Gospel Story Finder

After finishing my first year of college, I was called to serve a mission, however, I did not have the finances to pay for it. But when it came time for me to leave the Lord helped provide a way. As I gave my missionary farewell speech in sacrament meeting, a less-active sister attending for the first time in years sat and listened intently. After sacrament, she went into the stake president's office and told him that she now knew why the Lord told her to attend church today. She opened her checkbook and paid for all two years of my mission.2

Vivian Alvarez, also 17, says, “I was doing horribly in my math classes. I wanted to improve myself.” And she did. She studied harder and participated in the mentoring program to get a good score on her standardized tests, and now she’s preparing to attend college in the fall. She encourages all youth to continue their training after high school, whether at a college, technical school, or other institution.
Eventually, Vivian wants to be the one giving the grades. At stake youth conference she attended a class that taught her what it’s like to be a teacher. She and the other youth attended other career orientation classes, including accounting, military, culinary, medicine, graphic design, law enforcement, and others. Professionals in these fields taught these classes and told the youth about their lines of work.

It was my experience as a small boy to come under the influence of such a teacher. In our Sunday School class, she taught us concerning the Creation of the world, the Fall of Adam, and the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ.
One Sunday morning she announced sadly to us the death of a classmate’s mother. We had missed Billy that morning but knew not the reason for his absence. The lesson featured the theme, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” Midway through the lesson, our teacher closed the manual and asked, “How much money do we have in our class party fund?”
Depression days prompted a proud answer: “Four dollars and seventy-five cents.”
Then she suggested, “Billy’s family is hard-pressed and grief-stricken. What would you think of the possibility of visiting the family members this morning and giving to them your fund?”
Ever shall I remember the tiny band walking those three city blocks, entering Billy’s home, greeting him, his brother, sisters, and father. Tears glistened in the eyes of all as the white envelope containing our precious party fund passed from the hand of our teacher to the hand of a grief-stricken father. We fairly skipped our way back to the chapel. Our hearts were lighter than they had ever been, our joy more full, our understanding more profound. A God-inspired teacher had taught her boys and girls an eternal lesson of divine truth: “It is more blessed to give than to receive.”

When I was a 16-year-old high school student in Seoul, Korea, a Latter-day Saint classmate invited me to a branch activity. I was amazed at how many people greeted me as if I were an old friend. I thought, “What a wonderful church this must be to have such kind members!”
That Sunday I returned and was again greeted warmly. I was also introduced to the missionaries, and they soon began teaching me the gospel. Two months later I was baptized and confirmed. I didn’t yet have a deep understanding of the gospel, but I felt good about the principles I had learned. I especially liked the plan of salvation and the doctrine of eternal progression. It was comforting to know that if I would do all I could for myself, the Savior would do the rest. But the warmth of the members was what really led to my conversion.

After enjoying several days of exhilarating camp activities, 130 young women from the Sandy Utah Hillcrest Stake shared an evening of spiritual refreshment in their own homemade chapel in the woods. Upon being placed in charge of the project, the fourth year campers (Adventurers) chose a secluded area on the stake-owned campgrounds that was surrounded by a natural shelter of beautiful quaking aspens. With three giant pines as a backdrop, the spot seemed the perfect place for the meetinghouse. The girls spent one entire day clearing out the dense undergrowth, and the next two days sawing, hammering, lashing, and carrying logs to form benches and a pulpit. Gradually the natural amphitheater became what the campers called their “little chapel in the woods.” They were able to participate in two devotionals and one special evening there with the stake presidency and bishoprics before returning home for another year.

Here is an example of caring for those in need. One day a stake president in the Cúcuta stake in Colombia accompanied the stake Young Women president to visit two young women—and their older teenage brother—who were going through some terrible struggles. Recently their father had passed away, and their mother had passed away a year before. The three siblings were now left all alone in their small, humble shelter. The walls were made of crude wood lined with plastic bags, and the corrugated tin roof covered only the area where they slept.

