Gospel Story Finder

“She’s like my mom,” says Ricardo of his grandmother. “She has been raising me since I was young.” Ricardo lives with his grandmother and grandfather and four of his uncles. “My grandfather suffers from Parkinson’s disease, so I do things like help him get in his chair,” Ricardo says. Ricardo is constantly trying to teach his family by example. “I try to be an example when I go to church because when I’m on the right path, my family is watching me, and I want them to come to church too.”
Even though Ricardo and his grandmother are the only active members of the Church in their house, he says, “We all have family home evening together.”
Standing up front and teaching the lesson each Monday is young Ricardo. “I use the Book of Mormon and the Bible for family home evening lessons,” he says. “I read the story and then testify. Sometimes I use the lesson manual for deacons.”
Ricardo also testifies to his friends and neighbors. “In my neighborhood I tell my friends stories about Christ, about prophets, about Nephi,” he says. “I tell them stories I’ve heard in church about faith and about how prayer helps us in our lives. Some friends stay and listen, but others leave. That’s a way I can be an example.”
No longer does Ricardo walk to church alone. Now every Sunday he puts on his shirt and tie, takes his grandmother by the hand, and they walk together. Who knows? In time, Ricardo will probably be leading others to church with him.

I think, for example, of the great story of Stephen Markham, who joined the Church in the East, sold his property, and came out to Nauvoo with a bag of gold. He listened to the Prophet admonish the people that the Lord wanted them to complete the Nauvoo Temple and urge the people to give of their means, that the temple might be built. At the close of the meeting Stephen Markham came forward and put the little bag of gold upon the rostrum: “Use this for the temple.”

He started again from scratch and, with the aid of his neighbors, built himself a fine home in Nauvoo. Two years later he heard that the Prophet Joseph was in debt. He was running a store. There were no funds to support the Presidency of the Church. The members of the Church were taking advantage of him. They were getting goods on credit and not paying their debts, knowing the Prophet would hardly sue them. Hearing this account, Stephen Markham sold his home, moved his family into a tent, and came and laid the proceeds in the Prophet’s hands, saying, “Pay off your debts. We need you as a prophet of the Church.”

In September of 2002, I had the privilege of eating lunch with the magnificent and happy Elder Perry - sat right next to him and chatted all through lunch. When I got home that night, I shared my experience with Sister Sessions.
She gasped because she really wanted to meet Elder Perry. He is one of her favorite apostles - she appreciates his persistent smile and positive attitude. With Elder Perry, you can tell that "when Jesus shows his smiling face, there is sunshine in the soul!"[6] Later that month after I met Elder Perry, Sister Sessions and I went to General Conference in Salt Lake. I had arranged to meet with Elder Condie of the seventy while we were in Salt Lake because Elder Condie was going to preside at our Stake Conference in a few weeks. He wanted to meet with me to discuss the needs of our stake and agendas for the various meetings we were going to have.
I knew Elder Condie's office was located in the same building where the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve were located. For a couple of weeks prior to our visit to Salt Lake I prayed and asked Heavenly Father to bless Sister Sessions that she might meet and shake the hand of one of the Apostles, maybe even Elder Perry, while I met with Elder Condie.
When we arrived at Elder Condie's office, we found it was right next to the office of one of the Apostles. I went in and met with Elder Condie and Sister Sessions sat in a chair outside the door of the Apostle's office - and that apostle was in his office. I knew my prayer would be answered and she would meet an Apostle. When I came out of Elder Condie's office, Sister Sessions and I started to head for the front door, and I asked if she had met the Apostle.
She said "No," he got a phone call right after we arrived and he closed the door to his office. He only reopened the door a couple minutes before I finished my meeting, but he never came out of his office so she never met him.
As we walked towards the front door, my heart sank that she had not met one of the Apostles. I wanted so much for her to have a sweet experience shaking the hand and saying hello to one of those great men. As I put my hand on the door to open it and leave the building, I still had a prayer in my heart that she would meet someone, and an office door to our right opened and several brethren stepped out. One of the brethren walked directly towards us and we paused for a moment realizing the person walking our direction was James E. Faust, counselor in the First Presidency.
We were the only people there and it suddenly seemed very quiet. President Faust shook Sister Sessions hand and spoke sweetly and gently to her. He then shook my hand, asked my name, and where we were from. But then he didn't let go of my hand. He moved closer and looked into my eyes. He didn't say a word, just held his eyes on mine. After what seemed like a long time, I said a very short prayer and asked "what is going on here?" The prayer in my heart opened the front door to heaven and the Spirit said very plainly, "you are having your PPI."
Well, you can imagine how I felt at that moment. Emotions welled up inside of me and tears filled my eyes. I was just about to melt when President Faust let go of my hand, patted me on the shoulder and said, "you'll be fine." Then, he walked away leaving me speechless.
It wasn't the kind of experience that was going to save our souls or change our testimonies, but we knew Heavenly Father knew us intimately and loved us perfectly. He wanted to come into our house in a very personal way.

