Gospel Story Finder

Melissa’s parents are divorced. On the weekends that she spends with her father, she attends church with him. But when she stays with her mother, she is not allowed to go. Melissa was given a part in the Children’s Sacrament Meeting Presentation, but the presentation was scheduled for a weekend when she would be staying with her mother. Melissa was disappointed, because she wanted to participate. She prayed every night that her mother would allow her to go to church. On the day of the presentation, Melissa found the courage to tell her mother how important going to church was to her and to ask her mother for permission to attend and participate in the presentation. Her mother said yes! When Melissa stood at the pulpit, tears ran down her face as she told of her gratitude to Heavenly Father for answering her prayers and giving her the courage to choose the right.

In a speech Elder James A. Cullimore gave at BYU, he related an experience once told by religious writer Harleigh M. Rosenberger:
Several years ago a man was being interviewed on the radio. He had started to walk across the United States on foot, from California to New York. He had reached a point halfway across. Reporters asked him about his experience. Finally the question came: “Sir, what would you say has been your most difficult experience so far?”
The traveler thought long. Through his mind went the toilsome climb over mountain passes; hot dry stretches of desert. Sun. Wind. Then he said quietly, “I guess my greatest problem was that the sand kept getting into my shoes.”
So that was it. The sand in his shoes. Not some great crisis that he had faced. Not some danger that had almost taken his life. But sand; sand that wore blisters on the soles of his feet. Sand that ground its way into the pores of his skin and irritated constantly, that made every step an agony. Sand in his shoes. . . .
. . . Now there was one hint that the hiker suggested when the sand got into his shoes. He had to stop and dump the sand from them.13

Tandy loved to frisk and frolic. Then he would wag his tail with happiness. But for over a week now he had hardly wagged his tail at all. Something was different in the Phillips’ house where he lived. Everyone was too busy to play with him.
One of the things Tandy liked to do best was to roll over on his back, put his feet in the air, and play dead. Before all the busyness, his playing dead trick always brought him a playful tickle on his tummy or a soft tug on his ear from Paul. Sometimes, Paul’s younger sister, Wendy, or Mother or Daddy would stop and play Tandy’s make-believe game with him. When they tussled him “awake,” Tandy would open his eyes, jump up on his four feet, and dance around the room, fanning the air with his tail.
But since Daddy had brought a tree into the house and the family had covered it with shiny balls and bright lights, no one had time to play with Tandy. The little dog was curious about the tree and sniffed at it suspiciously, wondering what it was all about.
Lately, right after supper, Mother would go to the back bedroom and close the door. Soon Tandy could hear the humming of a sewing machine. When Daddy excused himself from the table, instead of going into the living room to relax and read the newspaper, he went out to the garage and shut the door. It wasn’t long until Tandy could hear a tap-tap-tap of a hammer and the whirrrrrr of an electric drill.
And as quickly as Paul and Wendy finished washing the dishes, they disappeared into their own rooms. When Tandy pattered up to their doors, they were closed, and he could hear that they were busy.
One day Paul didn’t shut his bedroom door tightly, and Tandy trotted in. Next to playing dead, Tandy liked best going into the closet and getting hold of Paul’s old leather slipper to chew on. But the closet door was closed. Of course Tandy had Roscoe, a rubber frog, to play with, but it wasn’t nearly as much fun as the slipper.
Although Tandy was given food and water every day, no one stopped to play with him. That’s why his tail had stopped wagging—he, was lonely and unhappy.
One night after supper Tandy could feel a kind of excitement in the air. Soon he saw Mother and Daddy and Paul and Wendy putting packages under the tree. When the doorbell rang, Paul ran to open it. “Hi! Grandpa,” he called, “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas to you,” said Grandpa, bending down to give Paul a squeeze. When the doorbell rang again, Wendy answered it. In came aunts and uncles and little cousins. Everyone was smiling and saying, “Merry Christmas!” to each other. When they came over to put their packages by the tree, Tandy had to run behind the couch to get out of the way of all the feet.
Then Paul and Wendy’s mother played the piano and everyone sang happy carols. Tandy came out from behind the couch to sit by Paul and listen. And when Paul rubbed his ears, Tandy’s tail started to wiggle just a little bit.
Tandy felt his loneliness slipping away. He scampered through the bedrooms, happy that the closet doors were open. But when he rooted around for his favorite slipper, it was gone.
Trotting back into the living room, Tandy saw that the tree made the only light in the room. Daddy was calling out names and everybody was smiling as packages were handed to them. When Daddy said, “Here’s one for Tandy,” the little dog’s ears pricked up. He tugged at the wrapping until something fell right between his paws. Tandy’s tail began to wiggle when he found Paul’s old slipper inside!
Tandy was content just chewing on the slipper, but when Paul called, “Here Tandy, play dead for the cousins,” he quickly dropped it and did his trick. And when it was finished, Tandy jumped up and frisked about, his tail wagging so fast it was only a blur.

I am a cancer survivor and have faced the pain and suffering that comes with the experience. Liver transplant was part of the treatment. This is a photo of me the day before and the day after the liver transplant.

