear ID badges. Because our presidency had served nearly five years, we were easily recognized, and I don’t remember ever actually using my new ID badge.

In one of the Saturday sessions of the April 2002 General Conference, our presidency was released, but we continued to come and go to that conference in the usual manner for General Authorities and general officers–through a series of pedestrian tunnels that connect the various buildings on the Church campus.

I had been assigned to speak early Sunday morning at a devotional for all of the General Conference hosts and hostesses, and I was to be in the Conference Center at 6 AM. As I drove to the Conference Center that morning, it dawned on me that heavy double doors located at various places along the tunnel might not be open that early.

Sure enough, the first door in the tunnel was locked. I noticed an intercom on the wall, pushed the buzzer, and asked the Church Security officer who answered if he would let me through the door. “Sister Dew, do you have your ID badge with you?” I thought but didn’t say, “You know who I am. Why do you need to see my badge?” but I rummaged through my binder and found the badge. The officer then said, “Just wave it in front of the sensor, and the doors will open.”

“Seriously. That’s fantastic! What else will this badge open?”

He laughed and said, “You have a high clearance. Your badge gives you access to most doors throughout the Church campus. Didn’t you know that?”

“Amazing!”

I was already wondering what else my badge would open when he brought me down to earth: “Wasn’t your presidency just released, Sister Dew?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Well, enjoy your badge today because tonight at midnight, it will be deactivated.”

As promised, my badge opened the doors through the tunnel, and also, as promised, the next day it no longer worked. The privilege was gone.

The irony was unmistakable. For months, I had carried with me a badge that gave me privileges I had never made the effort or took the time to understand.

The principles we have discussed I know are true. They have blessed my life many times. One vivid example is when I was called to be a mission president. At the time I was working as a civilian for an admiral in charge of a program essential to the national defense of our country. When I told the admiral of the call, he was most upset because he did not understand how it had come and what it meant. He concluded a tense conversation with these words: “You are a traitor to your country. I’ll see that you never have success in this industry. I will not speak to you again. You are finished here. If that’s the way Mormons are, I’m going to get rid of all that work for me.”

I said, “Admiral, I will carefully turn my assignment over to a replacement unless you prevent me from continuing in this office.”

I knew what was right for me to do, but I was very concerned that my decision could cause a loss of work for innocent people who were honorably supporting their families in the program. As I struggled with that thought, there came into my mind the words of the song “Do what is right; let the consequence follow” (“Do What Is Right,” Hymns, 1985, no. 237). I could not see how that challenge could possibly be worked out, but I felt a peace and a calmness as I proceeded to do my best to instruct a replacement.

I can see now that the Lord guided me each step of the way in what to do and what to say. My replacement was a very capable, experienced individual who learned rapidly. I was impressed to identify those things that needed to be done and even was able to outline some suggestions for important future improvements in the program.

On my last day at work I met with the admiral again. The experience was totally different. That conversation ended with a much deeper appreciation for each other and for my beliefs. No other Church member was adversely affected because of my decision.

As we close this experience together, think of what the words of the song “Do What Is Right” mean in your life. May the doctrinal message it contains be as helpful to you as it has been to me.

Many years ago I was in Stockton, California, and a high councilor came up to me and said, “Elder Featherstone, I’ve been impressed by what you’ve said about the family. I have a son who is 17 years old. I haven’t hugged him or told him I loved him for half of his life—not since he was eight years old. I’m going home today, and I’m going to hug him and tell him I love him.”

I was afraid he might chicken out, so I asked him to write me a letter and tell me how it went. He wrote me a letter that arrived about three days later. Essentially, he said this, “I went home after Church. My son was watching a football game. He was slouched in the big easy chair with his leg up over the arm. I walked up to him, grabbed him by the arm, pulled him out of the chair, hugged him, kissed him on the cheek, and told him I loved him for the first time in half his life.”

I read the letter as I sat in my office, and the tears ran down and splashed on the letter. Of course we love each other. Love is critical.

I have a friend who is not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She had a party where we got our nails done and watched movies. She wanted to rent R-rated movies. I told her that I don’t watch those kinds of movies. One of the girls told me that she once watched a movie that she wasn’t supposed to watch, and her mom didn’t ever find out. I told her that I still wouldn’t see that movie. We ended up getting two other movies.
The next morning her mom made coffee. She offered me some. I told her that I wasn’t allowed to have coffee, and she told me that a little wouldn’t hurt. I politely told her that I did not want any. She didn’t say anything else after that. I’m glad that I could obey the Word of Wisdom.