Perhaps the most inspiring story in the history of the pre-existence is that of Joseph Smith's contemporary, the preacher Edward Beecher. His sister fell into spiritual apostasy over the question of God's harsh justice. In trying to bring her back to faith, he found himself unable to reconcile God's justice with the saga of human depravity and suffering that constitutes our history. He devoted himself to study and prayer, seeking a resolution. His brother described his search this way: None but those most intimate with the author, most acquainted with his habits of prayer, and deep humiliation before God, & entire consecration to Christ can form any idea of [his] travail of Soul. Many hours he lay prostrate on his face before God agonizing in prayer for the holy spirit. One felt in entering his study at such times as Moses felt when the voice said, "Put off thy shoes from thy foot for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground."

Paying such a price, it is no surprise Beecher found his answer. His brother described it as a "virtual revelation;" after "groping in some vast cathedral, in the gloom of midnight, . . . suddenly before the vast arched window of the nave a glorious sun had suddenly burst forth." The resultant vision was a paradigm-shattering epiphany about our pre-mortal existence that Beecher wanted to share at once with his congregation and the world. His father, the famous Lyman Beecher, and his family, including Henry Ward Beecher, urged him not to ruin his career by going public with such an unorthodox doctrine. Beecher kept the revelation to himself for a quarter century. But he came to fervently believe that this doctrine, and this doctrine alone, could rescue a Christianity suffering under the blight of apostasy. So he threw caution to the wind and issued a four hundred page manifesto, the boldest and most detailed exposition of the doctrine of pre-existence in religious history.

The story ends on a somber note. When I tracked down the story of Edward Beecher, I located the manuscript story of his life written by a devoted brother. It had been donated to a small Illinois college, and there was this note on top, written by one of his descendents. It read, "I am about to send on to you at last the manuscript Life of Edward Beecher by his brother Charles. . . . It is none too rich in human interest, perhaps, being concerned overwhelmingly with Edward's 'spiritual' (theological) development and his belief in the pre-existence of the soul, an unfortunate excursion into the realms of heresy which apparently wrecked his career."

The Lord blesses the guides with many faith-promoting experiences, but a few will go down in youth guide history—the ones that all the guides share whether it was their personal victory or the accomplishments of someone else.
Paul Whetten and Tim Penrod shared such an experience. They saw a man walking around the garden and asked him on a tour. He had been divorced recently and had come to the temple because he missed his family.
The importance of families is stressed in the tour, and the family is compared to the strong root system of the decorative sour orange trees found in the gardens. Tim told the man that the Church is based on the family unit and that we believe families are forever.
“The Church has so much to offer this man,” says Paul. “To see him ask for missionaries and to know that the gospel is something that could totally change his life—it’s hard to describe.”
After watching the youth guides in action, it’s easy to tell that these young people are serving the Lord with all their might, mind, and strength. All their efforts are directed toward their ultimate goal, and they strive every day to live up to the
“There is no greater joy than the joy we feel when we receive the assurance that we’re doing the Lord’s will. Ultimately, the only thing that really counts is to be worthy for him to say, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant.’”

Almost five centuries ago a creative genius named Leonardo da Vinci lived and worked in Italy. While we remember him most today for such paintings as the Mona Lisa, he was also a fascinating debater, a polished orator, and a storyteller of great imagination. One of his fables, simply titled “The Wolf,” I would like to share with you.
“Carefully, warily, the wolf came down out of the forest one night, attracted by the smell of a flock of sheep. With slow steps he drew near to the sheepfold, placing his feet with the utmost caution so as not to make the slightest sound which might disturb the sleeping dog.
“But one careless paw stepped on a board; the board creaked and woke the dog. The wolf had to run away, unfed and hungry. And so, because of one careless foot, the whole animal suffered.” (Adapted from Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci, “Fantastic Tales,” Bestiary, no. 1225.)

Perhaps one of the reasons I feel this way is that my beautiful wife, Mary, is as wonderful and righteous as ever. Let me reminisce a little about her; it will lead into the message I want to leave with you.

I first saw Mary when we were in 7th grade at Logan Junior High School. She sang on a talent assembly. When she walked on the stage, she had a big smile, blonde, almost white hair, and bright blue eyes. She looked like she would have a soprano voice. Our entire class was surprised by her rich, mature, alto voice, and her incredible rendition of a favorite popular song. The title was On the Sunny Side of the Street. That is the title of my message today.

Our entire class loved her performance, and we learned that Mary did try to live on the sunny side of the street. She was warm, kind, friendly, and righteous; we all deeply admired her. It was many years before I had a first date with her. But as I observed her in those pre-date years, I came to realize that the song in a sense described her life. The words, “If I never have a cent,” reflected to a certain extent, her family. They had very little temporal substance in their lives. Through her youth they rented various homes and moved often. Her father, though capable and a good man in many respects, had an alcohol problem for many years that adversely affected her parents’ relationship. Her parents were separated for two years during Mary’s grade school years. During that period, she, her mother, and siblings lived with her grandmother. I noticed in high school that she wore clean, pressed, and modest clothing, but could not afford expensive stylish clothes. It became evident that she was as friendly with those who were poor and down-trodden as with the most popular girls.