Following their visit, these leaders knew they needed to help. Through the ward council, a plan to help them began to emerge. Ward and stake leaders—Relief Society, elders quorum, Young Men, Young Women—and many families all set themselves to the task of blessing this family.

The ward organizations contacted several ward members who work in construction. Some helped with design, others donated time and labor, others made meals, and still others donated needed materials.

When the little house was finished, it was a joyful day for those who helped and for the three young ward members. These orphaned children felt warm and reassuring bonds of their ward family to know that they are not alone and that God is always there for them. Those who reached out felt the love of the Savior for this family and acted as His hands in serving them.

Missionaries in El Paso, Texas, know the Spirit can teach you how to do anything—even how to cut hair. The elders wanted to help a local homeless shelter by giving haircuts to the people there, but they didn’t know how. A few ward members volunteered to show them the basics and then the elders went to work.

They aren’t professionals, but they believe the Spirit guides them as they serve so they can do a good job. Word has gotten out about the missionary-barbers, and now the elders are greeted with long lines of clients when they go to the shelter. And not only do they give good haircuts, like most good barbers, they also give their customers an earful—about the gospel of course!

Even Maricar Mendoza, who admits she’s somewhat shy, didn’t hesitate to raise her hand when her teacher asked who in the class wasn’t Catholic. Maricar felt she had to speak up. “I said, ‘Ma’am, I’m a Mormon.’ I explained to her what our church is, and I was able to discuss a lot of things, such as latter-day prophets, Joseph Smith, and the plan of salvation.”

Maricar still considers herself shy. But she’s glad she spoke up.

While his mother was the dominant influence in Heber’s life, the Lord placed many others in his path to help guide and direct him. One of the first of these associations was with President Brigham Young (1801–77). Young Heber, too poor to own a sled, entertained himself in the winter by catching hold of passing vehicles, sliding on the snow a block or two, and letting go. One day when he was six years old, Heber caught hold of President Young’s sleigh. As Heber later told the story, President Young “was very fond of a fine team, and was given to driving quite rapidly. I therefore found myself skimming along with such speed that I dared not jump off, and after riding some time I became very cold.”
Finally President Young noticed Heber, told his driver to stop, tucked the cold child under buffalo robes, and then asked who he was. When President Young discovered that the boy was Jedediah M. Grant’s son, he expressed his love for Heber’s father and the hope that Heber would be as fine a man. Before President Young dropped Heber off, he invited the boy to visit him in his office. Thus began a friendship that lasted until President Young’s death. Of this friendship, Heber said, “I learned not only to respect and venerate him, but to love him with an affection akin to that which I imagine I would have felt for my own father, had I been permitted to know and return a father’s love.”5

