Gospel Story Finder

There was a moment when I thought that leaving the Church was the answer to my problems because I just felt hopeless about everything. It is so easy to do what you’re not supposed to do in Iceland. The Church is so small here. It was just me and my siblings in our Church classes growing up. I felt lonely and for a while I didn’t like going to church.

Most people in Iceland push religion away. People start drinking at an early age. I got caught up in that, and I was inactive for a moment in my life. I’m not proud of that, but it’s a part of my experience and I learned from it. I studied a talk by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland and liked what he said: “The past is to be learned from but not lived in. … When we have learned what we need to learn … , then we look ahead, we remember that faith is always pointed toward the future.”1

One day when I was really struggling, I read my patriarchal blessing. As I read it, I realized that I do have a future. God has a plan for me, and He actually loves me. Going to church, taking the sacrament, reading the scriptures, and praying has brought so much light and happiness into my life. I soon realized, “This actually helps me.” That’s when I knew I always wanted the gospel in my life. After everything I’ve been through, I know that the gospel has saved my life, and I’m very happy about that.

Talking about my depression with family and friends has helped so much. It also led to more help. I didn’t want to take medications or go to therapy. I kept telling myself, “I have God.” But God provides many other tools, like medication and therapy, for us to use in addition to spiritual things.

As I started reading my scriptures more every day and getting closer to God through prayer, I received many blessings and revelations that my purpose is to help others. I feel like so many of us face mental health issues and we try to hide it. My depression and struggles have taught me that it’s better to open up and connect with others. My friend recently opened up to me about her struggle with depression. We talked about it and we truly understood each other.

We don’t always notice what others are struggling with, but I just walk around sometimes and look at other people and realize that God knows each and every one of us. He loves us and knows exactly what we are all going through. And we can help each other.

Through my struggles with depression, I’ve learned to ask, “What can I learn from this trial?” instead of “Why do I have this trial?” I love Ether 12:27, where it says that weak things can become strong if we have faith in Jesus Christ. This is always a comfort to me.

We all chose to come here to earth. We knew we were going to suffer through trials. And honestly that is what makes life great. Because we know there are good things to come. We know that if we follow the Savior throughout every hard phase, we can have eternal life and all these blessings that are waiting for us.

I’ve definitely noticed how I’ve changed through my depression. The Savior’s Atonement is real, my heart has been changed, and I’ve gotten stronger. I feel like I’m a different person than I once was. People notice and say, “You’ve changed.” One girl from school even said, “I see a difference and a light in you.” It’s weird because she isn’t even a member of the Church, and we hadn’t ever really talked before.

When I was in my worst depression, people would tell me, “It’s going to get better.” I would get so tired of hearing that but, as weird as it sounds, it’s true.

But you have to want to get better. I’ve learned that you can’t expect to get better by doing nothing. You have to want to be happy and believe that you have potential and a future. It’s important to remember that you are loved by so many people, including your Heavenly Father. They are all there to help you.

I never thought I would be as happy as I am now. Some days I still struggle, but with the tools Heavenly Father has given me, I can handle it. Now when I feel myself slipping into depression, I tell myself I am loved, I have people to talk to, and things will get better.

Almost all of us have seen a battlefield portrayed in a film or read the description in a story. Over the din of explosions and the shouts of soldiers, there comes a cry, “Man down!”

When that cry sounds, faithful fellow soldiers will move toward the sound. Another soldier or a medic will ignore danger and move to the injured comrade. And the man down will know that help will come. Whatever the risk, someone will run low or crawl to get there in time to protect and give aid. That is true in every band of men joined in a difficult and dangerous mission which they are determined to fulfill at any sacrifice. The histories of such groups are full of stories of those loyal men who were determined that no man would be left behind.
Here is one instance from an official account. During fighting in Somalia in October of 1993, two United States Army Rangers in a helicopter during the firefight learned that two other helicopters near them had fallen to the earth. The two rangers, in their relative safety aloft, learned by radio that no ground forces were available to rescue one of the downed aircrews. Growing numbers of the enemy were closing in on the crash site.
The two men watching from above volunteered to go down to the ground (the words they used on the radio were to “be inserted”) to protect their critically wounded comrades. Their request was denied because the situation was so dangerous. They asked a second time. Permission was again denied. Only after their third request were they put down on the ground.
Armed only with their personal weapons, they fought their way to the crashed helicopter and the injured fliers. They moved through intense small arms fire as enemies converged on the crash site. They pulled the wounded from the wreckage. They put themselves in a perimeter around the wounded, placing themselves in the most dangerous positions. They protected their comrades until their ammunition was depleted and they were fatally wounded. Their bravery and their sacrifice saved the life of a pilot who would have been lost.
They were each awarded posthumously the Medal of Honor, their nation’s highest recognition for bravery in the face of an armed enemy. The citation reads that what they did was “above and beyond the call of duty.”
But I wonder if they saw it that way as they moved to the downed airmen. Out of loyalty they felt a duty to stand by their fellow soldiers, whatever the cost. The courage to act and their selfless service came from feeling that they were responsible for the lives, the happiness, and the safety of comrades.
Such a feeling of responsibility for others is at the heart of faithful priesthood service. Our comrades are being wounded in the spiritual conflict around us. So are the people we are called to serve and protect from harm. Spiritual wounds are not easily visible, except with inspired eyes. But bishops, branch presidents, and mission presidents sitting before fellow disciples of the Savior can see the wounded and the wounds.
It has happened for years and across the earth. I remember as a bishop looking out at the face and the posture of a young man of the priesthood and having the thought come to my mind so clearly that it seemed audible: “I need to see him—and soon. Something is happening. He needs help.”
I would never put off such an impression because I had learned that the wounds of sin are often not felt at first by the one being hurt. Satan seems sometimes to inject something to deaden the spiritual pain while inflicting the wound. Unless something happens soon to begin repentance, the wound can worsen and widen.
Consequently, as a priesthood holder responsible for the spiritual survival of some of Heavenly Father’s children, you will then move to help without waiting for a cry, “Man down!” Even a best friend or other leaders or parents may not see what you have seen.
You may have been the only one to sense by inspiration the warning cry. The others may feel, as you will be tempted to think, “Maybe the trouble I thought I saw is just my imagination. What right do I have to judge another? It’s not my responsibility. I’ll leave it alone until he asks for help.”
Only an authorized judge in Israel is given the power and the responsibility to verify that there is a serious wound, to explore it, and then, under inspiration from God, to prescribe the necessary treatment for healing to begin. Yet you are under covenant to go to a spiritually wounded child of God. You are responsible to be brave enough and bold enough not to turn away.
I need to explain, as best I can, at least two things. First, why do you have a responsibility to move to help your wounded friend? And, second, how do you meet that responsibility?
First, you are under covenant, as has been made clear to you, that when you accepted the trust from God to receive the priesthood, you accepted a responsibility for whatever you might do or fail to do for the salvation of others, however difficult and dangerous that might appear to be for you.
There are countless examples of priesthood holders who shouldered that grave responsibility as you and I must. This is how Jacob in the Book of Mormon described his sacred trust when he moved in difficult circumstances to give aid: “Now, my beloved brethren, I, Jacob, according to the responsibility which I am under to God, to magnify mine office with soberness, and that I might rid my garments of your sins, I come up into the temple this day that I might declare unto you the word of God.”
Now, you might object that Jacob was a prophet and you are not. But your office, whatever it is in the priesthood, brings with it an obligation to “lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees” of those around you. You are the Lord’s servant covenanted to do for others, as best you can, what He would do.
Your great opportunity and your responsibility are described in Ecclesiastes:
“Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour.
“For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up.”
From that, you will understand the true and sobering words from Joseph Smith: “None but fools will trifle with the souls of men.” As Jacob believed, the woe of any fallen man or woman he could have helped and did not would become his own sorrow. Your happiness and that of those you are called to serve as a priesthood holder are bound together.
Now we come to the question of how best to help those you are called to serve and rescue. That will depend on your capacities and on the nature of your priesthood relationship to the person who is in spiritual peril. Let me give three cases which may be your opportunity at times in your priesthood service.
Let’s start when you are an inexperienced junior companion, a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood assigned with a seasoned companion to visit a young family. Before preparing for the visit, you will pray for strength and inspiration to see their needs and know what help you could give. If you can, you will have that prayer with your companion, naming those you will visit. As you pray, your heart will be drawn out to them personally and to God. You and your companion will agree on what you hope to accomplish. You will work out a plan for what you will do.
Whatever the plan, you will watch and listen with great intensity and humility during the visit. You are young and inexperienced. But the Lord knows their spiritual state and their needs perfectly. He loves them. And because you know He sends you to act for Him, you can have faith that you can sense their needs and what you can do to meet your charge to help. It will come as you visit face-to-face in their home. That is why you have this priesthood charge in the Doctrine and Covenants: “Visit the house of each member, and exhort them to pray vocally and in secret and attend to all family duties.”
And then you have an added charge which takes even greater discernment:
“The teacher’s duty is to watch over the church always, and be with and strengthen them;
“And see that there is no iniquity in the church, neither hardness with each other, neither lying, backbiting, nor evil speaking;
“And see that the church meet together often, and also see that all the members do their duty.”
You and your companion will rarely receive inspiration to know the details of the degree to which they are meeting that standard. But I can promise you from experience that you will be given the gift to know what is well with them. And from that you will be able to encourage them. There is another promise I can make: you and your companion will be inspired to know what changes they could make to begin the spiritual healing they need. The words of what you are charged to have happen in their lives will almost certainly contain some of the most important changes the Lord would have them make.
If your companion feels an impression to urge change, watch what he does. You will likely be surprised at the way the Spirit guides him to speak. There will be the sound of love in his voice. He will find a way to tie the needed change with a blessing that will follow. If it is the father or mother who needs to make a change, he may show how it would lead to happiness for the children. He will describe the change as a move away from unhappiness to a better and safer place.
Your contribution during the visit may seem to you small, but it can be more powerful than you may think possible. You will show by your face and manner that you care for the people. They will see that your love for them and the Lord makes you unafraid. And you will be bold enough to bear your testimony to truth. Your humble, simple, and perhaps brief testimony may touch the heart of a person more easily than that of your more experienced companion. I have seen it happen.
Whatever part you play in that priesthood visit, your desire to go to the people for the Lord to help them will bring at least two blessings. First, you will feel the love of God for the people you visit. And, second, you will feel the Savior’s gratitude for your desire to give the help the Savior knew they needed.
He sent you to them because He trusted that you would go feeling responsible to urge them toward Him and toward happiness.
As you grow a little older, there is another opportunity which will come to you in priesthood service. You will come to know your fellow quorum members well. You may have played basketball or football or shared some youth activities and service projects. With some you will have become close friends.
You will have come to recognize when they are happy and when they are sad. Neither of you may be in a position of authority in the quorum. But you will feel responsible for your fellow member in the priesthood. He may confide in you that he is beginning to break a commandment which you know will do him spiritual harm. He may ask for advice because he trusts you.
I can tell you from experience that if you succeed in influencing him away from a dangerous path, you will never forget the joy which came from being his true friend. If you do not succeed, I promise that when his grief and sadness come, as they will, you will feel his pain as if it were your own. Yet if you tried to help, you will still be his friend. And, in fact, for years he may talk with you about what good things there might have been and how grateful he is that you cared enough to try. You will comfort him then and invite him again, as you did in your youth, to come back to the happiness which the Atonement still makes possible for him.
Now, later in your life you will be a father—a priesthood father. What you have learned in your priesthood service as you helped others away from sadness and toward happiness will give you the power you will need and want. Years of being responsible for the souls of men will prepare you for helping and protecting your family, whom you will love more than you can imagine in your youth. You will know how to lead them with priesthood power to safety.
My prayer is that you will have joy in your priesthood service throughout your life and forever. I pray that you will develop the bravery and love for Heavenly Father’s children that led the sons of Mosiah to plead for the chance to face death and danger to take the gospel to a hardened people. Their desire and their bravery came from feeling responsible for the eternal happiness of strangers in danger of eternal misery.
May we have a part of the desire which Jehovah had, in the world before this one, when He asked to come down from the realms of glory to serve us and give His life for us. He asked His Father, “Send me.”
I testify that you were called of God and you are sent to serve His children. He wants that no one be left behind. President Monson holds the keys of the priesthood in all the earth. God will give you inspiration and strength to meet your charge to help His children find their way to the happiness made possible by the Atonement of Jesus Christ. I so testify to you in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