It would be fair to say, like the words of the song she sang, that she did not have a cent, but she tried to live on the sunny side of the street. She modeled her life, then and now, on the righteous principles taught in the gospel of Jesus Christ. Through those years I considered her a good friend. She was always happy and optimistic. She was a diligent student and excelled in many activities. While I was still on my mission in England, Mary graduated from Utah State University as valedictorian of her college and scholar of the year. I admired her before I fell in love with her. We were married soon after I returned from my mission. She is the love of my life. I am pleased to report that many years after we were married, her father had resolved his issues and had become active in the Church. Mary and a beloved sister joyfully joined their parents to be sealed together as an eternal family in the Logan Temple.

As a child, I was not naturally athletic. I remember nearly drowning in the shallow end of a pool more than once. At age 10, my closest friends participated in a summer swim team league. I was not up to their level so every morning while they were warming up for team practices, I took beginner swim lessons with a bunch of younger kids to build my confidence and learn how to bob up & down in the water and eventually swim a bit without pinching my nose with one hand while the other arm spun around wildly. The following summer, I determined to join the swim team with my friends. So at age 11, I showed up for the first day of practice, nervous and hoping I remembered how to not drown.

Coach Bobby Fish (no kidding) was a very stern, imposing figure with short dark hair who honestly terrified me. In my mind, the scene that first day resembled the image of frail Prophet Abinadi facing the wicked King Noah. Coach Fish showed no indication of being merciful. I walked onto the pool deck, she sat with heavy arms folded sizing me up from behind darkly shaded glasses, then pointed at the starting block and said one word, "Dive".So I stepped up to the block which seemed to stand 10-feet above the edge of the pool and somehow put my faith in God and did a feeble flying flop into the pool. Luckily I didn’t hit the bottom and I was able to surface and start swimming as best I could to the other end. The pool seemed to stretch on indefinitely and I quickly grew tired. At last, I reached the other end and in so doing unknowingly passed the required ability test to join the team. This leap of faith turned out to be the beginning of a completely life-changing summer which helped me develop a sense of confidence and self-worth I had never before possessed.I grew stronger and healthier than ever before that summer and created a vital pillar of strength for my life through swimming. It all started with a desire to learn, putting my trust in God, and a giant leap of faith.

After my baptism on 30 January 2009, I was so active in Church, even more active than my friend who invited me, so I started to visit him with missionaries. I asked the missionaries to visit my mother also. I wanted her to be blessed by the gospel I had received.

On July 4, 2014, my mother was also baptised, to my greatest joy. I went on to serve a full-time mission in the Nigeria Benin City Mission. I stood as a witness of the truth. I testify that the gospel is true. I know that Joseph Smith saw God and Jesus Christ, and he was a true prophet. I know with all my heart that if we read the Book of Mormon daily and ponder and pray about it, we will know that Jesus Christ is our Savior and Redeemer.

On a recent trip to Hermanus, South Africa, I learned the importance of agency. This small coastal town is about a 90-minute drive from Cape Town and is one of the many beautiful beach towns along the coast. The waves were rolling in as I headed down to the beach to surf with a friend.
Once we had off-loaded the surfboards, I stood in the warm white sand and stared at the beach, squinting at the sun in disbelief. The lifeguard had already put up the swimming zone flags, but they were less than 50 meters (165 feet) apart! The beach was several hundred meters long, and all the good waves were outside the swimming zone. How was anybody supposed to swim between those two red-and-yellow striped flags? Was he just being lazy because he didn’t want to watch all the way down the beach?
My friend and I are pretty good swimmers, so we decided to head out to the right of the flagged area. As I walked out through the white water, I could feel the strong pull of the water washing past my legs, but I could still stand against the current, so I kept going. When I was in deep enough, I got on my board and paddled out to the unbroken swells. The waves kept coming, and we surfed for a while, enjoying catching the waves and watching each other catch the waves.
I turned around to look at the beach and suddenly noticed that I was rapidly drifting away from where I had started—the flags were far away! What I didn’t know about and couldn’t see was a large sandbar on the ocean floor, and as the tide was coming in, the water was washing over the sides of the sandbar, creating a powerful wash on both sides of the flagged area. The lifeguard knew that; he had been sitting there the whole day watching the water, so he knew where it was safe to swim.
I turned my board around and began paddling back toward the swimming zone. I paddled my hardest, but there was no way I could swim against the strong current. I was drifting farther out to sea! Panicking, I got off my board and tried to walk. My feet just touched the ocean floor, and I felt my toes dragging in the sand beneath. I could not hold myself against the thousands of tons of water moving past me, so I had to get back on my board. I lay there, powerless and drifting. I waved to my friend to help, but he was caught by the same current.
“Would the lifeguard still rescue me, even though I had ignored his warning?” I wondered. I had made the decision to swim in the no-swim zone and now had to accept the consequence—loss of control. I was being pulled by forces much stronger than I was. My only hope was to catch a wave back to the beach before I was pulled into the sharp rocks at the end of the beach. Eventually, a wave came, and I managed to ride it back to shore as did my friend.
We sheepishly walked back to the swimming zone and enjoyed the rest of the day surfing between the flags. Each time one of us began drifting too close to the edge of the swimming zone, we would warn each other to come back.