Four-year-old Ann blinked her eyes in amazement as she watched the Christmas lights come on. She looked up and down the street and saw all the decorations. A chubby cardboard Santa was just getting out of his sleigh in the Wilsons’ front yard, and the Bakers had put up their lifesize Wise Men again. Ann especially liked to see the camels with their big humps. She wondered how the Wise Men could ever stay seated on them. Right next door to her house was a Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer whose nose flashed on and off!
“Oh, Mommy,” she said excitedly, “the best thing about Christmas is the beautiful street decorations.”
The next day, Ann helped her mother cut out Christmas cookies. She made stars and Christmas trees and Santa Clauses and bells. Then she helped frost the cookies and sprinkle glittering silver, red, and green sugar sparkles on top of each one. And sometimes Ann popped a cookie right into her mouth.
“Mmmmmm. I think making cookies is the best thing about Christmas,” she told her mother.
That night Ann sat at the kitchen table, stringing pieces of popcorn and cranberries on thread. First she put on four pieces of popcorn, because she was four years old. Then she put on one cranberry for baby Lisa who was one year old—four pieces of popcorn and a cranberry, four pieces of popcorn and a cranberry. Ann had to poke the needle through just the right place and be careful not to poke her finger!
“Mommy,” Ann said as she showed her how long the strand was, “I guess the best thing about Christmas is decorating the tree.”
The next morning, Ann and her mother went shopping downtown in a big department store. There were red and green ribbons with different sizes of gold balls all over the store and Ann could hear Christmas carols as she and her mother rode up the escalator to the toy department. Ann liked looking at all the exciting toys. She saw some colored blocks and a big pink ball and a blue and yellow Big Wheel with racing stripes and a doll with pretty black hair.
“May I help you with something?” a smiling salesclerk asked.
“Yes, I want to buy this big pink ball for my sister Lisa,” Ann replied.
On the way home Ann squeezed her mother’s hand. “The very best thing about Christmas is shopping for gifts to give,” she told her.
On Christmas morning, Ann was wide awake even before the sun came up. After she had eaten breakfast with Lisa and her parents, they all marched into the living room singing “Jingle Bells.” Shouting with excitement, Ann rushed over to a brand-new Big Wheel just her size. When she had ridden it once around the room she jumped off and ran over to give her mother and dad a big hug and kiss.
“Just what I wanted,” she told them. “Presents are the best thing about Christmas.”
As they sat down to unwrap their gifts, Ann watched eagerly as Lisa, her face shining with joy, pulled the paper and bows off the new ball Ann had wrapped for her. “The best thing about Christmas is seeing Lisa with her first Christmas gifts,” she told her mother and father.
Later that morning, Ann went to Sunday School with her family. For the Christmas program, she sang “Away in a Manger” and “Silent Night” with her class. She had also been chosen to give a little toy lamb to Mary for the Baby Jesus. Mary, who lovingly held her new baby, was really Sister Richards dressed in a blue robe. But as Ann presented the gift, she looked at the baby lying peacefully in Sister Richards’ arms and could almost imagine that it really was the Baby Jesus.
On the way home from Sunday School, Ann’s mother said, “We were all proud of you this morning, dear. I’m wondering if you think being in the program is the best thing about Christmas.”
Ann remembered the wonderfully happy feeling she had when she gave the toy lamb to Sister Richards and the feeling that she was almost giving it to the Baby Jesus. And then she said, “Oh, Mother, I thought I knew what the best thing about Christmas was. But now I know the very best thing about Christmas is that Jesus came to live on earth.”

A missionary district leader was wondering why Elder Parker, who was about to conclude his mission, was successful in spite of his inability to memorize the discussions. To understand, he teamed with Elder Parker to give a discussion. Elder Parker’s presentation was so disorganized that by the end of the formal lesson, the district leader was confused and surmised that the family being taught felt the same way.
It was then that “Elder Parker leaned forward and put his hand on the arm of the family’s father. He then looked him straight in the eyes, told him how much he loved him and his family, and bore one of the most humble and powerful testimonies that the district leader had ever heard. By the time he finished, every member of the family, including the father, and both elders had tears running down their cheeks. Next Elder Parker taught the father how to pray, and they all knelt down while the father prayed that they might receive testimonies of their own and thanked Heavenly Father for the great love that he felt. Two weeks later the whole family was baptized.”
Later, Elder Parker apologized to his district leader for not knowing the discussions. He said he struggled with memorization, even though he spent hours each day working on it. He said he knelt in prayer before teaching each family and asked Heavenly Father to bless him when he bore his testimony so that people would feel his love and the Spirit and know they were being taught the truth (see Allan K. Burgess and Max H. Molgard, “That Is the Worst Lesson I’ve Ever Heard!” in Sunshine for the Latter-day Saint Soul [1998], 181–83).