When Peter Lauritzen of Eugene, Oregon, had to choose between attending early morning seminary or high school swim team practice, which met each morning at 6 A.M., he had to get up early to find a solution. In fact, he got up at 4:30 AM, each weekday so he could attend his own swim practice at 5 A.M. (with his coach’s approval), then make it to seminary. He was soon joined by three other seminary goers, Karen and Gary Orth, and DeWayne Colombe.
Karen and Peter were soon setting swim records for their high school, and doing well at state meets, too.
“I seem to be wider awake during the day than when I didn’t get up early,” said Pete. “It wasn’t that much of a decision really. Church comes first and then swimming.”

Although the afternoon was crisp and cold, inside our house we were warm and snug. In my parents’ room, my three sisters and I were all busily wrapping presents for the Fitzpatricks.* Ever since my early childhood we’d been friends with the Fitzpatricks, and I was always painfully aware of how little the parents and their four children had.
With the gifts in a pile, my sisters and I formed an assembly line wrapping a present and taking it to my mother. After checking the contents of the package, she would decide who would get what, and then sign it “Santa.” She would deposit the gift in a large plastic bag, and we would go to the next one. Using this method we quickly and efficiently finished wrapping the presents in about an hour.
Later that night we all piled into the family van with those plastic bags and headed toward the trailer park where the Fitzpatricks lived. After parking the van, my dad got out, walked to the trailer, and waited at the door. When he was sure no one was home, he unloaded the bags and left them on the porch.
The following Sunday I sat with my family in sacrament meeting. Sitting still and trying to listen was not something I did readily, and soon I became mesmerized by the pictures I was drawing. At one point I glanced up to see Sister Fitzpatrick at the pulpit. But I was only vaguely aware of what she was saying. Suddenly my sister Audrey jabbed me with her elbow and whispered that she was talking about us.
Streaming down her face were tears, and her voice shook as she spoke. She told the congregation how they didn’t have money for Christmas and they weren’t sure what to do. Upon returning that night, they found the bags of presents on their porch. She warmly thanked the gift givers.
The Fitzpatricks never found out who left the Christmas presents for them, although from the pulpit Sister Fitzpatrick said she knew the gifts came from someone in the congregation. Amazingly, tears came to my eyes, and I had to look down to brush them away. That was when I first felt like an angel.

As I watched the shiny tray come down my aisle, I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. This would be the first time in my life that I hadn’t been worthy to take the sacrament. The tray was quickly coming closer to me, and I was drowning in all my feelings. What would my parents think when I didn’t take the sacrament? My little brother and sister? I was supposed to be their example.
As the tray came to me, I quickly passed it on, bowing my head. I felt as if everyone in the whole chapel was looking at me.
The week before, I had talked to my bishop. As I entered his office, I started crying in shame even before I sat down. As I told him everything I had done, I thought he would be angry with me or say I had no hope of being forgiven. Instead, I noticed he was crying too. He let me know he was very pleased I had come to him. It felt so good to know he wanted to help with my problems and that I had someone to talk to.
When I finally stood up to leave, my bishop told me he loved me and assured me, “I am going to help you as much as I can to overcome all of your problems.” At that moment I knew everything would eventually be all right.
My first time not taking the sacrament was hard, but I have to relive the experience every Sunday as I pass the tray on. I am grateful to have the blessing of repentance in my life. I know that when I have completed the repentance process, I will be clean again. And because of this experience and the struggles I am going through, I never want to be unworthy again. Not taking the sacrament is hard. But it has helped me more fully appreciate my Savior’s sacrifice for me.

“The young women of the Fort St. John Ward were inspired to undertake a 15K hike through the Peace River Valley. With 14 young women plus leaders, we set off. The weather cooperated, and we felt a growing feeling of camaraderie. We visually drank deeply from God’s creations and appreciated the fact that He created it all. We spoke of gospel principles, expressed our love for the Young Women program, the activities, and each other. We knelt as a group and prayed on behalf of every young woman in attendance and for those who were not with us. We then wrote our declaration of virtue with charcoal on a piece of fabric, fastened it to a stick, and raised our banners high. We shouted as loud as we could the following five declarations so that we would know and those listening would know what we stood for: I will dress modestly and be a symbol of virtue! I will not use vulgar or degrading language! I will not let pornography destroy my family and friends! I will defend the family and the importance of marriage! Calling for a return to virtue!