I will forever be grateful to an unknown organ donor and their family for their selfless act in a time of personal sorrow. They gave me new life. The experience of cancer and transplant is one of the most challenging I have faced. Over a period of years, I was almost always in pain. I heard the teaching that the Savior can take away our pain. I truly wondered, "What about my pain?" While there was hope in the plan of salvation, my pain was not removed. One place that I did find comfort was talking to others who had had similar experiences. It was during one of these conversations that I finally discovered something that I did not know I needed to know. The Savior didn't take away my pain, but He completely understood my pain. This opened the door to let me see that all those who struggle with any suffering or sin have someone that they can turn to who perfectly knows their experience.

May I offer two ideas that have been helpful to me when I have felt fearful? The first one came in the form of advice from Sister Michaelene Grassli, Primary general president. I served under her on the Primary General Board. We were on a training assignment together when a local leader began to describe in glowing details the auxiliary leaders who had come to that area the year before. As she told about the wonderful things they had done and expressed her hopes that we would do the same, a sick feeling began to settle in my stomach. That night after our hostess had left, I expressed to Sister Grassli my fears: I was afraid my performance would be far less than those who had come before, and I would certainly be a disappointment to everyone and probably an embarrassment to her and the Church. She said, “I have had those same feelings, but it is comforting to me to know that I need only be concerned that what I do and say is acceptable and pleasing to the Lord.” Her words brought such immediate peace to my mind that I have repeated them over and over to myself in countless situations.
As women, we like very much to please others—sometimes seeking approval so frantically that we become torn and confused by the conflicting needs of those around us. Concentrating on pleasing Heavenly Father brings peace, a respite from fear and anxiety. Think of that, young women, the next time you are asked to perform in church, or visit an inactive member of your class, or plan an activity: “I only need to worry about pleasing the Lord.” I think some of your fears will evaporate. The prophet David said: “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?” (Ps. 27:1.)
The second idea that has been helpful to me was reportedly expressed by Vincent van Gogh, a famous painter. He said, “I am always doing what I can’t do yet in order to learn how to do it.” A large part of conquering daily fear is simply doing things that we don’t know how to do—yet.
Are there things you don’t know how to do yet, that you are doing anyway? What about trying to make conversation with a young man at Mutual even though you feel very awkward? What about working hard in school even though it feels discouraging? I have often heard Sister Janette Hales, our Young Women general president, tell young people to work hard. She has said, “Working increases our abilities, and as you feel your abilities increase, you will feel more secure.”
I’ve just finished reading Eleanor Roosevelt’s biography. She was the wife of a president of the United States, but her influence went far beyond politics and position. Her life stands as a beacon to all women as someone who magnificently developed her own gifts through her service to others. This was a woman whose early life was ruled by fear and self-doubt. She described herself as an awkward adolescent, unattractively tall, with protruding teeth, dressed inappropriately, and so ill at ease with others her own age that parties and dances were dreaded occasions. How did she move from that to the kind of confidence that allowed her to contribute so widely?
She said, “You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.” (Karen McAuley, Eleanor Roosevelt, New York: Chelsea House Publishers, 1987, p. 105.)
As we concentrate on pleasing the Lord rather than others and continue to work hard, doing the things we don’t know how to do yet, we will experience personal growth. We will increase our confidence in Heavenly Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. This faith assures us that in the end, we will not only survive but we will know great joy and happiness.
After the death of Christ, Paul was converted and became a great missionary. He had a junior companion, whom he loved as a father loves his own son. When we pick up their story in 2 Timothy, they are separated in their service. Timothy is lonely and afraid—being a missionary can be a fearful business. Paul is in prison in Rome. He writes Timothy a letter: “To Timothy, my dearly beloved son. …
“I thank God … that without ceasing I have remembrance of thee in my prayers night and day;
“Greatly desiring to see thee, being mindful of thy tears.” (2 Tim. 1:2–4.)
Isn’t that a tender letter? Pretend it is coming to you from one who is mindful of your tears.
Paul then goes on to remind Timothy of his strengths: “I call to remembrance the unfeigned faith that is in thee.” (2 Tim. 1:5.) He reminds Timothy that both his grandmother and his mother were women of faith.
Think of some of the strengths that your grandmothers and mother have passed on to you.
Then Paul asks Timothy to remember to use the gift of the Holy Ghost: “I put thee in remembrance that thou stir up the gift of God, which is in thee by the putting on of my hands.” (2 Tim. 1:6.)
Are you remembering that you have had hands laid on your head—that you have been given a gift? Use that gift to conquer your fears!
And then my favorite part of the letter: “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.” (2 Tim. 1:7.)
Are those just the things you want when you are fearful—power, love, the ability to think clearly?
Paul ends one of his letters: “All that are with me salute thee. Greet them that love us in the faith. Grace be with you all. Amen.” (Titus 3:15.)
All that are with me salute you. We love you and are aware of your fears and your faith. I bear you my witness that Jesus Christ is our Savior, that he loves me, that he loves each of you, and that he will help us to replace our fears with faith. I say these things in his name, amen.