That same revelation that called Ezra to repentance was also directed toward other elders, including Edward Partridge, a bishop. Like Ezra, Edward had also been disappointed in the location of Zion. The Lord instructed Edward to move his family to Independence so that he could oversee the purchase of land for the Saints, but Edward wasn’t excited about living there. He was used to living in an established town. He wrote to his wife, Lydia, “We have to suffer, and shall for some time, many privations here.”4
Edward also disagreed with Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery about what land he should buy. Joseph and Oliver wanted certain tracts to be purchased, but Edward believed there was better land somewhere else. Edward had hard feelings toward Joseph for a while.5
But unlike Ezra, Edward didn’t allow the disagreement or his disappointment to drive him away from the gospel. Instead, he eventually asked for forgiveness from the Lord and from Joseph. “I sometimes feel as though I must fall,” he wrote to Lydia. “I fear my station is above what I can perform to the acceptance of my Heavenly Father.”6 He told Joseph that he hoped the Prophet could forgive him for the dispute because he was and “has always been sorry.”7
Edward and Joseph reconciled, and Edward stayed faithful until he died in 1840.

Another friend, a girl in his ward stopped by after school to read to him. Although they had not been particularly close before his accident, now she was willing to give her time to help him. He often felt ashamed because he knew that if their roles had been reversed, he would not have been there with her.
What if she had been burned and was in the hospital? This horrible thought kept rushing through my mind. Would I be found at her bedside? I don’t think I was a bad young man. I had a job to earn money for my car and my clothes. What made me cry inside was that I knew 1 wouldn’t have been there with her. And yet such great personal service she was giving to me! I could never tell her what I felt inside, so I made this one great commitment: Along with being the most enthusiastic patient in that hospital, I would try to pay her back. When I got out of the hospital, when I could walk, when I could see, when I could do things, I would try to pay her back through service to other people.
When I got out of the hospital and tried to find people who had problems and tried to help them, I got away from my own problems and stopped dwelling on myself and wallowing in self-pity. I started learning that great lesson—what is on the inside really is most important. Beauty comes from within.

I gained a testimony of the Prophet Joseph when I was a boy. In the summer of 1960 when I was eleven years old, President David O. McKay dedicated our ward chapel in Salt Lake City. I felt a compelling desire to be at that dedication. I went early and got a seat at the front of the chapel. When President McKay walked down the aisle and up onto the stand, I was a few feet from him. I remember his eyes, his bearing, and his voice. I listened to him speak, and I listened to him pray. Through the power of the Holy Ghost, I knew in my little boy heart that David O. McKay was the prophet of God. I also knew that there was an unbroken chain linking President McKay to Joseph Smith. My testimony of David O. McKay was a testimony of Joseph Smith and all the prophets in between. Since that day, every time we have sustained a new prophet, I have received that same witness: this is the prophet of God; he stands where Joseph stood.

I even began tracing my Croatian ancestors, though I soon learned that to obtain their records it would require us to travel to their homeland. So in anticipation, I became acquainted with a BYU–Hawai‘i student who had served her mission in Croatia. She helped me learn basic Croatian words and phrases and introduced me to maps of the regions we could visit. While the steps felt like they occurred slowly, the pace surely quickened in that long-awaited summer in 2006 when we arrived in Zagreb, the capital of Croatia, our first destination. Was it totally by accident that we ran into a set of English-speaking U.S. missionaries, our first morning there? We briefly chatted with them outside the building where church would be held. They described the culture and the city we would travel to next, Rijeka, along the Adriatic, where both happened to have served.

The next morning, we met a missionary couple from BYU–Provo who was familiar with the surnames of my ancestors that I was looking for. With their familiarity with the printed language, they pointed out that I had a two surnames spelled incorrectly.

We also met an assistant to the mission president who recommended we contact the branch president at Rijeka. The helpful branch president and his wife were another missionary couple from the US, and they coordinated the hiring of a translator for us.

These steps all happened very quickly!