“We know there will be many occasions where we will be called to stand and fight for good and righteous aspects of life. We are prepared. We are ready.”
—Kara Strate

“Time to get up,” Mom called cheerfully. I rolled over and pretended I didn’t hear her. That’s what I do when I don’t want to get up.
Mom didn’t give up. “Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes,” she called. “Anyone who wants to eat had better come downstairs.”
That got my brother going. “Come on,” Devon grunted, giving my bed a shake.
“I’m not hungry,” I muttered.
“Suit yourself.” He put on his robe and headed downstairs.
It was true. I wasn’t hungry. In fact, my stomach kind of ached. I stared at the wall. Maybe I should tell Mom I’m sick, I thought. That’s it—I’m sick and need to stay home.
A few minutes later I got my chance.
“Devon says that you’re not hungry.” Mom sat down on the edge of my bed. “Are you feeling all right?” She put her hand on my forehead. “You don’t feel hot.”
“I’m not sick,” I answered truthfully, “but I don’t feel very good.”
At first mom looked puzzled, then suddenly she understood. “Are you nervous about your talk?”
“I’m not just nervous,” I said. “I was nervous last night when I went to bed. Then I dreamed that when I got up to give my talk I couldn’t find my notes, and I couldn’t remember anything. It was awful!”
Mom shook her head. “I’m sorry that you had a bad dream, but it was just a dream. You’re going to do fine.”
“Can’t we call and say I’m sick?” I asked. But I knew that Mom would never go for it.
“Come have some breakfast,” she said, pulling the blankets off me. “You’ll feel better once you’re up and going.”
I knew that the only thing that was going to make me feel better was calling the Primary president and telling her that I was too sick to give a talk. Mary Kay could give two talks. She gives talks all the time. She even enjoys giving talks. I started to say something, but Mom gave me one of those “don’t waste your breath” looks, so I stopped.
“Good morning, Son,” Dad said happily as I slumped into my chair.
“Morning,” I grumbled. I couldn’t bring myself to call it a good morning.
Dad looked at me quizzically.
“Jeremy’s a bit worried about his talk,” Mom explained.
“Oh, I see,” Dad said. “Is there anything I can do to help? I’d be happy to listen if you want to practice before we go to church.”
I shook my head. Saying my talk in front of my dad wouldn’t help. I ate one pancake and half a piece of bacon before I asked to be excused.
“We’re really proud of you, you know,” Mom said as I rinsed my plate. “I wouldn’t have guessed that you would be the first one in our family to speak in church.”
“I’m sure that we’ll all get a turn eventually,” Dad said with a smile.
“What do you mean?” Devon asked anxiously.
“Just that speaking in church is something that Latter-day Saints do,” Dad replied. “We don’t have a pastor like we used to, who gives a sermon every week. The members take turns giving talks, instead.”
Devon shook his head. “I don’t ever want to give a talk.” He looked at me. “Who told you that you had to give a talk?”
“Nobody did. My teacher asked our class who wanted to give talks. Four of us raised our hands. We picked numbers to see who got to do it.”
“You mean you volunteered?” Devon was shocked.
I shrugged my shoulders. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I wish I’d kept my big mouth shut.”
Mom squeezed my shoulder. “You’re going to do great. Now, go get dressed for church.”
Some time later I hurried down the stairs. “Dad, will you tie my tie? I’ve done it three times and still can’t get it right.”
“I’d be happy to.” He wrapped my tie around his neck and tied a perfect knot. My tie looked pretty funny on him. It was way too short. He slid the tie up over his head, then pulled it down over mine.
“Thanks,” I said as I tightened it. I pulled my note cards out of my shirt pocket and started to read through my talk for the zillionth time.
I sat through sacrament meeting, quietly reading my notes over and over again. It wasn’t until I glanced up and saw Mary Kay watching me that I carefully put them back into my pocket.
When I reached the Primary room, I walked up to the chairs at the front of the room. On the way, I stopped at the podium just to make sure that I really was tall enough to see over it without standing on the stool that the little kids use. It didn’t matter—even if I couldn’t see over it, there was no way I was going to stand on the stool.
As I looked out over the podium, I saw my mom and dad sitting in the back of the room. I hadn’t asked them to come, but I wasn’t surprised to see them. What did surprise me was that Devon was with them. He was missing Sunday School just to hear me talk! I wasn’t sure if I was pleased or annoyed.
Mary Kay sat down in the chair next to mine. “Are you nervous?” she asked.
I shrugged, trying to look calm. “Are you?” I asked.
She nodded. “I’ve given lots of talks, but I still get nervous.” She held out her hands to show me that they were kind of shaking.
“Then why do you always volunteer?” I asked.
Mary Kay shrugged. “I think talking in church is a good thing to do. I think it’s important to tell people what you believe. Don’t you?”
“I guess so,” I said. “I’ve never given a talk before.”
Mary Kay looked shocked. “Really?”
“In my old church, the pastor did all the preaching,” I explained.
“It’s great, once you get going,” Mary Kay said with a smile.
The music started, so we stopped talking. I felt surprisingly calm. Somehow, knowing that Mary Kay got nervous when she gave a talk made me feel better.
After the opening song and prayer, the Primary president announced that Mary Kay and I would be giving talks. Mary Kay went first. I had a hard time listening to her talk. I kept going through my talk in my mind. I was startled when I heard her say “amen.”
“Good luck,” she whispered as I passed her on my way to the podium.
I pushed the stool out of the way with my foot, pulled the microphone down, and began.
“This is the first time I’ve ever given a talk in church,” I began. “In fact, it’s the first time anyone in my family has given a talk in church.” I looked at my family. They were all smiling at me.
I went on to tell of all the ways my life had changed since I was baptized. I talked about reading the Book of Mormon. I told about when the missionaries told my dad that he wasn’t pronouncing Moroni’s name correctly. They said that Dad’s way made the prophet’s name sound like a kind of pasta.
Then I talked about learning to pray, how glad I was when I learned that Heavenly Father wants us to pray, and how I knew that He listens to and answers our prayers.
I was almost finished when I realized that my note cards were still clenched tightly in my hand. I hadn’t even needed them! I thanked my parents and Devon for joining the Church and told them that I loved them. That part wasn’t even in my notes. Then I ended my talk, “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
As I sat down, I was filled with relief and joy.
“You did great!” Mary Kay whispered.
“Thanks,” I said, blushing slightly.
I looked back at my family. Devon smiled and gave me a big thumbs-up. Mom had tears running down her cheeks. I could tell they were happy tears.
When singing time began, I watched my family slip out the back door. I guess there was no reason for them to stay, but I still was sorry to see them go. It was then that I decided that the next time it was our class’s turn to give talks, I’d volunteer again.