A few years ago, our little family went through what many families face in this fallen world. Our youngest son, Tanner Christian Lund, contracted cancer. He was an incredible soul, as nine-year-olds tend to be. He was hilariously mischievous and, at the same time, stunningly spiritually aware. Imp and angel, naughty and nice. When he was little and was every day bewildering us with his shenanigans, we wondered if he was going to grow up to be the prophet or a bank robber. Either way, it seemed that he was going to leave a mark on the world.

And then he became desperately ill. Over the next three years, modern medicine employed heroic measures, including two bone marrow transplants, where he caught pneumonia, requiring him to spend 10 weeks unconscious on a ventilator. Miraculously, he recovered for a short time, but then his cancer returned.

Shortly before he passed away, Tanner’s disease had invaded his bones, and even with strong pain medicines, still he hurt. He could barely get out of bed. One Sunday morning, his mom, Kalleen, came into his room to check on him before the family left for church. She was surprised to see that he had somehow gotten himself dressed and was sitting on the edge of his bed, painfully struggling to button his shirt. Kalleen sat down by him. “Tanner,” she said, “are you sure you are strong enough to go to church? Maybe you should stay home and rest today.”

He stared at the floor. He was a deacon. He had a quorum. And he had an assignment.

“I’m supposed to pass the sacrament today.”

“Well, I’m sure someone could do that for you.”

“Yes,” he said, “but … I see how people look at me when I pass the sacrament. I think it helps them.”

So Kalleen helped him button his shirt and tie his tie, and they drove to church. Clearly, something important was happening.

I came to church from an earlier meeting and so was surprised to see Tanner sitting on the deacons’ row. Kalleen quietly told me why he was there and what he had said: “It helps people.”

And so I watched as the deacons stepped to the sacrament table. He leaned gently against another deacon as the priests passed them the bread trays. And then Tanner shuffled to his appointed place and took hold of the end of the pew to steady himself as he presented the sacrament.

It seemed that every eye in the chapel was on him, moved by his struggle as he did his simple part. Somehow Tanner expressed a silent sermon as he solemnly, haltingly moved from row to row—his bald head moist with perspiration—representing the Savior in the way that deacons do. His once indomitable deacon’s body was itself a little bruised, broken, and torn, willingly suffering to serve by bearing the emblems of the Savior’s Atonement into our lives.

Seeing how he had come to think about being a deacon made us think differently too—about the sacrament, about the Savior, and about deacons and teachers and priests.

I wonder at the unspoken miracle that had impelled him that morning to respond so bravely to that still, small call to serve, and about the strength and capacities of all of our emergent youth as they push themselves to respond to a prophet’s call to enlist in God’s battalions and join in the work of salvation and exaltation.

I live in Oklahoma, where there are many missionary opportunities. One such experience happened recently with my friend and my English teacher. Our English teacher assigns different journal topics every Monday, and we can choose to read them aloud on Friday.
One week, my teacher chose the topic “If you could have someone famous or well-known raise you, who would it be?” My friend chose Brigham Young, and I chose Thomas S. Monson. We are the only Mormons in our grade, so nobody else knew who we were talking about. My friend read hers aloud, but I had no intention of reading mine. Then, I felt the Spirit prompt me that I needed to read mine.
After we both read our journal entries, our teacher started asking us questions about our Church. We talked about our beliefs for about 20 minutes. Normally I would have been nervous, but I felt the Spirit so strongly. My teacher seemed interested.
The next week, I gave my teacher a copy of the Book of Mormon. I put a copy of the Articles of Faith inside, along with a brief summary of the Book of Mormon. She said that she felt ignorant because most kids can say what they believe, but they only know because their parents told them. “But you know what you believe,” she said, “and you know why.”
I felt the Spirit confirm that because I had listened to the promptings of the Holy Ghost, I had had a missionary experience that I would not have had otherwise.