Recently I returned home from a mission presidents’ interim seminar. We held meetings all day, and then I caught a plane home. By the time I arrived home I had been up about 17 hours. I changed into my sleep wear and climbed in bed beside my wife. We talked for a few moments; then the phone rang.
A boyhood friend, one I had known since first grade, was on the other end. “Brother Vaughn,” he said in a trembling voice, “my daughter is back in the hospital. She has had several major seizures. She has stopped breathing twice. She is on oxygen but seems to be failing fast.”
I asked if she had been administered to.
“No, we were hoping you could come and bless her.”
The physical body was tired. I felt I had earned the rest. I also felt my wife needed me, and the flesh wavered. However, the spirit knew precisely what was to be done. I said, “Joe, I will be there in about 30 minutes.” We live about a half an hour from the University of Utah Hospital.
I turned to my wife and asked her if she would like to go. This noble woman said yes. We both got up, dressed, and drove to the hospital.
I embraced this sweet friend that I had known for over 46 years. We found a little room, and along with family members we joined in a prayer of great faith.
Then Joe and I went to the intensive care room and gave his daughter a blessing. We pleaded with the Lord and had a sweet, peaceful assurance come over us that she was in his care. At the time, I wondered whether or not she would live through the blessing.
My sweet wife waited in the car. We drove home, and we were not tired or exhausted any more. We were deeply grateful to be worthy enough to be called upon. At the time of the writing of this article, Joe’s daughter is alive. She is a miracle.

A big forward with biceps the size of pot roasts skates over the blue line and fades away from us. Without slowing he lets rip a 20-foot wrist shot at the goal, or more precisely at Scott Tollestrup, the poor guy in net.
The puck meets Scott’s face mask with a slap, and he sits down hard on the ice, shaking his head.
“That happens when you play goal,” says Scott’s dad, Barry.
Scott takes a break from practice and skates over. He pushes up his helmet. Behind him the rink resounds with the heavy echo of voices. All around figures are moving, sticks and skates zigzagging on the ice. “You get hit; you shake it off,” Scott says, and grins.
His mother folds her arms and rolls her eyes. “People say hockey goalies have rocks in their heads,” she says. I like this family already. They are real people.
The fact that Scott, 14, would allow burly hockey players to fire 90-mile-an-hour pucks at him may be beyond comprehension for most of us. But to Scott, hockey is part of him. The shots he faces in a game are like the challenges of life. He realizes he can’t be perfect, get a handle on everything, but he’s getting better all the time.
Almost every boy in Canada has batted around a hockey puck at least once, and most have dreamed of playing professional hockey. Scott is no exception. Growing up in this hockey-crazed town of Lethbridge, Alberta, Scott longed to be the last defense on the ice, 15,000 fans watching as he shut out the Edmonton Oilers, taking MVP honors in the Stanley Cup finals.
Still, the odds are against him ever making it to the pros, so he’s enjoying the experiences along the way. He’s especially proud of representing Southern Alberta at a tournament in Vancouver last year. He played well enough to be selected a Canadian All-Star.
But being an all-star can go to your head. Every now and then Scott has to remind himself what’s really important.
“Once you put the hockey jacket on it’s instant popularity,” he says after practice. Scott’s with his older brother, Troy. They sit cross-legged in their basement, trading hockey cards and playing video hockey. “Some of the guys think they’re pretty hot. Once in a while I might join them and put somebody down—let it go to my head. When I put somebody down I always end up thinking about my brother, Troy.”
Troy, 17, has had a slight motor-skills problem and learning disorder since birth. It’s not serious enough to affect his life much, but it does make him a little different from the other kids. “When he was in elementary school he got picked on a lot,” adds Scott. “I think about that and stop. I try to get the others to stop, too.”
Not to be outdone, Troy starts talking about something he intends to do for Scott. He’s planning on a mission. One of the main reasons is to be an example to his younger brother.
“It’s very important I go on a mission,” says Troy. “Scott probably feels if I don’t go, he won’t have to.” I notice a sideways glance he gives his brother. It’s obvious they’ve had this conversation before.
“I see a mission,” Scott counters. “I hope to go. I want to keep the Holy Ghost with me and that’s a good way. If you’re fooling around with your friends you lose the Spirit, but if you pray and think about it hard, it’ll come back.”
Barry and Mary wander down to join their boys in the basement. Dad picks a black Pittsburgh Pirates cap off the floor.
“We have to pry this hat off Scott’s head,” Barry tells me. Scott grabs the hat and pulls it on. His blond hair disappears and his ears look bigger—I decide not to mention that. “He’s listed as 163 pounds on the team roster, but he’s really only 162. The hat.” Barry points to his head. Scott ignores him.
A son in the National Hockey League—that’s a dream a dad can get excited about. Barry goes to all of Scott’s practices, every game. He admits he had to control his enthusiasm.
“The first few years I pushed him,” Barry says, “but I’ve learned you can’t be too critical or push too hard.”
It took some time for Scott and his dad to find a good mix, but the relationship they have now seems to help them both. For Barry, the payoff is in the time with his son. While Scott, Troy, and their mom are very active in the Church, Barry is not. So he counts on the hockey tie to bring them close.
According to Mary, the boys’ mom, “When Scott’s in a game, he’ll look up into the stands at his dad. They have a silent message system. When Scott makes a good play he’ll look up and know his dad’s happy, and not too happy if he makes a mistake.”
And Dad has good things to say about Scott. He tells about the time Scott tried out for Bantam hockey. One of the other goalies was cut. “Some of the kids started giving him a hard time,” adds Barry. The coach was moments away from having a bad situation on his hands when Scott stood up for the goalie and got the players to settle down. “Scott knows what it’s like to be cut. But I think it’s more than that, something you can’t teach. He tries to care about other people’s feelings.”
Perhaps Scott has learned there is always somebody watching. On the rink it may be a scout or a future coach. In life it could be anybody.
“When Scott played on the Southern Alberta Select Team,” says Mary, “the coach told the team they needed to drink coffee to get going for the games. Scott and another LDS player wouldn’t.”
Scott smiles. “The funny thing was all the other kids ordered coffee, but they ordered caffeine free.”
Scott starts pulling out the odd collection of pads and equipment he needs for an afternoon game in Red Bluff. It’s a typical Saturday with typical commitments to hockey. But while the game does take up a good part of Scott’s life, he wants to be a balanced person.
He stops organizing his hockey gear to show me the saxophone and guitar he likes to play. He says he’d take me for a ride on his motorbike but it’s seized up. And he talks about seminary as if it’s the greatest invention since face masks for goalies. The gospel, he’s discovered, is important in being a well-rounded young man.
“Seminary has opened a lot of doors for me. There’s so much to know,” says Scott. “My seminary teacher is really good. With him it’s easy to understand the scriptures. The Millennium and the Second Coming are really interesting. Reading the scriptures is like reading a story—not a fairy tale, but about a different time. It could be a perfect movie, if you shorten it up a bit.”
But in trying for balance, Scott has discovered he needs to set priorities. A year or so ago, he was playing several sports, going to school and seminary, taking music lessons, spending time with friends. “I was thinking of quitting hockey,” he says. “I wasn’t happy, and it took up so much of my time. I realized if I wanted to play hockey I had to give up some of the other stuff.” He decided to put aside other sports and his guitar for a while. The NHL, the crowds, the excitement—it’s a hard dream to let die.
But other goals are approaching fast. A mission, marriage, and all the decisions in living the gospel are almost here. Just talking to Scott you get the feeling he’ll make the right choices when he needs to. You hope hockey will help him get where he wants to go, but that it will be a part and not the whole.
The last word on Scott is saved for his coach, Kirby Nishikawa. Something Kirby said at practice—something you may have already guessed about Scott. “He’s an all-around great guy to work with. He has a great work ethic and is a good example to the other players. What he does with his talent is all up to him.”
But before I can start wondering where they will put the statue of “Scott Tollestrup—The Perfect Young Man,” Coach Nishikawa sees our hero goofing off at the other end of the ice and bellows, “Tollestrup! Get over here!”
It’s a command that has echoed through this arena more than once, Scott’s mom admits.
Scott takes his place in goal. In front of him a line of players stands waiting to challenge. By now Scott knows he can’t be perfect or get a handle on everything. But remember, this is one goalie who is getting better all the time.