Early in our married life when Sister Nelson and I lived in Minneapolis, we decided to enjoy a free afternoon with our two-year-old daughter. We went to one of Minnesota’s many beautiful lakes and rented a small boat. After rowing far from shore, we stopped to relax and enjoy the tranquil scene. Suddenly, our little toddler lifted one leg out of the boat and started to go overboard, exclaiming, “Time to get out, Daddy!”
Quickly we caught her and explained: “No, dear, it’s not time to get out; we must stay in the boat until it brings us safely back to land.” Only with considerable persuasion did we succeed in convincing her that leaving the boat early would have led to disaster.

It was twenty-eight years ago that two young women brought the greatest and most precious influence into my family’s life.
We were living in a beautiful little town in Texas. Life was calm. I was very active in my church, an officer in the choir, Sunday School teacher, active in our Christian service organization. I loved my fellow church members and my neighbors dearly. We had bought a little home, and we had four lovely children, the oldest ten and the youngest just a few months old.
From my kitchen window I could look through to the end of the block and across the street and watch the construction of a building of some kind. I didn’t know what it was, but something drew me to it, and each day as I did the dishes I’d look out the window and note the progress. Our neighbors were curious, too, and when we found out it was a Mormon church, we were so upset. I didn’t know the Mormons even existed in this part of the country.
Several months passed. The little church on the corner was completed. It was small, but tastefully done in pinkish stone. I never saw anybody with long skirts or funny hats go in and out, though I expected to. I was rather disappointed that the members looked just like us.
One day there was a knock on the door. There stood two young ladies, neatly dressed. I cordially invited them into my home, and, like any good Texan, immediately asked if they’d like a cup of coffee. They politely declined, and we soon entered into a discussion about God the Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. They told me some things I’d never heard before. They said God had a body—a real body of flesh and bone—and looked much like one of us. Imagine! God, whom I loved so dearly, looking like a person. It almost seemed sacrilegious. I remember saying good-bye to them at the door, thinking, “You’re wonderful young ladies, but you certainly have some funny ideas. Your church has certainly led you astray. But you really believe it with all your hearts.”
About the same time the next week, another knock came on the door. It was the same two ladies. I invited them in, offered them coffee again, and they graciously declined again. Another discussion. Another parting at the door. This time they told me about a present-day prophet! Out loud I said, “It must give you a very good feeling to believe you have a prophet to lead you.” They assured me that it did. My inner thoughts said, “How does this church get them to believe something so strongly?”
Another meeting. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup of coffee with us?” Again a polite “No, thank you.” To my amazement my husband came into the room and sat in on the discussion with us.
We had more meetings each week. They told my husband and me all kinds of things—Nebuchadnezzar’s dream, the stone cut out of a mountain without hands, Jeremiah’s prophecies, the two “sticks” that would become one. I had read all these things before. I loved the Bible—it was very dear to me. Even as a child I loved it. I read a chapter each night before I went to bed, so some of the things the young women talked about were familiar. But now they started falling into place in logical order. How exciting it was!
By now our children had joined with us in the discussions, and the two sisters who had originally knocked on our door had been replaced by another pair of lady missionaries. I would put the baby in his playpen, and then we’d start bombarding the missionaries with question after question. We found that the two sticks mentioned in prophecy were the Bible and the Book of Mormon. “Do we get to see the Book of Mormon? When? When can I read it? Next discussion?” This was going to be a long week—I could hardly wait.
The week was long. I kept thinking about the Book of Mormon and could hardly wait to get my hands on it. The day finally arrived, and I hoped in my heart they wouldn’t forget the Book of Mormon. I even thought they might finally have a cup of coffee with us.
As we discussed the Book of Mormon, they told me of a wonderful promise contained in it. Yes, we’d give it a try. We’d pray about it.
It took only a few pages of the Book of Mormon to convince me that it was true. It’s true! This is the word of God! And so, each morning at 6:00 I would take my cup of coffee out on the back steps of the house in the cool morning air and read until the children woke up. How forceful were the words! Who could ever deny, after reading this book, that it was the word of God? It is the word of God! What a feeling of excitement, of discovery, of awe, of warmth, of wonder.
We still had at least three more discussions left when we were interrupted. Our four-year-old daughter, Nancy, came down with what appeared to be polio. I was still teaching a class in my church—dreading now to go—but instead of teaching my Sunday School class that morning, I was feverishly getting Nancy ready for a spinal tap at the local hospital. Our suspicions were confirmed; she had polio. We took Nancy to the Children’s Hospital in Houston, and I packed my Book of Mormon, knowing there would be many hours of waiting ahead of me. Somehow I knew that she would be all right.
In two weeks she was released from the hospital, and I had read a great deal of my new book.
Once more the missionary discussions began. At the next meeting I finally learned why it was that the missionaries kept refusing when I asked them if they would like a cup of coffee. When they told me they abstained from coffee, tea, alcohol, and tobacco, my heart sank. I thought to myself, “Now they’re going to tell me they don’t dance, go to movies, cut their hair, and any number of things.” But I was ready to give up whatever they asked. I already knew the gospel was true.
Now we were near the end of the discussions, and the plan of salvation was being presented. I’ll never be able to describe the joy I felt when I was told that I had dwelt with God before—that he knew me and taught me before I was born. You mean he actually knows me? Me? Just think! God knows me! Me! I was overjoyed. I wept. This was the most beautiful thing I had ever hear—that I had dwelt with God before, and that he knew me personally. Now I could easily think of him as a kind Father, a God of flesh and bone.
When the elders were introduced to us, I was very excited. The sister missionaries had told us about the priesthood, and I was in awe of the elders when they came. I felt the greatest respect for someone who held the priesthood of God. It was such a new thing for me. The children loved them instantly.
Yes, we were baptized. We had knelt in prayer and for the first time, self-consciously and timidly, and prayed together vocally. In simplicity and humility we asked our Heavenly Father if these things were true, and, in answer, received the warm, sweet assurances that only the Holy Ghost can bring.
In the many years since our baptism as a family, there have been many joys—yes, and many sorrows too, especially the death of my husband. Yet we have known the security of the priesthood in our home, the comfort of home teachers. We have laughed, sung, cried; we’ve been down to the depths of despair, and up to the heights of spirituality. We have experienced the sweetness of a temple marriage, the meaning of eternal friendships, the strength of the iron rod when all seemed utterly hopeless. We have helped make peanut butter in welfare projects in Texas, and helped to weed beet fields and canned peas in Provo, where we now live with our new husband and father.
Above all, we are truly grateful to be members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and for the missionaries who made it possible. And now we have sent our own David out as a missionary, with the hope that he will find other receptive souls and bring to them the joy and happiness that the missionaries brought to us.