But however rugged the land looked going south, the wind-whipped, erosion-gutted cliffs and canyon wilderness of San Juan country to the east looked a lot tougher. Church leaders knew that taming that rough, unchartered corner of the territory would be difficult, but they nevertheless wanted to establish communities for the Church there. At the quarterly conference of the Parowan Stake in 1879, 250 people accepted the call by President John Taylor to establish the San Juan Mission. With 80 wagons and nearly 1,000 head of cattle and horses, they began to cut their way toward and through imposing, unexplored territory of snow-capped mountains and towering stone pinnacles.
Seeking the shortest route to San Juan, those first explorers overcame one obstacle after another but soon faced the largest and most intimidating barrier of all: the impassable gulf of the Colorado River gorge. Miraculously their weary scouts found a narrow slit in the canyon—a crevice running 2,000 feet (610 m) down the red cliffs to the Colorado River below. This lone, near-lethal “hole in the rock” seemed to offer the only possible passage to the eastern side.
For the most part, the slice in the sandstone was too narrow for horses and in some places too narrow even for a man or woman to pass through. Sheer drops of as much as 75 feet (23 m) would seem to have made it impossible for a mountain sheep, let alone loaded wagons. But the hardy Saints were not going to turn back, so with blasting powder and tools, working most of December 1879 and January 1880, they cut a precarious, primitive road into the face of the canyon precipice.
With this roadbed finished, such as it was, the task was now to get the first 40 wagons down the “hole.” The other wagons, waiting five miles (8 km) back at Fifty-Mile Spring, would follow later.
They organized themselves in such a way “that a dozen or more men could hang on behind the wagon” with long ropes to slow its descent. Then the wheels were brake-locked with chains, allowing them to slide but avoiding the catastrophe of the wheels actually rolling.
In one of the great moments of pioneer history, one by one the company took the wagons down the treacherous precipice. When they reached the canyon floor, they eagerly started to ferry across the river with a flatbed boat they had fashioned for that purpose. As it turned out, the Joseph Stanford Smith family was in the last wagon to descend that day.
Stanford Smith had systematically helped the preceding wagons down, but somehow the company apparently forgot that Brother Smith’s family would still need help as the tailenders. Deeply disturbed that he and his family seemed abandoned, Stanford moved his team, wagon, and family to the edge of the precipice. The team was placed in front and a third horse was hitched behind the wagon to the rear axle. The Smiths stood for a moment and looked down the treacherous hole. Stanford turned to his wife, Arabella, and said, “I am afraid we can’t make it.”
She replied, “But we’ve got to make it.”
He said, “If we only had a few men to hold the wagon back, we might make it.”
Replied his wife, “I’ll do the holding back.”
She laid a quilt on the ground, and there she placed her infant son in the care of her three-year-old, Roy, and five-year-old, Ada. “Hold little brother ’til papa comes for you,” she said. Then positioning herself behind the wagon, Belle Smith grasped the reins of the horse hitched to the back of the rig. Stanford started the team down the hole. The wagon lurched downward. With the first jolt the rear horse fell. Sister Smith raced after him and the wagon, pulling on the lines with all her strength and courage. She soon fell too, and as she was dragged along with the horse, a jagged rock cut a cruel gash in her leg from heel to hip. That gallant woman, with clothes torn and a grievous wound, hung on to those lines with all her might and faith the full length of the incline all the way to the river’s edge.
On reaching the bottom and almost in disbelief at their accomplishment, Stanford immediately raced the 2,000 feet (607 m) back up to the top of the cliff, fearful for the welfare of the children. When he climbed over the rim, there he saw them literally unmoved from their position. Carrying the baby, with the other two children clinging to him and to each other, he led them down the rocky crack to their anxious mother below. In the distance they saw five men moving toward them carrying chains and ropes. Realizing the plight the Smiths were in, these men were coming to help. Stanford called out, “Forget it, fellows. We managed fine. Belle here is all the help a fellow needs [to make this journey].”2

I received the other day a very interesting letter. It was written by a woman who joined the Church a year ago. She writes:
“My journey into the Church was unique and quite challenging. This past year has been the hardest year that I have ever lived in my life. It has also been the most rewarding. As a new member, I continue to be challenged every day.”
She goes on to say that when she joined the Church she did not feel support from the leadership in her ward. Her bishop seemed indifferent to her as a new member. Rebuffed, as she felt, she turned back to her mission president, who opened opportunities for her.
She states that “Church members don’t know what it is like to be a new member of the Church. Therefore, it’s almost impossible for them to know how to support us.”
I challenge you, my brothers and sisters, that if you do not know what it is like, you try to imagine what it is like. It can be terribly lonely. It can be disappointing. It can be frightening. We of this Church are far more different from the world than we are prone to think we are. This woman goes on: “When we as investigators become members of the Church, we are surprised to discover that we have entered into a completely foreign world, a world that has its own traditions, culture, and language. We discover that there is no one person or no one place of reference that we can turn to for guidance in our trip into this new world. At first the trip is exciting, our mistakes even amusing, then it becomes frustrating and eventually, the frustration turns into anger. And it’s at these stages of frustration and anger that we leave. We go back to the world from which we came, where we knew who we were, where we contributed, and where we could speak the language.”
I have said before, and I repeat it, that every new convert needs three things:
A friend in the Church to whom he can constantly turn, who will walk beside him, who will answer his questions, who will understand his problems.
An assignment. Activity is the genius of this Church. It is the process by which we grow. Faith and love for the Lord are like the muscle of my arm. If I use them, they grow stronger. If I put them in a sling, they become weaker. Every convert deserves a responsibility. The bishop may feel that he is not qualified for responsibility. Take a chance on him. Think of the risk the Lord took when He called you.
Of course the new convert will not know everything. He likely will make some mistakes. So what? We all make mistakes. The important thing is the growth that will come of activity.
As a part of this process of giving responsibility, it is proper and very important that the new convert, if he be a man, is ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood. Then before too many months, he may be ordained to the Melchizedek Priesthood. He will have the fellowship of the elders quorum. He will become one of a vast body of priesthood throughout the world, men of integrity and faith who love the Lord and seek to move forward His work.
Every convert must be “nourished by the good word of God” (Moro. 6:4). It is imperative that he or she become affiliated with a priesthood quorum or the Relief Society, the Young Women, the Young Men, the Sunday School, or the Primary. He or she must be encouraged to come to sacrament meeting to partake of the sacrament, to renew the covenants made at the time of baptism.
Not long ago, I listened to a man and woman who spoke in my home ward. This man had served in many capacities in the Church, including that of bishop. Their most recent assignment was to fellowship a single mother and her children. He stated that it was the most joyful of all his Church experiences.
This young woman was full of questions. She was filled with fear and anxiety. She did not wish to make a mistake, to say anything that was out of line that might embarrass her or cause others to laugh. Patiently this man and his wife brought the family to church, sat with them, put a shield around them, as it were, against anything that might happen to embarrass them. They spent one evening a week with them at their home, teaching them further concerning the gospel and answering their many questions. They led that little family along as a shepherd leads his sheep. Eventually, circumstances dictated that they move to another city. “But,” he stated, “we still correspond with that woman. We feel a great appreciation for her. She is now firmly grounded in the Church, and we have no fear concerning her. What a joy it has been to work with her.”
I am convinced that we will lose but very, very few of those who come into the Church if we take better care of them. They may not be thoroughly converted. How can they be, having had only six lessons? They may not meet all of the desirable qualifications. But they have been awakened to a new sense of values and opportunities. They have been taught that they are sons and daughters of God. They have been baptized in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost. They have been confirmed members of the Church and received the gift of the Holy Ghost.
I was recently in Canada, where I visited, among other cities, the city of Regina. There we were hosted by President D. Lawrence Penner, president of the Saskatoon Saskatchewan Stake. He is a wonderful man, an excellent executive. When he was 20 years of age, he was baptized. It was a huge step for him. He had been referred to the missionaries by members of the Church. They immediately looked him up. They talked to him. They taught him. They baptized him. They encouraged him, as did his local Church officers. He was ordained to the Priesthood. He was given things to do. A year later, he was called on a mission and served in Japan. He returned the stronger for that experience. With the encouragement of many people who have helped him along the way, he today stands as the presiding high priest of this great stake of Zion. He is the husband and father of a good family, all of whom are active. He is an example of the kind of man who should be coming into the Church as a convert and remaining to become a leader.
Now, you missionaries, you are part of this responsibility of binding your converts to the Church. You may not be able to continue to visit them. But you can write them occasionally and give them encouragement. I hope that every one of you will make a record in your scriptures of every man, woman, and child whom you baptize, together with their home addresses. Your penmanship may be terrible, but an occasional note from you will give reassurance and comfort and a rekindling of joy. When you go home do not forget them. At all times live worthy of their trust. Write to them occasionally, assuring them of your love.
To the missionaries, I repeat, it will do no good for you to baptize someone and have that individual fall away from the Church shortly thereafter. What have you accomplished? You may have labored long and hard, you may have fasted and prayed as you taught a particular individual the gospel. But if he does not remain active in the Church, all of your labor has been in vain. The whole process counts for nothing. Any investigator worthy of baptism becomes a convert worthy of saving.
Elder Bruce Porter of the Seventy recounts an experience: “As a missionary in Germany nearly 25 years ago, I arrived in the city of Wuppertal as a new zone leader shortly after the missionaries who preceded me had had phenomenal success in baptizing several families and individuals. Their baptisms represented a substantial addition to that branch, which had nearly 100 members. We decided as missionaries to concentrate a great deal of effort on integrating and fellowshipping these new members so that they would remain active members of the branch for the rest of their lives. We taught them all of the new member lessons, as well as additional lessons of our own making; we enrolled them in a yearlong Gospel Essentials class taught by the missionaries; we worked with the branch leadership to ensure that they received callings and were integrated into the branch through socials and fellowshipping by members; we arranged for them to meet one another and help teach other investigators so that they would form bonds among themselves that would help them as a group remain active in the future. In short, we spent more than six months after their baptism doing what we could to ensure that their testimonies were strong and that they were integrated into the Church.
“Today, 25 years later, almost all of those families and individuals are still active and faithful. Many of their children have served missions and have been married in the temple. We now have a second and even a third generation of activity in the Church. The one couple who did go inactive had a daughter who remained active and has since been married in the temple. Although this is only one case, my experience then persuaded me that time spent by missionaries working with members to integrate new members into the Church will pay off richly in the long term” (letter to Elder Richard G. Scott).
That is a powerful testimony of what can be done. However, missionaries do not need to neglect proselyting to assist in fellowshipping the members. The two efforts can go hand in hand. You have the Saints to help, all of them. You have bishops and their ward councils. You have stake presidents and their stake councils. Most particularly, you have the Member Missionary Coordinating Council, which meets periodically to consider missionary problems in the stakes and most particularly to keep track of and give an accounting of every new member who has come into the Church. Your own full-time mission president will frequently attend this meeting.
Under the direction of this council, another six lessons will be taught to more firmly ground new members in their faith.
Now, to you bishops who hold your ward council meetings, a discussion of the status of converts in that meeting may be the most important business you will conduct. You are not bound by rigid rules. You have unlimited flexibility. You are entitled to answers to your prayers, to inspiration and revelation from the Lord in dealing with this matter. I am appalled when I hear that a bishop is indifferent toward those who come into the Church. At that time, they may not be very attractive people. But if they are treated right, the gospel will refine them. Their very dress, their demeanor, their deportment will improve. All of us have seen miracles occur. How great is our opportunity, how tremendous our challenge.
My beloved brethren and sisters, it is our responsibility, the responsibility of each of us, of the stake presidency, of the high council, of the bishopric, of the Sunday School presidency, of the Primary presidency, of the Young Men presidency, of the Young Women presidency, of the Relief Society presidency, and of the priesthood quorum officers to see that every one who is baptized is encouraged and made to feel the wondrous warmth of this gospel of our Lord. I am pleased to report that we are making progress, but there is so very much more that remains to be done.
How glorious is this work. It is filled with miracles. We could talk about them all evening as we have witnessed them.
Brothers and sisters, all of you out in the wards and stakes and in the districts and branches, I invite you to become a vast army with enthusiasm for this work and a great overarching desire to assist the missionaries in the tremendous responsibility they have to carry the gospel to every nation, kindred, tongue, and people. “The field is white [and] ready to harvest” (D&C 4:4). The Lord has repeatedly declared this. Shall we not take Him at His word?
Before the Church was organized, there was missionary work. It has continued ever since, notwithstanding the difficulties of many of the seasons through which our people have passed. Let us, every one, resolve within ourselves to arise to a new opportunity, a new sense of responsibility, a new shouldering of obligation to assist our Father in Heaven in His glorious work of bringing to pass the immortality and eternal life of His sons and daughters throughout the earth.
This is God’s holy work. This is His Church and kingdom. The vision that occurred in the Sacred Grove was just as Joseph said it was. We are building a new temple overlooking this hallowed ground to further testify to the reality of this most sacred event. As I recently stood in the snow to determine where this new temple will stand, there came into my heart a true understanding of the importance of what happened in the Sacred Grove. The Book of Mormon is true. It testifies of the Lord Jesus Christ. His priesthood has been restored and is among us. The keys of that priesthood, which have come from heavenly beings, are exercised for our eternal blessing. Such is our testimony—yours and mine—a testimony which we must share with others. I leave this testimony and my blessing and my love with each of you, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