I wanted to join the Church, but I also didn’t want to make my mom mad. My mom played a big role in my decisions while I was growing up. She was a minister, so I constantly listened to her instead of going to church and learning for myself.
I was a little hesitant when we set a date for my baptism. The missionaries came over, and we talked about it.
Finally, I asked my daughter, Aryanna, “Do you want to be baptized?”
She said, “Mom, I’m ready whenever you are.”
She told me that when she went to church, all the girls ran and greeted her. They took her to Primary classes and were always friendly. They wanted her to be part of things. She became really good friends with one of the girls. That’s what she enjoyed about it.
At Aryanna’s baptism, she cried tears of joy. When I saw her, I thought, I’m where I need to be.

I can remember years ago coming out of my first accounting class and feeling like I had just come out of a class where a foreign language had been spoken. I didn’t have a clue what a debit or a credit was and what it meant in terms of cash flow and a balance sheet. I didn’t know where to turn. One of my best friends at the university (not a member of the Church) was studying to be a certified public accountant, and he loved accounting. I can vividly remember sitting down on a hillside on a grassy knoll, opening our books, and having him tutor me in the language of accounting and its objectives and purposes, which I would take with me into the business world for the rest of my life. Harvey wasn’t concerned or worried that I would get a higher grade or be able to pass rather than fail. He was helping a friend in need. You never forget such gestures of kindness and caring in life. It is more than an educational process to get a credit. This is how dear friends are bonded and a realization of why we are here in mortality.

There was an architect in that first company, William Weeks, who had designed the Nauvoo Temple. But the hopeless desolation was too much for him. When President Young went east in 1848, Brother Weeks left, saying, “They will never build the temple without me.”

Truman O. Angell, a carpenter, was appointed to replace him. He said: “If the President and my brethren feel to sustain a poor worm of the dust like me to be Architect of the Church, let me … serve them and not disgrace myself. … May the Lord help me so to do.”