On Sunday, 27 March 1836, hundreds of Latter-day Saints came to Kirtland for the dedication. The doors opened at 8:00 A.M., and 1,000 people entered. Hundreds more who had also worked and sacrificed for the building of the temple were left outside. Seeing their disappointment, Joseph Smith decided to repeat the dedication on Thursday.
The choir opened the meeting; then President Sidney Rigdon spoke for two and a half hours. After a brief intermission, the officers of the Church were sustained. Then the Prophet offered the dedicatory prayer, given to him by revelation. This prayer is now section 109 of the Doctrine and Covenants [D&C 109]. After the prayer, the choir sang “The Spirit of God,” which had been written specifically for the dedication.
The congregation ended the seven-hour service by standing and giving the sacred Hosanna Shout. Sister Eliza R. Snow said that it was given “with such power as seemed almost sufficient to raise the roof from the building.”

When I was eight years old, the missionaries met my grandmother and aunt on the street. After learning about the gospel, we were all baptized. In 2020, however, we had to stop going to church because of COVID. We eventually stopped believing.
Two years ago, I didn’t even believe in God or know if He was real. One day after school, I wanted to cross the street to buy a snack. But a voice told me to not cross the street. I stopped, and two cars crashed right in front of me. If I had crossed the street, the cars would have hit me or maybe killed me. I knew then that God knew me and loved me. Even though I didn’t believe in Him and wasn’t attending church at the time, He still loved me and protected me.
I started to read the Book of Mormon again and came to know that it is God’s word. I started going back to church too. When I go to church, I feel peace, God’s love, and His help. I feel that He’s always with me, and that makes me happy.
My favorite hymn is “I Am a Child of God” because it reminds me that Heavenly Father loves us and helps us. I also like the scripture 2 Nephi 2:27, which talks about how we are free to choose between right and wrong.
Many months ago, my brother started coming to church with me, but after a while he stopped. He worries about what his friends and others will think of him. He thinks that it’s shameful to go to our church, but I tell him that it doesn’t matter what friends think. It’s what God thinks that matters.
My family doesn’t go to church. I go alone. Because my street doesn’t have a bus to the Church building, I walk about 30 minutes to get there. My family worries what other people will think about them, but I say that it doesn’t matter because I know it’s true.
When I meet with my friends, they sometimes drink coffee. And when I see that, sometimes I want to drink coffee too. But I remember that God is with me. He holds my hand and helps me. I hear a voice that tells me not to do it, and I know that God is helping me overcome these challenges.
It’s hard to attend church without her family, but Nara knows that God loves and blesses her. He even protected her from a car accident once.
If I were to give advice to someone in my situation, I would say to them that you are so blessed, and you have a lot of faith. You are not alone, because the Church members and missionaries can give you good advice. God loves you. You are His son or daughter, and He wants to help you.