With the aid of our new friend and translator (Sonja) we wound up the mountain roads and located the remote parish where Dianna’s grandparents lived before they emigrated to the U.S. I stood back and watched and recorded with these pictures what happened that day, which we regard now as a miracle. The priest there gladly shared with her the heavy, old books containing handwritten names and data of her Croatian ancestors. And with the aid of a state of the art copier in his office, the priest offered to make copies of these precious pages for her. I learned that the priest was probably one of my cousins as our grandmothers were both from the same tiny village down the road and since they coincidentally had the same maiden name! Translation of the copied records was another vital step in this endeavor, made possible through Sonja’s expertise.

Brothers and sisters, I learned that the Spirit of Elijah is real, and allows for the hallowed work of this dispensation to go forward, sometimes in leaps instead of just steps. And it has been a deep and fulfilling joy to help my Croatian ancestors vicariously in their next steps toward their own eternal progression.

Unfortunately, the gambling scene pervaded other high school activities and went beyond school boundaries. While traveling with my baseball team, both on the bus and in the hotel rooms, card games took over much of our spare time. I recall watching a card game where two teammates had $120 on the line, with the luck of a particular card deciding the fate of the game. Someone won that day, but I don’t remember who. What I do remember is the chaos, the screaming and vulgar language, the laughing at someone else’s expense. Most importantly, I remember feeling void of the Spirit. It’s a dirty, ugly feeling.