May I share with you a letter from a young man which reflects the spirit of love and which helped to make firm a testimony of the gospel:
“Dear President Monson:
“Thank you for speaking to us at the National Scouting Jamboree held at Fort A. P. Hill, Virginia. On the tour that we took we saw a lot of famous places like Niagara Falls, the Statue of Liberty, the Liberty Bell, and many other places. The one I enjoyed the most was the Sacred Grove. Our parents had written us all letters to read by ourselves while in the grove. After I had finished the letter my parents had written to me, I knelt in prayer. I asked if the Church was really true and if Joseph Smith really did see a vision and is a true prophet of God, and also if President Hinckley is a true prophet of God. Right after I was done praying I felt this feeling of the Spirit that these things were indeed true. I had prayed before about the same things but never received such a powerful answer. There was no way that I could deny that this Church is true or that President Hinckley is a prophet of God.
“I feel so blessed to be a member of this Church. Thanks again for attending the Jamboree.
“Sincerely,
“Chad D. Olson
“P.S. We gave our tour guide and our bus driver a copy of the Book of Mormon with our testimonies in it. They are the greatest! I want to be a missionary.”
Like Joseph Smith, this young man had retired to a sacred grove and prayed for answers to questions phrased by his inquiring mind. Once more a prayer was answered and a confirmation of the truth was gained.

David J. Zirker, 15, was named the Arizona state champion in his age group at the United States Gymnastics Federation meet held in Tucson. He came in first in floor exercise, pommel horse, still rings, and vaults.
For David, the championship has been the highlight of more than a year of hard work. David has been persistent in learning the skills he needed to be a gymnast. At the same time his grades in school have improved, and he has completed the requirements for his Eagle badge.
In addition to gymnastics, David plays in the school orchestra and plays the piano for seminary and priesthood meetings. He does not participate in Sunday meets and does not work out on Sundays.

Open Anna Sterligova’s copy of the Book of Mormon, and you’re in for a surprise. It is filled with brightly colored illustrations—illustrations she created herself.
Anna is a 15-year-old art student in Moscow, Russia. She wanted to record some of her own feelings and emotions about the Book of Mormon as she studied it. So in addition to underlining, cross-referencing, and putting notes in the margins when she read about a scriptural event that had particular meaning to her, she illustrated it.
“It made the stories come to life for me,” she explains.
The stories, of course, were already alive for her, powerfully so. Anna loves the Book of Mormon. She studies it on her own and at family home evening, reads it at meetings of the Pokrovsky Branch, and masters its verses for seminary. She particularly likes to share her testimony of it with friends.
And that’s where Zenaida Akimova comes in. An older woman in the neighborhood, Zenaida was a friend of Anna’s mother, Alla, and was quickly becoming a friend of the entire family (which also includes Anna’s father, Konstantin, and her brother, Aleksander, also known as Sasha). Zenaida knew they were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but she wasn’t sure exactly what they meant by that.
“Keep learning more about it,” Anna invited, “and you’ll see what we mean.”
Zenaida thought about what she already knew. For example, this family treated each other well.
“They were always kind and courteous to each other,” she says. “But most of all they genuinely cared about each other.”
She knew—and had personally witnessed—how important the Church is in their lives. She knew about family history, since Alla had told her about the hundreds of names she has researched. She knew the Sterligovs went on trips to a sacred place called a temple. She knew about Konstantin’s commitment to service as president of the Moscow Russia East District.
Soon Zenaida was meeting with the missionaries, praying, coming to church. She was asking more and more questions, getting more and more answers. Thanks in part to Anna’s constant comments about the Book of Mormon, Zenaida longed to read and understand that holy scripture.
But there was a problem. Zenaida is legally blind. She can’t see well enough to read. She doesn’t know Braille, and even if she did, there is no Braille edition of the Book of Mormon in Russian.
So Anna and Alla developed a plan. Each evening they would read aloud and record several chapters from the Book of Mormon. The following morning, they would deliver the audiocassette to Zenaida. She was thrilled as she learned about Lehi, Nephi, and other prophets. Tape by tape, week by week, her testimony became firmer and clearer. Like the colorful pictures in Anna’s copy of the Book of Mormon, the stories came alive in Zenaida’s mind.
When Anna was busy, Alla recorded. When Alla was busy, Anna recorded. Sometimes Sasha or President Sterligov read into the tape recorder. But every day, verse by verse, chapter by chapter, the tapes were prepared.
“I wanted Sister Akimova to have the same experience with the Book of Mormon that I had,” Anna explains. “The first time the elders showed me the book, I knew it was true. I had no trouble believing it, no doubts. So it was easy for me to tell her how I felt about it and easy to record it for her, since I read it every night anyway.”
Now it is one week before Zenaida’s baptism. She has come to meet with the missionaries once again in the Sterligovs’ apartment. There is a feeling of happiness and hope in the air.
“I am ready to be baptized,” Zenaida says. “I am looking forward to the day. This family has been so great to me. I have my Book of Mormon tapes because of them, and I can listen whenever I want to. I have their example and their love, and with that, I’m ready to begin a new life. I may not be able to see clearly enough to read, but thanks to Anna and Sasha and President and Sister Sterligov, I am starting to see exactly what the gospel means.”
And Anna? She’s still sharing the Book of Mormon with friends. Of her more than 60 pen pals, four have an interest in the gospel. She has sent them copies of the book.
“One young woman lives in a little town in Siberia,” Anna says. “There are no missionaries there, and she is far from the closest branch of the Church. I write to her about the things we learn in the missionary discussions, and she likes that. She knows about the Bible, and I told her we study the Bible, too. But I told her the Book of Mormon, Another Testament of Jesus Christ, makes the Bible more complete. She said to send her a copy so she could see what we mean.”