In our times, Sister Knell is a covenant woman who makes a difference. She is a widow in her 80s with a 47-year-old son, mentally and physically disabled from birth. A few years ago this dear sister set out to do what seemed impossible to everyone else—to teach her son Keith to read. Learning to read was his greatest desire, but doctors had said Keith was incapable of reading. With faith in her heart and a desire to bless her son’s life, this humble widow said to her son, “I know Heavenly Father will bless you so you can read the Book of Mormon.”

Sister Knell wrote the following: “It was hard work for Keith, and it wasn’t easy for me, either. At first there were some bad days, because I got upset. It has been a time-consuming, word-by-word struggle. I sit by his side each morning. I point to each word with a pencil to help him stay on track. After seven long years and one month, Keith finally finished reading the Book of Mormon.” His mother said, “Hearing him read a verse without help is a thrill I just cannot put into words.” She testifies, “I know miracles do happen when we put our trust in the Lord.”

In school I had an assignment to create a family coat of arms. First I thought about what is important to my family. Then I started with a sheet of blue paper because I remembered the words from “Our Primary Colors” (Children’s Songbook, 258): “Blue is for truth in our thought and our deed.” Next I put on a green shield to remind me to choose the right, just like my CTR ring. I added a red heart on the shield because “red is for courage to do what is right,” and the heart is for the love that keeps our family together. I added a yellow Utah shape because I was born in Utah and because yellow is for “service from morning till night.” I added a picture of the world because my ancestors came from 14 different countries. I added a picture of the Book of Mormon because it is so important to my family. I added a picture of a baptism because we have to be baptized to return to live with Jesus. I added pictures of temples because they make it possible for our family to be together forever. And I added a white cat because I like cats and have two as pets. My teacher gave me a certificate for being the most creative, and she hung my shield on the wall for a long time. It also helped me to share the gospel with my friends.Rachel Mathews, age 8Valparaiso, Indiana

Whenever a prayer is offered on a date, whether kneeling in your home or in the mountains, the important thing is to have faith and be in tune so that after your prayer is offered you are prepared to listen for and expect an answer. This is beautifully illustrated by the testimony of a young girl who attended summer camp. During her camping experience it was suggested by one of the leaders that the girls might want to find a private spot in nature where they could be by themselves and talk with God. Some weeks later in a fast and testimony meeting, Becky stood up and told about how she had found a private spot, knelt down in a quiet, wooded area surrounded by tall pines and a few quaking aspens, and offered a simple prayer: “Father in heaven, do you know I’m here?” She went on to tell how she waited and waited, and as a breeze fluttered the leaves, she opened her eyes to see the rays of sun filter through the trees. She said a feeling came over her, and with deep emotion these were her words, “You may not think it was anything, but I knew He knew I was there.”

As you seek earnestly for direction you will want to remember the admonition given in the Doctrine and Covenants: “Be thou humble; and the Lord thy God shall lead thee by the hand, and give thee answer to thy prayers.” (D&C 112:10.) And finally, in paraphrasing the words of Becky’s testimony regarding prayer, “There may be some who will not think it is anything, but you will know that He knows that you are there.”