Little Sarah Palmer ran to meet Joseph when she saw him walking across the clearing toward their home. Propped against his shoulder was a basket made of white oak splints. “Hello, Sarah,” he greeted. “Is your father home?”
“He’s over in the field with the boys. They went out after supper to work till the light is gone. Are you coming to help?” she asked eagerly.
“Not tonight. I’m just delivering this basket. But tell your father we’d be happy to come and help whenever he needs an extra hand. Outside work has been a bit scarce lately.”
“I know why. Pa says it’s because of your vision in the woods,” she stated frankly.
“I’m not surprised. Lately folks have been piling hate on my shoulders. They refuse to believe in visions or revelations in these days.”
Young as she was, Sarah caught the note of concern in Joseph’s voice. “I believe you, Joseph.”
“Not many folks will go along with you, I’m afraid.”
Sarah sighed and said, “You’re right, I reckon. Our preacher came to see Pa the other night. They talked about you and your vision. He was angry with Pa for having you over so much. He said, ‘I don’t like your family’s close friendship with that Smith boy.’”
Distress clouded Joseph’s blue eyes. He sat down on a stump by the Palmers’ log house.
“But Pa likes you anyway,” Sarah hurried to add. “He told the preacher you were the best help he’s ever found, that when you work with my brothers the work goes faster, and he gets full worth for the wages he pays.” She stopped to catch her breath.
“Most folks have turned against me.”
“Well, our family likes you, but …” There was a trace of sadness in her voice. “I’m afraid even Pa thinks you only had a dream. He told the preacher he couldn’t understand why there was such a fuss over the sweet dream of a pure-minded boy.”
With the heel of his boot, Joseph hammered at the gnarled root of the stump. Sarah sat down in front of him, using a clump of wild mustard as a cushion. “I know you saw God, Joseph.”
“Yes, I did, Sarah, as plain as I see you. But folks hate me for saying it, especially the ministers.” His voice was puzzled. “I can’t quite figure it. They used to seek me out and try to help me find the truth. Why, they were ready to take me right up the path to heaven. Then, when the heavens opened and I saw Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus—and even talked with Them—the ministers wanted no part of me. In fact, now they’ve turned against me.”
“I’d never do that, Joseph.”
His face softened. He took her by the hand in an effort to still her worry. “Don’t fret, Sarah. Things will work out. Come on.” Joseph pulled her to her feet. “Let’s take this basket to your mother. It’s getting dark. You need to be inside and I need to get back.”
As Joseph crossed the dooryard to his home a short time later, he was still thinking about his talk with little Sarah. How my life has changed, he pondered.
Suddenly a shot split the stillness, whistling right past him! Then another shot cut the air in front of his face, and he dashed for the house. Cold terror chilled Joseph through, for he knew the shots were meant for him.
Yanking on the latchstring, he pushed the door open with a bang. “Someone just tried to kill me!” he shouted. “The shots came so close I could feel them!”
His father dropped the metal lantern he was making and pulled Joseph away from the door. He was a man not given to showing his emotions, but now his eyes blazed with anger and his jaw was set. He ran out into the dooryard. There was no movement, no sound except for one of the cows bellowing over by the barn. He called to his boys. “Hyrum, search the barn and sheds. Alvin, you go around back. I’ll take the road.”
When Joseph made a move to follow, his father said, “No, son. You stay inside with the family.”
As the men of the family disappeared through the door, Catherine’s seven-year-old face puckered. “Why did they go out there? They might be killed!”
She began to cry hysterically. At the sight of her tears little Don Carlos also began to weep although he didn’t know why. Sophronia, now as tall as her mother, settled herself on a bench and gathered the little ones into her arms. Joseph locked the shutter while his mother bolted the door and pulled the latchstring inside.
Eight-year-old William drew close to his mother.
Outside, Hyrum crept toward the barn, as wary as a painter (cougar). Easing himself inside the door, he listened in the near darkness. The sheep were huddled in a corner with their noses up tilted toward him, bleating softly. Off in the hay, a setting hen lifted her head in nervous jerks. As Hyrum cautiously searched the barn and loft, the hen clucked her complaint. If a stranger had run in here to hide, he reasoned, the animals would have made a ruckus.
Alvin, whose search took him over to the well and down along the rock wall to the apple tree, had also failed to find the fugitive. Once he heard a sound like a pinecone dropping to the ground. When it came again and again, he remembered that a man could make the same sound if he put his foot down flat all at once. It was an Indian trick. But when Alvin followed the sounds, no one was there.
Joseph’s father was a gentle man, but his great, kindly heart was hammering against his chest in a strong, determined beat. His weathered hands were clenched into fists. If I could lay my hands on that scoundrel, I’d give proof to what folks say about me being one of the strongest men hereabouts, he thought.
By the time he had searched the woods and road in front of their cabin, the shadows had thickened into night. He found no one.
Looking further would be as useless as hunting thunder in a storm, he decided. If it were day, I’d search every tree and bush, every hill and hollow, until I found the would-be killer.
Joseph’s father turned and walked back to the house, his shoulders drooping with the weight of a new worry. He called to the boys, “Alvin, Hyrum, you’d best come in now. We’ll look again first thing in the morning. We just might find a clue.”
Next morning, about an hour before sunup, Joseph’s father and the boys were examining the area surrounding the dooryard for clues. As yet there had been nothing to help them discover who it was that had tried to shoot Joseph the night before.
Hyrum was the first to call out. “Hey, over here … under the wagon. The brush has been trampled.”
Joseph’s father hunched down to examine the underbrush, still flattened against the ground.
“He must have been lying here for some time just waiting for Joseph,” their father surmised.
Alvin was perplexed. “But why would anyone want to shoot him?”
Inside, Joseph’s mother heard their discussion as she raked the hot coals from under the ashes in the fireplace. Laying aside the poker, she hustled outside and over to the wagon. Her words echoed the question. “Yes, Alvin, that’s what I’ve been wondering. Joseph is a well-disposed boy who wouldn’t harm anyone.”
They turned to look at Joseph, almost as if they expected an answer.
Joseph shrugged and shook his head, bewildered.
It was the next morning before any further discoveries were made. Joseph had gone to the barn to do the milking. Suddenly he appeared at the barn door. “Father, come quick!” he called. “Come see what I’ve found!”
His excited call brought immediate response from the family. His mother arrived first, carrying Don Carlos. The others came panting in from the field where they had been harvesting potatoes.
Joseph pointed to one of the cows. “Look … here on her neck … and there on her head.”
Carefully, his father examined the cow. “She’s been wounded somehow. There’s been some bleeding, but it’s not very recent.”
“I don’t know how it happened,” Joseph explained. “While I was milking her, she kept shaking her head as if to toss off a bothersome fly. She kept doing it—crazy like—so I looked her over. That’s when I found the wounds.”
After further examination his father took out a knife. “There’s something lodged in there,” he said. “Fetch some new ashes, Samuel. Alvin, put a rope over her back and draw it tightly under her flanks so she’ll lie down easily.”
Joseph’s father talked to the cow with gentle words as the boys tied her legs together. The he skillfully cut into the crusted wounds. Fresh red blood brightened each incision. Catherine gasped and sunk her head into the folds of her mother’s skirt. When Father Smith had finished, he showed the family two lead rifle balls.
“How in thunder? …” Alvin began, but Joseph interrupted. “I’ll wager they’re from the gun that was shot at me. I heard a cow by the barn when I was crossing the dooryard that night. If this was the cow, she’d have been opposite the wagon.”
His father nodded. “Must be. There’s no other way to explain it.”
As soon as Samuel returned with the ashes for a poultice, his father dressed the wounds so they wouldn’t fester. Then he untied the rope and the cow struggled to her feet.
When Father Smith turned from the cow he looked at Joseph, an expression of concern on his face. “I wonder, Joseph,” he said, “if we’ll ever find the coward who tried to kill you.”
“No, I don’t think you ever will,” Joseph answered. “It was the devil.”
His father gave him a troubled look. “The devil? What do you mean?”
“Why, I mean it was the devil in the hearts of the people that did it. That’s the only way to account for such wickedness.”
His father stood silent a moment. Then he said, “I guess you’re right, Joseph.”
And Joseph, though young, had learned something else: that God would protect him and that the truth of the vision would stand, even if people turned against him.