In 1919, Abigail Kailimai was four years old. She lived with her mother and father and all her older brothers and sisters in the town of Hilo on the big island of Hawaii. From her house, she could see the beautiful ocean where seals, turtles, whales, and many colorful fish swam.
Towering over her town was the large mountain called Mauna Kea. Thick rain forests and green pastures grew between her house and the mountain. Abigail could sometimes see puffs of smoke in the sky from volcanoes on the other side of the mountain.
Her father often told her wonderful stories. Her favorite story was about the temple then being built almost two hundred miles away on the island of Oahu. Father told her how, long ago, Joseph F. Smith had come to Hawaii as a missionary. The year Abigail was born, he had returned as President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and had dedicated a sugarcane field where the Church would build a temple. Father told her the ground there was now holy because the prophet had blessed it.
Father told Abigail how much the Hawaiian people loved President Smith. They called him Iosepa, the Hawaiian name for Joseph. Father’s eyes sparkled when he told Abigail what a wonderful place the temple would be. He promised to take her and her family to the temple when it was built so that they could be sealed together forever.
On Sundays, Abigail’s family went to church. Some people walked to church, and some rode horses. Father had an automobile. The whole family climbed inside it and rode to church. She loved learning about Jesus there. Her teacher often talked about the holy temple that was being built.
One day, Abigail’s mother told her the temple was almost finished! Their family needed to get ready to make the long journey there. Mother sewed new white dresses for Abigail and her sisters. They had been saving their money for a long time so that they could sail to Oahu.
Father told them that they needed to get ready to go to the holy temple in other ways, too. They needed to try to act as Jesus would, so that they would be worthy to go inside His house. Mother wrote down the names of her grandparents and great-grandparents and other relatives who had died so that they could be sealed to the family, too.
Finally the day came for them to leave. Abigail wore her prettiest dress and carried a small bag with her new white dress in it. Their friends came to give them flower leis to wear around their necks and to wish them a good journey. Abigail and her family climbed into the boat and were soon far out on the ocean.
Father showed Abigail how smoke and steam came out of the boat’s smokestack. The steam made the boat go. Abigail liked to watch the boat slice through the waves and to see the dolphins swimming alongside. After a very long day, they finally arrived in Oahu.
Abigail and her family went to the town of Laie, where the new temple had been built. One of the families living there invited them to stay in their home. Abigail shared a room where all the girls slept. In the morning, the children went outside and played in the sand dunes near the beach.
The next day, November 27, 1919, President Heber J. Grant came to dedicate the temple. Abigail could feel that the temple was a wonderful, holy place. After the dedication, the Saints held a luau, or big feast, to celebrate. They ate pork, chicken, fish, bananas, rice, and coconuts. They sang beautiful songs.
One week after the temple was dedicated, Abigail and her family went inside it to be sealed together. She wore her new white dress. Father told her that now their family could be together even after they went to heaven. Abigail felt so happy!

Tommy stood at the window looking out at the drifted snow. He sighed a long, loud sigh. The snow hadn’t melted a bit since yesterday. He was tired of winter.
“That was a mighty big sigh for a small boy,” Grandpa said.
Tommy looked at Grandpa who had just come into the room. Then he looked back out the window at the snow and said, “I don’t like winter. I can’t go outside and play. The snow just stays in heaps and mounds all over the yard.”
“It does stay snowy and cold,” Grandpa agreed.
“I can’t even fly my kite, it’s so cold and wet outside,” Tommy complained.
Grandpa laughed.
But Tommy was still cross. “I wish I could push winter so far away that it would never come again.”
“Never have winter!” Grandpa was astonished.
“I don’t know what good it is,” Tommy said. “So I wish it would never come again. Then I wouldn’t have to keep waiting through winter.”
Grandpa put his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Why don’t you get your coat and cap? The sun is out for awhile and we can go for a walk and see about the winter you don’t like.”
Tommy bundled up and met Grandpa, who smiled at him as they went outside together.
They had gone only as far as the front walk when Grandpa stopped. He pulled a branch of the maple tree down close to Tommy’s face.
“See those shiny brown bumps?” he asked.
Tommy looked closely at the branch and nodded his head.
“Those are leaf buds,” Grandpa said. “The tree is just waiting for the bright sunshine to melt the snow so that the water will go down to its deep roots. Without water, the tree can’t make its leaves open for spring. It would stay bare and brown forever.”
After they had walked a little farther, Grandpa stopped again. This time he bent close to the ground and pushed away the snow. Tommy could see some bright green shoots poking right up out of the ground.
“These are spring crocuses and hyacinths,” Grandpa said. “The snow has already melted deep enough into the soil to wake them up. They’re only waiting for the sunshine to tell them it’s time to grow taller.”
Grandpa pushed the snow back over the shoots and stood up. “Let’s go this way,” he said, pointing up the street.
They had gone only as far as the corner when Grandpa stopped. Beside the wall of a house he showed Tommy a spot of brown earth where the snow had melted.
Grandpa poked at the brown earth. Tommy poked at it too.
“See how soft and damp the soil is already,” Grandpa asked. “It’s just waiting for the sunshine to warm the seeds so they can burst into life.”
Tommy walked beside Grandpa. And Grandpa said, “Soon the snow will melt and make ponds where wild ducks and geese can live. It will fill streams where fish live. And, most important of all, it will melt into water for all of us to drink.”
Tommy nodded his head up and down. He looked at the snow that still lay in heaps and mounds all over the lawn and laughed right out loud.
“Now that I understand how important winter is,” Tommy said, “I won’t mind having to wait through it after all.”