Grandma was 75 years old when she initiated a “12 days of Christmas” secret Santa project with her Sunday School class of 14-year-olds. “How would you like to do something nice for someone?” she asked. Each person in the class, including Grandma, would secretly take treats to Brother Johnson, who had recently lost his wife. “Sometimes,” Grandma had said, “people may feel alone and need service even if they are not poor.”
Brother Johnson’s house was set far back from the road, and there was a wrought iron fence surrounding the property. On the night of her first turn, Grandma parked down the street and stealthily crept up to the door. She placed the package, rang the bell, and suddenly realized she couldn’t run fast enough to get away. She quickly crouched behind the car and held her breath. Brother Johnson came to the door, picked up the package, and looked around.
He stepped out into the night to get a better look and came up to the car. Grandma slumped down behind the bumper, scarcely breathing. Brother Johnson gave up the search and went back into the house. Grandma was safe this time.
On the night of her second turn, she found the gates locked. Somewhat relieved that she wouldn’t need to crouch behind the car again, she hung the gift on the gate and returned home.
On the night of her third visit, we received a call. “Please,” she said, “would you come and help me deliver my secret Santa gift?” We accepted and started toward the house with the gift. We started to laugh when we saw how challenging this house was to approach.
In church that Sunday, Brother Johnson expressed his gratitude that the gifts had made him feel the love of the ward on his first Christmas alone. Grandma will always be our example of compassion and charity and has taught us that you’re never too old to serve.

Loran C. from England had this experience: “I was just starting my mission papers when the bank told me I had major credit card debt. My bishop and I set up a budget plan for how much I’d pay toward my debt, my mission, my tithing, and my other expenses. It took a lot of sacrifice, and I thought I wouldn’t be able to reach my goal. However, I faithfully paid my tithing and the Lord stepped in. A gift from a stranger gave me the money I needed to pay off my debt and fulfill my mission goal.”

Dear brothers and sisters, the story is told of a Primary child learning to pray. “Thank you for the letter A, the letter B, … the letter G.” The child’s prayer continues, “Thank you for the letters X, Y, Z. Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for the number 1, the number 2.” The Primary teacher worries but wisely waits. The child says, “Thank you for the number 5, the number 6—and thank you for my Primary teacher. She’s the only person who’s ever let me finish my prayer.”

Sofía woke up early. Today was very special. She was going to sell lemonade at her aunt and uncle’s garage sale! Mamá made a huge jug of lemonade for her.
Sofía made a sign. She wrote “Lemonade!” in orange and yellow letters. She taped it to a little table. Then she sat down to wait.
Soon a man came by. “May I have a cup?” he asked. He put some pesos in her jar.
“Sure!” Sofía said. She poured him a cup of lemonade
Little by little, people came to look at the garage sale. And little by little they bought the yummy lemonade. The morning passed happily. Soon all of the lemonade was gone.
Sofía shook her jar. The pesos jingled. She had so many!
“Good job!” Papá said.
Sofía had never had so much money before. “I’m going to buy a yo-yo!”
Papá smiled. “Do you know what Mamá and I do when we earn money?”
Sofía shook her head.
“We pay tithing,” Papá said. “Heavenly Father gave us everything. He asks that we give Him a little part back. We pay tithing because we love Him.”
Sofía smiled. She wanted to show Heavenly Father that she loved Him too.
Papá helped Sofía count her pesos. Whenever she counted to 10, she put one peso in an envelope. Papá helped her write numbers on a little white paper. They put the paper in the envelope with the pesos. Then they sealed it shut. Sofía was going to give it to the bishop tomorrow at church.
“How do you feel?” Papá asked Sofia.
“So happy! And I still have money for a yo-yo.” She felt Heavenly Father was happy with her choice.