We live in a state of constant motion. Even when we’re asleep, our hearts keep pumping. Our lungs pull air in and push it out. Our brains and nerves send and receive tiny signals. The very atoms and molecules that compose our bodies whir and spin.
Sometimes we think we achieve a condition called “standing still.” But as we stand, the wind brushes by us, the clouds roll overhead, and rays of sunlight complete a journey that began millions of miles away.
Even our earth is constantly moving. It not only rotates; it orbits at incredible speed. With other planets and moons, it rushes through darkness pursuing the sun, part of a galaxy of stars chasing stars chasing other galaxies in a never-ending symphony of light.
Heading in the right direction, at the right speed. That could have been the title of the morning session of the youth conference in Vancouver, British Columbia. But “Youth in Motion, Youth in Touch” was what was printed on the program.
Teenagers, you would think, should be experts on motion. Even now, as they queue up for lunch, they can’t stop moving. To pass the time, one young man captures and releases a yo-yo as it drops and climbs on its string. Another juggles oranges, while some of the young women race each other across the lawn.
“A world in frantic motion will look to you,” Vancouver British Columbia South Stake President Richard C. Bulpitt told them in his talk. And Bryce Winkle, a seminary teacher from Portland, Oregon, and his wife, Barbara, warned that “you will face some of the most important decisions of your life in the next five to ten years—mission, marriage, school, career—it all rushes by real fast.”
For lunch, it’s hoagies and chips, which like most things Canadian have French names, too. (The sandwiches are called “sous-marines,” and on one side of the package the Old Dutch, vinegar-and-oil flavored potato chips are labeled “croustilles.”)
But as the youth sit and talk, something interesting is happening. Prompted perhaps by the speeches of the morning, the conversations center around the theme of the conference. The young people are talking about motion—about moving in a positive direction with school, with mission preparation, with career planning, with life.
The afternoon is spent in workshops. But what workshops! In one room an airline inspector’s black light makes cracks in metal glow. In another area, an attorney in courtroom attire discusses his career. An advertiser hands out free food and hats. A marine biologist has plant specimens spread over a table for everyone to see. A computer expert encourages experiments on monitors and keyboards. An architect lectures to a standing-room-only group in the high council room. There are representatives from the media, from education, medicine, dentistry, business, public service, veterinary medicine, and more.
In the evening, there will be an amateur talent night featuring songs, skits, serious readings, and corny jokes. It will loosen people up and help them get acquainted. But already people are in touch, sharing their ideas and friendship, in the serious moments sharing gospel truths.
Not far from here, Vancouver City is hosting Expo 86, a fair for all the world. The theme is “World in Motion, World in Touch.” There are rides and exhibits, films and productions, hundreds of things to do and see. But you wouldn’t know by looking at these young people that that’s where they will be tomorrow. By all indications, the youth conference they’re at right now is the greatest thing in the world, the place of all places where they would choose to be.
Color communicates. Color becomes motion, blending and blurring into a vision of purple, yellow, orange, and green. Crimson banners, alive in the fiery sun. Deep blue skies, pierced with white sails. The bright red of a Mounty’s coat or the blazers of a bagpipe band. Oriental dragon boats, spotted with yellow and green. The hot pink hat of a man building boats. The silver blur of a monorail train or a fan of water flattened by a child’s hand. The lonely tan of a wooden mountain, climbed and reclimbed by an alpine club. Big bold balloons. The flat gray of an undulating highway, its vehicles painted the same color in the name of sculpture. Fireworks crackling, loud and pink and white, as motion, sound, and color become one.
These are the sights of Expo. These, and people. Mimes with painted faces working crowds for a laugh. Pirates ready to sail the sea. Jugglers balancing coat hangers and bowling pins. Children laughing out loud. Adults in line, tired of standing. A man in a turban, nodding his head. High-kicking folk dancers spinning plaid skirts. People talking, laughing, listening, learning. Vancouver sent out invitations, and the world came in return.
“Who are all you kids in the white shirts?” the lady said. And the answers came from a group.
“We’re Latter-day Saints.”
“Mormons.”
“Here for our youth conference.”
“Great fair, isn’t it? See you later. Have fun.”
The conversations weren’t heavy. But people were curious about all the teenagers wearing identical shirts. It was a great way to subtly share the gospel.
Throughout the day at Expo, however, there were also gospel discussions of another kind—members of the Church talking to fellow members, sharing with each other small bits of their lives.
“I have a huge church (of another faith) practically in my backyard,” said Travis Wolsey, 14. “When my friends find out I’m religious, they say, ‘Is this the one you go to?’ I say, ‘No, I go down to Richmond.’ ‘You’re crazy! That’s a 20-minute drive!’ But it gets them talking, wondering why I’m willing to go that far just to go to church.”
Rob Reid, 15, of Walnut Grove, said, “The Church is growing fast here. Last year they divided our ward, and now they’re ready to split again. But my friends at school still don’t understand. They hear me talk about getting up at 5:20 to go to seminary. They say they go to church on Sunday, but I go six days a week. Isn’t that a bit much?”
“I play lots of league sports, but I won’t play on Sunday,” Travis continued. “So I always need to explain about the Sabbath. I tell them that on Sunday we rest, avoid stressful activity, and take time to think of peaceful things. Most of them are working hard, and they say they wish they could have a Sabbath, too.”
“Some of the guys on the football team thought my habits were funny,” said John Van Rijswijck of Richmond. “So I just told them, ‘Yeah, I’m proud of it, and I’ll talk to you about it anytime you want me to.’ One of the girls at school came by our house, and she saw a certificate hanging on the wall that said I’d been ordained a priest. She really wanted to know about that.”
Others talked about life in the smaller branches.
“There’s one big advantage of living where I come from,” said Renata Koller, 14, of Smithers, a logging town. “If you get mad you can just walk outside and scream at all the trees.” There are only about 30 people in her branch, and just seven teenagers. Still, Smithers came in first overall in a recent scripture chase. “We have a great seminary program. Class starts at 6:15 A.M. I get up every day at 5:00 and walk a mile and a half to the house where we meet. On my way there I’ve seen a fox, a wolf, and two bears.”
“For the size of branch we’re in, we have a good youth program,” said Angelina Schafer, 16, of Quesnel. “There are about 25 kids.”
Shayne Olsen, 18, of the same branch, agreed. “At her school there are about four members out of 300 students. At mine, there are ten out of 700, and the bishop and his first counselor are teachers there. We’re not that large a group, but we stick together, and when you stick together it’s easier to be strong.”
“We have lumber and sawmills, gorgeous mountains, and excellent fishing,” said Floyd Brown, 18, of the Hazelton Branch. “We also have two Aaronic Priesthood holders out of 14 members who come to church. But we get to really use our priesthood. Each Sunday I say two or three prayers, help with the music, or give a talk.” Floyd, who has started work at 4:00 A.M. daily in the sawmills since he was in grade five, plans to go to dentistry school. But first, he’s getting ready for a mission.
“I’m on my third reading of the Book of Mormon,” he says with a smile.
The next morning, the youth are back at the meetinghouse again for another session of workshops and talks. They spend the third day of the conference discussing dating, relationships, and the high priority of being brothers and sisters in the gospel. In the afternoon, they converge on the chapel for what many will consider the culmination of three of the greatest days in their lives—a testimony meeting where youth after youth tells of victories and trials, of the joys and struggles of drawing nearer to Christ.
Later, everyone gathers for a group photo. Then, in the evening, there’s a dance. Some of the young people, however, take a break from the dancing. It seems natural for the group from Abbotsford to sit and talk. Maybe they’re evaluating the conference they’ve just been through. Maybe they’re just sharing, talking about life.
Taylor Strong, tall and thin, has a warm, happy wit and a quick smile. He seems to be their ringleader in righteousness.
He talks about his school. “We’re only five Mormons, out of 1,500 students. It’s kind of hard when lots of your friends don’t have the same morals. But once they get to know the person inside, really well, then they understand your standards; they respect you. People would like to know what you believe. Inside, a lot of them are lonely.”
He talks about his friend Mark, who was baptized last week. “Once you’re able to speak to your friends, that’s what happens. When you can express what you feel, one on one, with the Spirit, then the truth comes out.”
A young man named Jeff, a nonmember who came with the Abbotsford youth as a guest to the conference, starts to talk.
“When I first met Taylor,” he says, “I didn’t know what to think. I had heard he belonged to a cult. But I’d seen his family and met his friends, and I had to say, ‘How can that be a cult?’ The more I’ve been around his family, the more it’s changed my life. Example is so important. If Taylor hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have heard about the Church except from people who don’t know about it. Now, hopefully, I’m going to become a member this month.”
In another corner of the building, some young women from the Prince George Branch are talking about the theme of the conference, “Youth in Motion, Youth in Touch.”
“Sure, we’re in motion,” says Heidi Towers, 17. “We’re in the world but not of it. We’re in touch with Heavenly Father, so we know what it’s all about.”
“The Church is about continually progressing,” her twin sister Leanne responds. “It’s about moving forward, toward a celestial way of life.”
There’s another kind of motion, too, a motion more powerful than roaring winds or the pulling of the tides. It starts quietly, gently, deep down, far inside. Subtly at first, then powerfully, it tugs on the soul, awakening a sense of what is right.
Given room it gains momentum, turning us toward the light. lt impels us to bear testimony, to press forward, to serve the Lord with all our might. Like a great magnet, it draws us toward the truth and the truth toward us.
The scriptures have a name for this kind of motion. They call it “a mighty change of heart” (see Alma 5:12–14).
It’s Friday morning, July 4, 1986. The rushing and packing are finished. The handshakes are over; the hugging is done. The cars are leaving, and the buses are rolling out. With themselves, with the gospel, with their Father in Heaven—the youth of Vancouver, constantly in motion, have also shown how much they are in touch.