Number 50 Rock Street, Lowell, Massachusetts, could be the home of any one of thousands of southeast Asian families that have settled in this city of 100,000. But 50 Rock Street is the home of Chea Touch (pronounced Cheea Tooch), a 15-year-old Cambodian boy who was baptized three years ago. A member of the Lowell Branch, this remarkable young man has been directly responsible for the baptisms of many other Asian friends.
“It has not been easy for my family and me to come to a new country. There are many things we don’t understand, and we have many struggles. The elders have shown us that they care about us and they want us to be happy,” says Chea. He adds, “I’ve always known I have a Heavenly Father who loves me. It’s been wonderful to learn more about him and know what I must do to return to him. I want my friends to know the truth so they can have the happiness I do.”
Chea’s story begins in 1987 when two elders, Paul Gooch and Garrett Black, were assigned to the Massachusetts Boston Mission. Since there had not been elders in Lowell for a number of years, they felt it was appropriate to seek special help from Heavenly Father on the missionary effort. At the time there were only two Cambodian families who were members of the Church in that area.
Elder Gooch’s journal entry of April 11, 1987, reads: “On this beautiful, clear, spring day, Elder Black and I went upon the top of Fort Hill overlooking the city. We asked that Lowell be blessed as a place of refuge for the Asian people where they could rest in peace and safety, where the Spirit could dwell amidst them in their homes.” Both elders felt inspired. The entry continues. “We asked that Lowell be blessed as a place where the Asians might come to know Jesus as their Savior.”
The elders’ first meeting with Chea was quite accidental. Looking for another family, they happened to knock on his door. Chea was the only family member who spoke English. In the course of their conversation, he told them that he loved Jesus, wanted to find a church, and made them promise to take him to church the next Sunday. Elder Gooch recalls, “I was very impressed with Chea. He was extremely mature and seemed like a 25-year-old in a 12-year-old body.” Chea’s parents told the elders that their son had visited several Christian churches on his own, but “didn’t feel right in any of them.”
Chea’s maturity is no doubt a result of many of the things he has experienced in his young life. Like many Cambodians who have found refuge in the United States, Chea and his family are survivors. He was four and his sister Soph was ten in 1979 when they escaped with their parents from Cambodia and made their way to the Kavidan refugee camp in Thailand.
They lived in the refugee camp until 1984, when relief organizations sponsored their relocation to the United States. They’ve been in Lowell, Massachusetts, since then. Chea now has two younger sisters: Lundi, who is eight, and Dani, age six.
After hearing the discussions and attending sacrament meeting, Chea knew he had found what he was looking for. “The people are so nice. I feel I belong. As I learn the scriptures and read the Book of Mormon, I can feel Heavenly Father’s love for me.” Chea loves to sing and adds, “The music makes me very happy.” Although his parents have taken the missionary lessons, attended church often, and fully support Chea, they have not joined the Church. (As a Buddhist monk, Chea’s father made certain commitments that he feels would be violated should he join another religion.)
After his baptism, Chea and the elders became very good friends. “Almost every day Chea would come to our apartment,” recalls Elder Gooch. “He would tell us about friends and relatives he wanted us to visit. Sometimes we had a hard time keeping up!”
Smiling, Chea recalls the first person he told the elders about. “Sothom Chea was in my class at school. At first I was afraid of him. I thought he didn’t like me. I asked him if he would like to meet my friends, Elder Black and Elder Gooch. When Sothom said yes I was surprised but very, very happy.” Chea accompanied the elders to all of Sothom’s discussions. He says, “I enjoyed translating the lessons. I learned so much. I could feel the Holy Spirit. Besides, it was fun.”