The following story about Joseph Smith comes from Parley P. Pratt’s autobiography, a fast-moving introduction to Church history that is a must in your gospel education. Parley P. Pratt was in Philadelphia in January 1840, when Joseph Smith spoke at a meeting during the Christmas recess of Congress, before which he had testified on behalf of Latter-day Saint reparations after the Missouri persecutions. Joseph’s counselor, the eloquent Sidney Rigdon, spoke at length on biblical evidences for the Restoration. But Joseph virtually sprang to the pulpit afterward to tell his personal experiences of how God called him, “bearing testimony of the visions he had seen, the ministering angels which he had enjoyed.”3 When Paul was challenged on the resurrection, he did not argue with the Corinthians about the philosophical possibility. On the contrary, he answered their objections only after insisting that he and others knew for themselves, for they had seen. If there is no resurrection, “we are found false witnesses of God” (1 Corinthians 15:15). The essential job of a prophet is to testify personally. And in the case of the great prophets Paul and Joseph Smith, they did so on the basis of their eyewitness contact with Christ.

Boy Scout Christian Washburn, inspired by the strength and courage of his younger sister who has had cystic fibrosis since birth, decided to organize a fund-raiser for cystic fibrosis research as his Eagle Scout project.
“Laura Beth has a continually positive attitude,” says Christian. “During all those times in the hospital, good or bad, Laura Beth would always have a smile for you.”
Christian’s project, a walk-a-thon, raised more than $50,000 for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation’s research.
Christian and ten other Scouts in the Orange Sixth Ward, Orange California Stake, all received their awards at the same time.
“I’m proud to have been a part of this great effort, and I’m proud of my sister,” says Christian.

Besides working on fellowshipping, the youth spend a lot of time doing missionary work. The full-time missionaries in Dauphin started teaching Sherry Sinclair the discussions. “She didn’t really want to come to church, but she came one time,” says Kirsten. “Kayleen and I said, ‘Hey! Another person! This is great!’ So we got to know her, and she’s a really cool person. She and I just connected, and we’re awesome friends now.”
Kayleen says, “We tried to welcome her. It’s not very often that we get new people, so it was exciting for us. We tried the best we could to make her feel comfortable and encourage her.” Sherry joined the Church last year.