Those of us who are a little more mature can have a tremendous influence on the younger generations. When my mother was just a little girl, neither of her parents was active in the Church. Even at the young age of five, she would walk by herself to church and attend her meetings—Primary, Sunday School, and sacrament meeting—all at different times.
I recently asked my mother why in the world she did that week after week when she had no support or encouragement at home. Her answer was: “I had Primary teachers who loved me.” These teachers cared about her and taught her the gospel. They taught her that she had a Father in Heaven, who loved her, and it was their concern for her that kept her coming week after week. My mother said to me, “That was one of the most important influences in my early life.” I hope I can thank those wonderful sisters someday! There is no age barrier when it comes to Christlike service.

Many years ago it was my privilege to provide a blessing to a beautiful 12-year-old young lady, Jami Palmer. She had just been diagnosed with cancer. She learned that her leg where the cancer was would require multiple surgeries. A long-planned hike with her Young Women class up a rugged trail was out of the question, she thought.
Jami told her friends they would have to hike without her. I’m confident there was disappointment in her heart.
But then the other young women responded emphatically, “No, Jami, you are going with us!”
“But I can’t walk,” came the reply.
“Then we’ll carry you to the top!” And they did.
None of those precious young women will ever forget that memorable day when a loving Heavenly Father looked down with a smile of approval and was well pleased.