“Whose bright idea was it to come down in this dungeon?” Amy asked.
Just moments before, the debaters had been trying to study together in the school library, preparing for the state tournament that afternoon. The distractions became unbearable, so at Darin’s suggestion, they had relocated to the basement, in a secluded room the librarian said was only used occasionally, for tutoring.
“Excuse me?” Darin questioned.
“She’s referring to your idea of coming down here,” Jodi said, looking up from her book.
“Do you have a better idea?” Darin snapped back. It was like that with the debate team. Sometimes it seemed they couldn’t have any kind of conversation without turning it into a discussion of pros and cons.
“Hey, we’re leaving soon anyway. At least now I can hear myself think,” Brent jumped to Darin’s defense.
“I don’t understand what the problem with the library was,” Matt added. The debate continued. First, about how ugly and cold the room was. Then about Social Security, the topic of the tournament. Then movies, then … They were the intellectually elite of the school, skilled at making arguments. Getting any of them to back down was next to impossible.
The classroom door slowly opened. A young man entered and observed them carefully. They seemed oblivious to his presence.
“Excuse me,” he finally said.
“Did you need something?” Jodi said. She acknowledged his presence but was too caught up in the group discussion to be bothered.
“Yeah, I’m supposed to meet my math tutor down here. The principal sent me.”
“We’ll be done in a minute,” Matt said without looking up.
The young man eyed the others, then found a seat on the opposite side of the room. He chuckled to himself as he listened to their arguments. He recognized Darin and Matt as two of the smartest students in the school. He was definitely out of his league.
The ground beneath his feet suddenly seemed to move. The arguing stopped. The lights flickered. Then things crashed around them. Amy screamed as a large beam dropped from the ceiling, forcing her to the ground. Her arms flailed out, grabbing empty air for some support.
“Get under something!” the young man yelled as he dove for the ground. A sharp pain took him by surprise as the corner of a desk crashed into his head. A pipe burst, showering the room with cold water. It was totally dark.
Almost as quickly as it had begun, the room stopped shaking. The teenagers sat petrified for a moment as the gushing water slowed to a trickle before stopping.
Everything was suddenly silent. Thick dust drifted in the cool air, making it hard to breathe. Finally someone spoke, “Is everyone all right?”
The voice was answered with a muffled groan, a couple of coughs, and someone crying.
“What happened?” another voice asked.
Jodi stood up, spilling ceiling tiles and other debris into the puddle below her. “I think we just had an earthquake.”
Amy whispered in quiet, scared gasps, “Help me!”
The young man heard her cry. “Where are you?”
“Please hurry!” came the weak reply.
He kneeled down and began searching. His heart jumped as his hand finally fell on her cold arm.
“Please help. It hurts so bad!”
“It’s okay. Everything is going to be all right!”
He found the heavy ceiling beam resting across Amy’s small frame. He tested its weight and lifted. Slowly it rose. Amy cried out.
“You’ve got to push yourself free!” he gasped.
He was answered by short gasps of pain and fear. The burning in his muscles was overwhelming, telling him he couldn’t hold the beam up much longer. Just then someone startled him.
“I can help.”
“Pull her out of the way,” he managed to gasp. “Be careful; she’s hurt!”
Amy let out another cry as she was pulled to safety.
“Amy, it’s Jodi. You’re going to be all right!”
The strength in his fingers gave out, and he let the wood crash to the floor.
Brent soon found his way to Amy’s side.
“Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere. It really hurts to breathe,” Amy said softly.
Darin found his way to the others.
“The door’s stuck,” he informed them. “It won’t budge.”
“Looks like we’ll have to wait until someone finds us,” Jodi sighed.
“It better be soon,” Brent said matter-of-factly. “We need to get Amy some help.”
They became quiet as they contemplated their situation. Amy broke the silence with her quiet voice, “What’s your name?”
The young man realized she was speaking to him.
“Reegan.”
“Thank you, Reegan,” her voice trailed off.
“No problem,” Reegan replied, “just try not to talk.” He found Amy’s hand. It was cold and weak but still managed to close around his own.
“Where’s Matt?” Darin asked, suddenly remembering they hadn’t accounted for everyone.
“Over here,” came a reply from across the room. “I’m trying to find my backpack. My flashlight’s in it.”
The group settled down in the dark, listening. The floor was wet and cold, and the dark, dirty air stuck to them.
“Do you think they’ll find us?” Jodi asked fearfully.
“Oh, sure. They’ll have us out of here in no time,” Brent responded, a little uncertainly.
“Hey, Reegan, way to pick the right time for tutoring!” Darin said.
“No kidding,” Reegan said. “If I had known it was going to be like this in here, I’d have stayed upstairs.”
“I found it!” Matt cried.
Suddenly a large circle of light appeared on Reegan’s head. He squinted. The light bobbed around the room. The ceiling tiles were now all about them on the floor, exposing old pipes, beams, and wires. Then with a clank the light disappeared.
“Oh no, I dropped it!” Matt said. He reached for the flashlight, found it, and pushed the button. Nothing happened. He pushed it again, and his spirits dropped.
“Way to go, klutz!” Brent grumbled.
“Hey, Houdini, why don’t you pull a flashlight out of your hat,” Matt shot right back.
The fireworks began. The room, no longer silent, echoed the irritation as the debaters took turns blaming each other for their predicament. Finally Reegan let out a piercing whistle. The room quieted immediately.
“Hey, you guys. I know we’re all scared, but I really don’t think anyone here caused the earthquake,” he said.
“Well, God sure picked a nice time to give us a jolt,” Jodi said smugly.
“Oh, please. Do we really need your religious mumbo-jumbo to explain why the ground started shaking?” Brent asked.
“You believe what you want; I’ll believe what I want,” Jodi answered.
“Show me some proof, and I’ll believe anything,” Darin said.
Reegan chuckled. His memory returned to a few nights before when he sat in the home of a young couple. He’d been with the missionaries on splits. In the home he remembered hearing the same statement about showing proof.
“What’s so funny?” Darin asked.
“Nothing. I was just thinking it would be tough to show you guys anything,” Reegan said.
Time seemed to stop in the empty darkness. The group sat impatient and anxious, each engrossed in thought. Reegan closed his eyes as he silently prayed for help.
“Someday when we’re out of here, you’ll have to show me your proof of God, Jodi,” Darin finally said.
“Maybe we won’t get out of here, and you’ll be able to see him yourself.”
“What do you think, Reegan? You a churchgoer?” Brent asked.
“Well, yeah,” Reegan said.
“What church do you go to?” Brent asked.
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“Hey, I’m a Mormon too,” Matt said excitedly. “But I haven’t been to church since I was little.”
“That’s too bad. It’s an all-right place to be.”
“I think anyplace would be better than here,” Darrin moaned. “So what exactly do Mormons believe?”
“You want the condensed version?”
“I don’t think we’re going anywhere soon.”
Reegan took a deep breath. Then he recited the Articles of Faith. The group sat in silence and let the statements sink in.
“You know, I don’t mean to be rude or arrogant,” Jodi said, “but I am one of the top students in the school. I’ve studied all kinds of religions, and science just doesn’t seem to support any of them. What does that tell you?”
“I think it’s wonderful that you’ve become so knowledgeable about things of this world,” Reegan answered. “But you’d be even wiser to keep in mind that maybe—just maybe—there’s some truth to what I’ve just told you.”
“Only an idiot would believe something just because someone tells them it’s true,” Darin said, building a defense. “We’re debaters. We’re skeptical by nature. We want cold, hard facts.”
“Let me ask you something then, Darin,” Reegan said. “Who taught you how to read?”
“My parents.”
“How do you know they taught you the right way?”
Darin laughed. “Because when I open a book and see all those letters, my mind can transform them into words. Where are you going with this?”
“Patience, Darin. When you were learning to read, you had to trust your parents as they taught you the alphabet. Also, when they taught you the sounds and uses of each letter and then taught you to recognize those letters and words in simple sentences, you had to believe them. How long was it before you could read without their help?”
“A while. So what?”
“There weren’t any cold, hard facts involved in learning to read. You learned because you initially trusted that your parents knew how and would teach you. Now look at the great advantages you have gained through reading; it’s opened many doors for you. My church’s beliefs are kind of like that. We don’t start out with a complete knowledge. We learn it and earn it. I can’t debate truth with you, and I can’t make you believe what I believe—nor should I be able to. What I can do, what we can all do, is share what we know with others. Take them by the hand for those first few steps and let them see for themselves if it’s right or wrong.”
“Let’s just say for argument’s sake that there is a God and that this gospel you describe is true. Then why doesn’t everybody know it?” Brent asked. “It doesn’t seem fair that only a few people should be privileged.”
“You guys know what foods are good for you and which aren’t,” Reegan said. “You probably even know what size portions of certain things to eat to help you remain healthy, right? But do you suppose there are people in this world who are so hungry that they’ll eat anything, even if it’s not good for them?”
The group agreed.
“Well, that doesn’t make the knowledge of nutrition that you have untrue. But it does give you the opportunity to share it. It’s the same with the gospel. People are hungry for truth, so hungry they just want to be fed. Unfortunately there are others who take advantage of that hunger and use it for their own gain.”
“That’s kind of a cool concept,” Brent said.
“Hey, I’m completely serious when I tell you it’s just what I know,” Reegan answered. “I don’t want to debate or argue about it. If there’s one thing that can’t be argued, it’s the truth.”
“Come on, guys,” Darin said. “You’re not buying this, are you?”
No one responded.
“Listen, I didn’t mean to offend anybody,” Reegan apologized.
“You didn’t,” Amy added quietly. “We’re used to opposing points of view.”
Darin sighed his disgust in the darkness. Just then Reegan felt a cold hand on his arm.
“Will you please pray for us?” Amy asked weakly.
Suddenly fear sprang into Reegan’s heart. They were all so much smarter than he was. How could he pray in front of them? But quickly the hesitation vanished. Of course he would pray.
“Is that okay with everybody?” he asked.
The response was affirmative, even from Darin. “It can’t hurt, I guess,” he said.
Reegan took a deep breath then began. He gave thanks to Heavenly Father for their safety. He asked for comfort and strength, that Amy might be all right until help arrived, and that she would recover quickly and fully. He then asked that they be found. He also asked that they each might learn to put their faith in God and recognize his hand in all good things. When he finished, Reegan felt the presence of the Holy Ghost. He hoped the others did too.
As the hours continued to pass, the gloom and hopelessness began to settle back in. What was happening on the outside remained a mystery. Stomachs growled from hunger. Parched lips burned for water. The musty air was turning stale. Amy’s labored breathing continued as each person slowly dozed off.
Then they heard a horrendous crash beyond the door. In an instant they were sitting up wide-eyed as could be. What sounded like a muffled chain saw ripped through the air. A thin sliver of light appeared under the doorway. Those who were able jumped to their feet. They pounded on the large steel door, hoping that someone on the other side would hear them.
The chain saw stopped. Then, after some tugging, the door swung open. They all squinted as bright light entered the room.
“He’s here!” a voice called out. There was a brief pause before the same voice called out in confusion. “And there are more!”
They were rescued.
A couple of weeks later Reegan opened the mailbox. The large goose egg on his forehead had all but disappeared, erasing the only evidence of the excitement of the weeks past. As he walked back toward his house, he opened an envelope addressed to him. He pulled out a large thank-you card and began reading.
“Hey, Reegan, thank you so much for saving my life. The doctor said that with my punctured lung it was a miracle I lasted as long as I did. If it hadn’t been for your faith, I wouldn’t be here today. Love, Amy.”
Another note read, “Reegan, you showed me your religion by your example, and what an impression it has made. Thank you for what you taught me that I wouldn’t have learned otherwise. Matt.”
He continued reading. “Hey, Reegan, I just wanted to thank you. I hear the principal suddenly remembered she sent you down to the basement. Had she forgotten, we’d probably still be there. At any rate, we were the ones who needed tutoring that day. I’ve learned that love and compassion are more important than man’s knowledge. Thanks, Brent.”
Jodi had also scribbled a short message. “It’s amazing how my outlook on life has changed since our adventure. I think it really helped to get my world ‘shaken’ up. Love, Jodi.”
The final words were from Darin. “Hey, Reegan. I have to admit your example has taught me that, believe it or not, I don’t know everything. I’m beginning to see that there are things in life we just can’t learn about in school. I’m going to try to listen better. It’s nice to know a person like you. Oh, one more thing. Can I really debate with the two missionaries you’re bringing over?”
Reegan smiled to himself as he returned the card to the envelope. He envisioned himself on Darin’s porch with the elders.
“No, Darin. There’s no debate. But you can talk and listen all you want.”

When I was 14, I went camping with some friends. As we sat in a circle talking, one of the guys reached into his pack and pulled out a can of beer. Everyone went silent as he popped the lid and held it high above his head. “If any of you are men,” he bellowed, “you’ll have a drink with me.” Tilting the can to his lips, he took a large swallow.
All the eyes were on the can as the boy next to him received it in his waiting hand. He didn’t hesitate. He took a swig with great bravado in front of us all. The can moved to the next boy in the circle.
As it moved in my direction, my mind searched for a quick solution, a cool response that would rescue me. I knew what was right and wrong. I knew what the Word of Wisdom said. I knew how seven-year-old Joseph Smith refused any liquor to dull the pain of the operation on his leg.
These things raced through my mind as the can found its way to the third boy. He had not come to be tempted. He thought he was just going camping. As he held the can, I could sense the frantic debate going on in his mind. All eyes were upon him, staring, seeming to demand that he drink as the others had. I could almost hear his cries pleading for his mother to come save him, but she was nowhere to be found. Try as he did, he could not handle the pressure. He took a drink and hurriedly passed the can to my friend—my example—Rick.
My heart was pounding as I realized that I was the next one in the circle to receive the can. I didn’t know how I was going to get out of this one. I imagined that if I didn’t take a drink, they would bury me up to my neck in the hills somewhere and let the ants crawl through my nose and ears. “Rick,” I thought to myself, “if you take one sip of that, I’m going to slug you.”
Rick held the can. He looked at me, and I looked at him. We then both looked at the can he was holding and up at the dozen other faces waiting anxiously.
For a moment, Rick just stared at the can. Then he casually put it down, reached into his pack, and fished around until he found what he was looking for. He raised a purple can into the air for all to see.
“If any of you are men,” Rick yelled, “you’ll have a drink of grape soda with me!” Rick popped the lid, brought the can to his lips, and tilted his head back dramatically as he drank from it. Then he passed it back in the direction from which the beer had come.
The kid next to Rick found himself holding the soda now. Everyone was staring at him. He gladly drank some and passed it on. As they were enjoying the grape soda, Rick grabbed the beer can and threw it as far as he could. The can, frothing at one end as it twirled in the air, dropped into the gully below.