Oh, no! That word seemed to jump off the page at me, and everything else in the classroom faded into insignificance. Our excellent, but strict, speech teacher had just assigned reading parts to the class and handed out the script. Quickly scanning the first page, my eyes stopped when I hit that word!
You see, I knew that Connie had been assigned to read that line in the script. With few exceptions, almost anyone in the class could have read that profane word without any personal concern. But I knew Connie. I knew of her high standards in every area of her life and of her integrity in maintaining those standards with no compromise. She just exemplified purity and freshness and happiness. Clean thoughts and language were carefully guarded. Now suddenly she was expected to violate that standard by a teacher who saw nothing wrong at all with such language. The script was already being read aloud, and I wondered what she would do. Then it was time for Connie’s part.
“Oh, PUMPKIN!” she exclaimed! The startled class suddenly broke out in good-natured laughter. Our teacher looked up quickly with a surprised expression on her face and momentarily studied Connie. Slowly she began to smile as she realized that Connie wasn’t just trying to attract attention or trying to be funny. But Connie simply continued reading her assigned part as though nothing unusual had happened.

Similarly, I had much miraculous help when I kept my commitment to the Lord about the Sabbath day. When I returned from my mission, writing was not one of my strong points. I found it very difficult, and my freshman English class was all about writing compositions. For some reason they were always due at nine every Monday morning. There were numerous times when I was still struggling with it late Saturday night. It was so tempting to work on it on Sunday, but I did not. I would get up early Monday morning and go after it, and often it would just flow. It felt so different than it had on Saturday night. I usually got it done by nine, but occasionally I did not. When that was the case, I would go to class and it would turn out that many class members were not finished, and the teacher would grant us until Wednesday. Or the teacher would be sick, and I would get an automatic extension until Wednesday or some other intervention. I can testify to you that I was never penalized on my grades for keeping the Sabbath day holy. Now this would not have been the case if I was slacking off in my studies or failing in my spiritual obligations. I knew the Lord would not just do the work for me if I had not done my very best.