While walking down the hall of the Provo 24th–27th Ward chapel in the Provo Utah North Stake, my attention was drawn to a bulletin board on which was located an eye-catching photograph of a pyramid of young Scouts. A closer look indelibly impressed upon my mind the potential impact of Scouting, leaders, and parents, for drawn to the picture of each boy in the pyramid was a line, and at the end of the line appeared names of places both far and near, including Spain, Mexico, Oregon, Thailand, England, Arkansas, and Tahiti.
A desire to investigate further brought me to the home of the former Scoutmaster, Rex Craig, who told me that he had taken the picture in June 1970. At that time he had called members of the troop together to inform them that they had been selected by the YMMIA general superintendency as one of the top 50 troops in the Church with a ranking of #11. (In a later year their troop achieved a #3 rating.)
At the time, Brother Craig had 23 boys in his troop. All of the boys except one went on to achieve the rank of Eagle (the remaining boy lacked only two merit badges), and to date all but two have gone on to serve the Lord in the mission field.
When I asked how he accounted for this kind of activity, he said there were a couple of reasons: The boys were basically good, and, in general, there was excellent support from the homes and the bishopric. But he felt there was one other ingredient that contributed to the success; that ingredient was the application of the program of the Church in which leaders work together to build men. In this case it was the Scoutmaster and the deacons quorum adviser. He handed me a letter that he had received from William Jones, a deacons adviser who had served during the time the boys were in Scouting. The special ingredient is described therein. The letter reads:
“Dear Brother Craig:
“As I prepare to leave Utah, I feel it appropriate to express my feelings and impressions of Troop 194, both as a deacons quorum adviser and as a worker on the troop committee.
“You know of my deep respect for you as a man, but I need to expand this to include your unique role as Scoutmaster. The activities have often taxed your time to the limit, but time was still found to meet the sincere needs of both Scouts and parents, even a ‘confused committeeman’ on occasion. Many felt that after your son became an Eagle Scout your enthusiasm would die. On the contrary, each boy in Troop 194 has, in turn, become a son to you and achieved the Eagle rank. I know personally of the great love each boy has for you.
“As a deacons adviser I owe you much for assisting me in making the priesthood such an integral part of each boy’s life. In no other place is cooperation more important, and I personally feel that in no other area is it more present than in our ward. Because you were with us on Sundays and you allowed me to play an active role in Mutual and on campouts, every boy became our concern and gave the program a true completeness.
“I was privileged to work with a choice group of men, but my greatest joy came from the obvious source—the individual boy. I shall never forget my first outing with the boys to Silver Lake. I was critical and tried to oversee 20 active Scouts. I failed, of course, but by the second go-round things began to focus and I watched the patrol leaders function. I saw characteristics in boys then that will someday make them fine men and our future leaders. Clean speech, honesty, and other principles that were taught in priesthood lessons came alive as I watched our boys.
“Troop 194 has no perfect boy. We have had and will continue to have loud, fidgety, curious, active creatures called boys to love, appreciate, train, and say good-bye to as they head into future challenges, better prepared for having been a boy in our ward.”
In response to my question as to how this relationship between priesthood and Scouting could produce such good results, Brother Craig said, “Everything I’ve ever read or been taught in the scriptures seems to say, ‘Seek the best; cease to be idle; gain knowledge in thy youth; love thy neighbor; do your duty to God; obey; be loyal’; and the list goes on and on. It doesn’t take long to see that a boy’s time seeking, learning, obeying, competing, challenging, promising, and excelling is well spent. It’s not easy, and the boy isn’t happy 100 percent of the time. But he is growing, and he thinks a lot about life now and in the future, and in the end he feels like he’s done something. Though his Eagle badge is important to him, he soon realizes it is just a training step. He knows within himself, here was a challenge. He took it, and he conquered it. Even though it often meant ridicule, sacrifice, and even doing something he thought he could never do, he did it. If you want to see desire and courage, you just watch a boy who reaches the age of 12 and can’t swim. He may struggle, fail, fight, and fail. With determination he will try again, fail again, sometimes cry, but always pick himself up and go on. in the end he knows that he has succeeded at something he thought to be impossible.
“In case anyone should think that our goal in Scouting is to become the top troop in the Church, or 100 percent Eagles, or be awarded the most badges at a court of honor, let me straighten him out. There is only one goal and that is to return the best spirit and strongest character possible to our Father in heaven. This is our goal in priesthood and in Scouting. Scouting offers some tools to practice the principles taught in priesthood.”
Another look at the picture impressed upon my mind the impact that parents, leaders, and the gospel have had upon a closely knit group of boys and, in turn, the impact they are having upon the world: Italy, Taiwan, California, Belgium—Tenderfeet, Eagles, missionaries.