At the end of my junior year of high school, I was looking forward to my senior year. I believed that nothing was going to go wrong. But was I ever mistaken.
That summer I started dating a boy named Tom. We had been friends for about six years. Tom had had a few problems with the Word of Wisdom and morality, but that was in the past. I was sure I could change him.
Tom and I dated each other for a few months with no problems. He knew where and what I stood for, and he was okay with it. After four months, Tom moved 1,500 miles away to college. I thought I was so much in love that I couldn’t live without him. I knew he loved me. After all, he had told me so.
Tom called every other day, and we would talk into the night. Then Tom started coming home almost every month. That’s when the trouble started. Tom kept telling me we were going to get married after he finished his first year of college and I had graduated from high school. I wanted to believe we could get married and live happily ever after. I thought I was so in love with him that I gave in slowly to the pressure he put on me. We ended up necking and petting. Then he would go back to school and leave me for another month. I would wait by the phone every night for his call.
I started feeling guilty after a while and would take my frustrations out on others. I started fighting with my family and friends, and my grades started going down. I couldn’t eat or sleep, and I was feeling more and more alone.
One night my friends and I were sitting around my kitchen table talking about our futures. Right then it hit me. Everything I had ever wanted was being thrown away just because I knew if I didn’t give in to my boyfriend for a few minutes, he might leave me. I realized I wasn’t even worthy of a temple marriage right then.
I decided to call my bishop. I told him I would like to talk to him for a few minutes and made an appointment for the next night. I hung up the phone feeling better than I had felt in a long time. I knew this was the right thing to do.
I found myself sitting in the bishop’s office the next evening, nervous and unsure of myself. After a brief bit of small talk, the bishop asked what he could do for me. I started crying and told him I had had a few problems with Tom. I wanted to get rid of all the guilt and anguish I had building up inside of me. We talked about how to fully repent. And if I really wanted to fully repent, I would probably have to stop seeing Tom. Then the bishop explained some reasons why. I left his office feeling refreshed and more sure of myself. Now I had to tell Tom.
I went home and prayed that night in a way I had never prayed before. I really talked to Heavenly Father as if he were sitting next to me. I poured out my heart and soul that night and many nights after.
I didn’t know if I could bear breaking up with Tom. The night before he was to come home, I got down on my knees and asked the Lord to let me know that what I was supposed to do was right. Almost immediately I had such a feeling of peace and calmness come over me that I couldn’t deny I was about to do the right thing.
The next day I told Tom everything I was feeling. I told him we couldn’t see each other any more. He was upset and said some hurtful things, but I knew I was doing the right thing.
After I broke up with Tom, everything didn’t immediately fall into place as I thought it would. It actually got harder for a while. I was feeling miserable and made the people around me miserable too. But my Young Women leader gave me a quotation that says, “If a man is unworthy to take you to the temple, then he isn’t worthy of your undying love.” I think about that every time I catch myself wondering if I could still be with Tom.
I have learned through all of this that true happiness is feeling the Lord’s spirit where you are and in everything you are doing. If you can’t feel at peace doing something by yourself or with friends, then it probably isn’t the right thing to do. I have also learned if a boy really does love you, he won’t just tell you so; he will show you by treating you with respect and by helping you reach the righteous goals you have set for yourself.
Look to the Lord for his guidance and listen for his still, small voice, which will help you make the right decisions, and you will find what true happiness is.

When Bill and I decided we would like to go to college, we found it would take almost all we had saved since graduation from high school to pay the modest tuition required at the state university located about one hundred miles from our home. On a visit to the campus we did locate a place where we could get board and room for 20 dollars a month apiece but, to our dismay, found that even part-time jobs at less than 25 cents an hour had many takers. The fact that Bill and I had graduated at the top of our high school classes apparently did not qualify us for the few scholarships available; our mother was undergoing expensive medical treatment (she would die within the year), and our father’s small coal mine, still under development, could not be counted on for consistent support. Our determination to attend college seemed hopelessly blocked.
Then Boyd, who was still in high school and a truly extraordinary student, came home to announce that a local transfer company had offered him a job as bookkeeper for their entire operation at a salary of 40 dollars a month. He would have to work long hours after school and all day Saturday, but I can still hear the delight in his voice as he said, “Now Bill and Bob can go to school.”
How our parents and brother managed to send us the 40 dollars we needed each month I still can’t figure out; but, obviously, most of it came from Boyd. My guess is that he spent almost nothing on himself to be sure we had what we needed. Happily, over the years, Bill and I have had a chance to help Boyd, but the very essence of total sharing is that there is no attempt to balance the books. Gifts of pure love are never a sacrifice, and losing one’s life completely in the service of others is to find it completely. Now, after all these years, I understand the deeper meaning of what Mother was trying to instill in us: Unconditional love within the family can prepare us to appreciate the Savior’s gift of eternal life, for he is our brother.

Photograph by German Sittner
Gabriel J., 17, from Curitiba, Brazil, is a convert to the Church. The first time he went to church, he thought it was strange. But he soon got used to it, thanks in part to the friendly members in his ward, and he was eventually baptized.
When he talked with a returned missionary in his ward, Gabriel started thinking about serving a mission. “I got home and started kind of crying,” he says. “I didn’t know why. But I knelt and asked if I should serve a mission. At that very moment, I had a feeling of peace, and I received the answer that I really should serve a mission.”
Many of his goals are focused on preparing to serve a mission, both spiritually and physically. They include graduating from seminary, running, and developing better nutrition. He says he hopes his physical goal will prepare him to not get tired easily and to walk for longer amounts of time.
Gabriel notices the changes in himself since he joined the Church. “When I became a member of the Church, I was able, with the help of my leaders, to know what I wanted for my life, and that has changed a lot. Now I have a goal in my life, and I’m studying a lot too.”

“See you later, Mom!” Trevor said as soon as sacrament meeting was over. Trevor couldn’t wait to get to Primary. He walked as fast as he could toward his classroom.
“Walker, Ethan, wait up!” he called. Trevor’s friends slowed down so he could catch up.
Trevor and his friends were always in a hurry to get to class. They liked being together, and their teacher, Sister Goodell, gave great lessons with stories and activities. After class, they liked to hurry to the Primary room and sit in the little Sunbeam chairs before the leaders had a chance to put them away. Sister Dolan, the Primary president, would tell them to sit in the big chairs. The boys would tease her a little bit and shake their heads, then laugh and move to the back row. Trevor loved all the familiar jokes, the familiar scripture stories, the familiar friends, and the familiar songs of Primary.
But something was unfamiliar today. Somebody new was in his classroom—a quiet girl that Trevor had seen around school.
“Boys,” Sister Goodell said, “This is Jana.”
Jana smiled shyly.
Sister Goodell smiled too and asked, “Jana, would you like to say the prayer?”
Jana looked embarrassed. “Sorry,” she said quietly, “I don’t know how.”
Jana was quiet for the rest of the lesson. She didn’t have her own scriptures, and she didn’t know the answers to any of Sister Goodell’s questions. Trevor wondered if Jana was worried because there was so much to learn.
“She can watch the rest of us to see how to act,” he thought.
When class was over, Jana stayed close to Sister Goodell and went straight to the Primary room while Trevor and his friends got a drink. When Trevor walked into the Primary room, he was disappointed to see that the little chairs had already been put away. He and his friends would have to wait until next week to play their favorite joke. He sat down near Jana so she could watch him and see what to do.
He was surprised when Sister Dolan said, “Before we start, I want to thank Jana for being such a great example. She came in and helped me put away the little chairs without even being asked.”
Suddenly Trevor felt embarrassed. He realized that his favorite joke wasn’t very reverent and probably wasn’t very funny to Sister Dolan. He watched Jana during sharing time and noticed that she listened quietly when Trevor would have been playing with the bookmark in his scriptures or whispering to his friends. During singing time, he noticed that even though Jana didn’t know the songs, she had learned some of them by the end because she paid such close attention. When it was time to go, Jana walked up to Sister Dolan and told her that she liked her sharing time lesson. Trevor had never done that, not ever!
Trevor thought about Primary and Jana’s example for the rest of the day. Jana was helpful. She was reverent. She was thoughtful. She understood what to do at church better than Trevor did, and she had never come before. Trevor knew that he still had a lot to learn in Primary. He hoped Jana would come back soon and they could learn it all together.

Since I joined the Church, I have been blessed a lot. I can do things now I never knew I could do. I can conduct music. I can teach children in Primary. I love them, and they love me too. I can sing in the choir. I even sang in the choir during the Sunday morning session of the dedication of the Washington D.C. Temple in August 2022. I never thought I would be in the temple with President Russell M. Nelson, singing for him. But it happened. It was a wonderful blessing to be in the presence of the prophet.

Upon graduation from PathwayConnect, acceptance into BYU-Idaho’s online bachelor’s program brought renewed concerns. The unexpected loss of my job caused some financial hardship, which left me with no means to afford tuition and essential course materials. Depleted savings increased my worries, yet I knew that quitting school was not an option. As President Dieter. F. Uchtdorf once said, “For members of the Church, education is not merely a good idea—it’s a commandment”.
Amidst fervent prayers and contemplation, I saw a post on LinkedIn by Matt Richards, who works at BYU-Pathway. He talked about the Hall Foundation Scholarship. It was like an answer to my prayers! This scholarship helped me pay for school and books, so I could keep studying. Its promise of financial support was a lifeline in my time of need. Securing the scholarship eased the burden of tuition and expenses, allowing me to focus on my academic pursuits. Even when things seemed tough, I learned to trust that help would come when I needed it most. With faith and help from above, I’m about to graduate. It’s been a journey full of ups and downs, but I know I’m not alone. There are miracles all around us, if we just keep believing.

Our little blue car rolled down the country road, carrying us farther and farther away from the home we had grown to love so much during the past five years. Mom was driving the car, which contained my two younger sisters and me, and Dad was ahead in a borrowed truck that was loaded high with beds and tables; our old upright piano; and boxes of dishes, dresses, and collected memories. Leaving our little town (population 880) for the big city of 26,000, was traumatic. I was 12 years old, and I knew that this strange new place I was moving to could never replace the fresh country air and close friendships I was leaving behind. I was sure the best part of life was over, and I tried to resign myself to my fate.
After we were settled in our new little home, I spent most of the hot summer days lying on my bed listening to records, reading, and writing letters to my friends. Yet, as August came to an end, I began to get more excited about attending this big school that had almost as many people as the whole town I left.
With a new dress and a nervous smile, I entered the building that September and went to my first period class. I took a seat near the front of the room and was delighted when the girl in front of me turned around and introduced herself.
As the days continued, I found that the students here were really not so different from my other friends. They also liked the music I liked and football games. They also weren’t too excited about math tests, cold weather, or the rival school. I began to feel a part of things and even quit plotting to return to my old school for my last year of school. I played the clarinet in the school band and quickly found that being in that organization offered me the security of belonging to a group. I didn’t know then that there was an even greater group that was soon to enter my life.
Although I was a member of the Church, I had usually attended a Protestant church located just behind my house where I used to live. There was at that time no branch there and our family seldom traveled the distance to the nearest ward. When we moved, however, we began attending Sunday School at the LDS church. It was large, and the people seemed quite friendly—I couldn’t believe how welcome they made me feel! I became good friends with a girl named Teresa and one day she invited me to come to Mutual. I had no idea what that was, even after she explained it to me. What a surprise to find that both boys and girls attended and that we had interesting classes and fun activities! I became involved in Church activities and hardly ever missed Mutual. Mutual was the place where I felt the greatest warmth and acceptance. I didn’t have a testimony of the Church at that time, and the reason I attended was because of the love and friendship extended to me by my friends and leaders. I could feel a warmth there that influenced my life in a very positive manner.
Today when I hear the names of inactive boys or girls, I try to remember that each of them is a potential active member. I am grateful to Teresa, a wonderful friend who kept inviting me to Mutual until I came, and for those open-hearted people in my ward who loved me into activity. I am grateful they did not say, “there is another inactive girl. I wonder what her problem is?” I’m glad that instead, they thought, “I wonder what her strengths are? We need her.”
Mutual gave me so much—firesides, girls’ camp, slumber parties, eternal friends. And perhaps most important, it gave me the beginnings of a testimony of the gospel and the understanding of what a tremendous influence Mutual can be in the lives of young men and women. For many years I was one of the many inactive little girls throughout the Church; how grateful I am that I wasn’t allowed to remain one forever! I wonder how many inactive members are waiting for us to invite them back into the Church? President Harold B. Lee once said, “What you have to give just may be enough.” From personal experience I know that sometimes that doesn’t have to be very much at all.

Five-year-old Wesley Larsen of Layton, Utah, lies in a hospital bed recovering from multiple injuries to his leg. He is surrounded by balloons, get well greeting cards, and large toy animals. But the thing he keeps closest to him is a small, homemade, brown teddy bear. The bear was given to him by the paramedics. What Wesley does not know is the bear is a gift from the young women of the West Point Utah Stake.
Wesley tells about the paramedics who took him by ambulance to the hospital and gave him the small bear because he was “brave.” During the weeks he spent in traction to repair his leg, the bear was never far from his side.
The comforting bear was the result of a project organized by Micki Adams, West Point Stake Young Women president, and Annice Nixon, her second counselor. After reading in a newspaper of a similar project in another community, they talked with Captain K. D. Simpson of their local sheriff’s department with the idea of placing teddy bears with the sheriff’s paramedic and patrol units.
The bears would be helpful, Captain Simpson told them, because children are involved in approximately 45 percent of all the calls for services by his department.
Knowing how anxious children are when confronting a policeman or a paramedic, the young women of the stake decided, “to give the children something to focus on beside their pain,” Sister Adams said. “We wanted to give them something to hold on to and to love.”
Consequently, at a stake Young Women meeting, work began on cutting out, sewing, stuffing, and hand finishing more than 200 bears.
Lori Ellsworth, a Beehive said, “The first bear I did was hard to make until I got used to doing it. But it was worth it because it might help someone forget their pain.”
Ninety bears were actually completed that evening. The girls took home the unfinished bears to complete in their own time.
The bears are twenty centimeters tall and made from scraps of fabric donated by some stake members. Other members donated the stuffing for the bears.
The sheriff’s department received 100 of the teddy bears. Another 100 were donated to the local hospital where they were hung on a Christmas tree so young patients could choose one for themselves.
When the paramedics or sheriffs respond to a call involving anyone under the age of ten years, they give the child a teddy bear. That’s become department policy.
Captain Simpson said, “It took two or three times for the paramedics to hand out the bears before they realized how effective they were in calming the children. Now the paramedics and sheriffs rely on the bears whenever they work with children.”
However, young children have not been the only recipients. The paramedics gave a bear to an 80-year-old woman who suffered a stroke. “It was the only thing that calmed her down,” said Captain Simpson. “She wouldn’t let go of the bear.”
Captain Simpson, who is also a flight paramedic, knows from his own experience how effective the bears can be with children. Twelve-year-old Nicole Wallace had to be flown by helicopter from one hospital to another. She was bleeding internally from a lacerated kidney and liver suffered in an automobile accident. She refused to let go of her bear at any time during the transfer from hospital to helicopter to hospital. She finally gave up the bear just before undergoing surgery.
Speaking about the accident, Nicole says, “The car was badly smashed, and the paramedics had to take out the back seat before they could lift me out of the rear window. When they put me in the ambulance, they gave me this cute little bear,” Nicole said. “It kept me from getting scared. I would hold on to it, so I wouldn’t hurt so bad. In the hospital it stayed right by me in my bed.”
Jennifer Techmeyer, a Beehive, said, “I thought it was a really a good thing to do to make something to put in the ambulance for the children. But what was really special was being able to donate our love to them.”

The year was 1951. The place was New York City. The Brigham Young University basketball team was in town to participate in the National Invitational Tournament (N.I.T.).
Coach Stan Watts and trainer Rod Kimball had just made their nightly bed check to make sure the players were all right. Shortly after, two older players slipped out of bed, dressed, and left the hotel by a side entrance. They were attracted by the big city night life and wanted to look around.
They were silent as they headed for the bright lights of a Times Square that was safer and cleaner in those days than it is today. Finally one stopped and said, “Do we really want to be doing this?” His friend replied, “You know, I’m having the same feelings. I’ve got too much respect for this team to be doing what we’re doing.” The first one said, “Let’s go back.” Both players returned to the hotel. Incidentally, BYU gained national honors that year by winning the N.I.T. for the first time. The New York press was high in its praise, and the team returned to Utah with a hero’s welcome.