It had rained. Teddy stopped and raised his nose to sniff. His black tail, combed by the wind, streamed behind him.
Bramble was more anxious to get out and get going. She leaped over the ditch and raced wildly through the field. Then even she stopped to sniff the marvelous smells. She could smell a mole and a gopher, as well as a deer. Where was Teddy? What a slow poke! she thought.
Teddy was leisurely making his way to Bramble. He never understood why she had to go so fast and never stopped to enjoy the fresh air, the trees, and the damp coolness of grass on her paws. It was all marvelous!
When Teddy caught up to Bramble, he sniffed her ear in a friendly greeting. Then both dogs went to investigate a promising gopher hole. Bramble was first to start digging. Then Teddy joined in and stuck his nose and paws into the hole she had started. This they both enjoyed. It didn’t matter that they rarely caught a gopher or a mole; just the joy of the hunt was enough.
Finally they tired of digging and moved on. Suddenly Bramble turned and leaped sideways into the long grass. Another leap. Then another, and another. Teddy was mystified. What on earth was she up to now? He went to investigate. As he got closer, Bramble leaped backward and landed right on top of him. Yawp!
Then a frog leaped past him and made for the marsh. Teddy and Bramble were too busy sorting out who had run into whom to follow it. After several playful growls and tumbles, they forgot all about the frog.
Then off Bramble went again, running through the long grasses, her ears flying out so, it looked like she might take off. Teddy traipsed on in the plodding, thoughtful way he had. Soon he lost track of Bramble. Oh well, he thought, I’ll probably find something much more interesting than she will.
Soon Teddy caught a familiar scent. It was a bird smell, and it was close to him. He cautiously moved forward, then stopped with a front paw raised and a back paw barely touching the ground. He stayed in this tottery position for a full minute. Then, sensing that the birds knew of his presence, he carefully inched forward.
Suddenly a bird flew up in his face and landed in the grass several feet behind him. Bramble would chase that bird, thought Teddy. But I smell something more interesting here. So he continued edging forward. And there at his feet was a nest. Three little birds were in it. They didn’t have feathers yet. Teddy was enchanted. He lay down and watched closely. The mother bird tried to scare him away by screeching over his head, but he ignored her and continued to watch the little ones. They sat in the nest and, if he breathed on them, opened their mouths wide. Teddy wagged his tail. He wanted to be their friend.
The baby birds were calling for food. Finally the mother bird couldn’t stand it any more. She flew down and landed on the opposite side of the nest from Teddy. He was surprised to see her, but he wasn’t really interested in catching her. She inched forward and began to feed her children. Teddy watched, fascinated. It looked like she was pushing food way down into their tummies. He was glad his mother had never done that to him.
The mother bird finished, then glared defiantly at him. Oh well, Teddy thought, it’s probably time to get back home, anyway.
Meanwhile, Bramble had discovered a deer scent that was getting stronger. She followed her nose and ran faster and faster. She was startled when she looked up to see the deer only a short distance in front of her. The deer was startled, too. It raised its tail like a white flag and leaped through the bushes. Yippee! thought Bramble. She started running and leaping, faster and faster, after the deer. When she panted to a stop, she had no idea how long she’d been running, or how far. She only knew that she was in a clearing in the forest and that she was very, very tired.
She heard a slight noise and raised her head. The deer was in the clearing, too, and two fawns were with her. Bramble was excited, but she was so tired that all she could do was lie there and watch them. The deer moved about, flicking their tails and their ears. This must be how Teddy feels when he just sits and enjoys the wind, she thought.
At that moment the wind changed direction, and the deer raised their heads in alarm. They smelled dog! With three tails waving, they turned their backs to Bramble and leaped deep into the forest. Bramble had no desire to follow. She was tired and wanted to get back to Teddy and tell him that she thought she knew why he liked to go slowly.
After leaving the baby birds, Teddy ambled back across the meadow, feeling happy and somewhat frisky. So when a rabbit scurried in front of him, he chased it. He felt his muscles stretch and the wind ruffle his fur. The rabbit quickly found its hole and disappeared, but not before Teddy had gotten a good run. His whole body tingled, and Teddy thought that now he knew why Bramble liked to run so much.
Just then he saw Bramble returning across the meadow, walking very slowly. She saw him and speeded up slightly. They met and went through their usual ear sniffing, nose touching, tail wagging ritual. Then they told each other of their day’s experiences. Bramble had decided that Teddy’s way of walking slowly and observing was nice sometimes, but she really preferred speed and excitement.
Teddy had decided that Bramble’s way of chasing and leaping about was nice sometimes, but he really preferred slow, quiet journeys of discovery. He promised to take Bramble to see the baby birds every day if she would be very quiet. Bramble said that she would if Teddy would come with her to the deer grove and play tag on the way there. They both agreed and knew that they had each learned a valuable lesson: They could learn a lot from each other.

My brethren and sisters, at the outset, if you will bear with me, I wish to exercise a personal privilege. Six months ago, at the close of our conference, I stated that my beloved companion of 67 years was seriously ill. She passed away two days later. It was April 6, a significant day to all of us of this Church. I wish to thank publicly the dedicated doctors and wonderful nurses who attended her during her final illness.
My children and I were at her bedside as she slipped peacefully into eternity. As I held her hand and saw mortal life drain from her fingers, I confess I was overcome. Before I married her, she had been the girl of my dreams, to use the words of a song then popular. She was my dear companion for more than two-thirds of a century, my equal before the Lord, really my superior. And now in my old age, she has again become the girl of my dreams.
Immediately following her passing there was a tremendous outpouring of love from across the world. Great quantities of beautiful floral offerings were sent. Large contributions were made in her name to the Perpetual Education Fund and her academic chair at Brigham Young University. There were literally hundreds of letters. We have boxes filled with them from many we know and from very many we do not know. They all express admiration for her and sympathy and love for us whom she left behind.
We regret that we have been unable to respond individually to these many expressions. So I now take this occasion to thank you every one for your great kindness toward us. Thank you so very, very much, and please excuse our failure to reply. The task was beyond our capacity, but your expressions have shed an aura of comfort in our time of grief.