Gospel Story Finder

“Shucks, Wendy! I’m not doing anything to your silly flower. I’m just talking to it.”
“Well stop it, Peter!” Wendy warned.
Peter liked to talk to Wendy’s flower. One day Mother told him that flowers were happiest when people talked to them. So whenever Wendy was at school Peter talked and sang to the flower on her dresser.
Wendy’s teacher had given everyone in her class a little package of seeds and a jar of dirt. Wendy planted the seeds and after a long time, green shoots pushed up through the dirt and grew and grew until the leaves of a tiny plant popped open. Now there was also a little yellow flower on the end of the longest stem. Wendy was happy about her flower and protected it fiercely from anyone who came near.
“There’s no need to scold, Wendy,” Mother said. “You know that Peter won’t hurt your flower. Flowers grow better when they receive attention. Look how much it has grown already! Soon you’ll have to move the flower outside so it can have more room for its roots to spread out.”
The next morning Peter went back to Wendy’s room. He walked over to Wendy’s dresser and spoke softly, “Hello, Flower. Are you really too big for your jar? Do you want to move outside?” The flower didn’t answer, so Peter pretended that he was the flower answering: “Yes, Peter, I do need some more room so my roots can stretch out.”
Peter carefully picked up the jar. He carried it in both hands through the house and out into the backyard.
Then he sat down on the step to think. Wendy will be happy when she sees that I moved her flower, Peter thought. But where will I put it?
He looked for a place all over the yard—by the fence, by the swings, by the picnic table, even by the garbage cans. Then in the corner of the yard he spied a small pile of sand where he played with his bulldozer and dump trucks.
“There’s just the right place for you, Flower!” he said happily, as he headed for the sandpile.
While Peter was scooping out a hole in the sand, he found a little green car that had been lost. “There you are,” he said to his toy. “I guess I buried you and then I forgot to dig you up again.”
When Peter thought the hole was deep enough, he sat down beside the jar and tried to pull the flower out. But the roots were tangled up in the dirt, so Peter had to pry them out with his fingers. Some of the root hairs broke off. He put the flower in the hole and filled in sand around it.
Just as he went to fill the jar with water for the flower, it started to rain. With all this rain, I guess the flower doesn’t need any more water, Peter thought, and he went back into the house to wait for Wendy.
Wendy always watered her flower as soon as she came home from school. That was one job her mother never had to remind her to do. But when Wendy walked into her room after school that day, the flower was gone!
“MOTHER! My flower is gone!” Wendy cried as she ran into the kitchen.
“Now, Wendy, where would your flower go? Nobody has been here all day except Peter and me,” Mother said.
Just then Wendy turned around and saw Peter holding the empty jar in his hand. “Where is my flower? I told you not to touch it!” she declared angrily.
“Come and see,” he said excitedly. Mother and Wendy followed Peter outside.
He led them to the sandpile and proudly pointed to the little hump of sand where he had planted the flower. “See, Wendy, I moved your flower out here so it could have more room,” he said.
They all stood there, looking at it, but something was wrong. All the leaves were folded together and the head of the flower was drooping down to the ground.
Suddenly Peter was worried. He knelt down on the sand and tried to fix the flower so it would stand up straight. But it just kept flopping over again. His big eyes were filled with tears as he looked helplessly at Wendy and Mother. Then Wendy began to realize how much the flower really meant to her little brother. He feels even worse than I do, she decided and went over and knelt down beside him.
“Peter,” she comforted, “I know you didn’t mean to hurt the flower. You were only trying to help. Tomorrow we can get some more seeds and plant some flowers that we can take care of together.”

Ever since I was a little girl, I loved sports, especially football. I played whenever I could, and I dreamed of competing someday for Argentina in the Olympics or the World Games.
My dreams were shattered one day when I was 15 years old. I had just visited my sick seminary teacher and was riding my bicycle home when two gangs in my neighborhood started shooting at each other. A stray bullet hit me in the back.
When I woke up in the hospital the next day, I learned that I was paralyzed from the waist down.
While I was healing, family and friends would ask me how I was doing. I could see that they all felt bad for me, so I would console them by saying I was OK. Comforting others helped me, but I knew I wouldn’t walk again and had to learn how to live with being paralyzed.
At the time, I had started going to seminary and was becoming active again in the Church. Seminary was the pillar that supported me in coming back and in not getting mad at Heavenly Father over what had happened to me.
In seminary our teacher taught us that when bad things happen, we shouldn’t ask, “Why did this happen to me?” She said the question we should ask is, “What can I learn from this?”
It was hard to keep going and to always be positive, but my seminary teacher’s question gave me a lot of strength. When I lost hope and when doubts filled my mind, I always returned to that question: “What can I learn?” That helped me get up every day, and it carried me when I felt like giving up.
As for the man who shot me, Heavenly Father blessed me not to feel resentment toward him. He eventually went to trial and was sentenced to prison. While there, he wrote me a letter, asking my forgiveness and telling me he had changed his ways. I told him I didn’t feel any bitterness toward him and that I was happy he had changed.
For a few years after I was shot, I didn’t feel like doing much. I missed playing sports, and I didn’t know then that many sports have been adapted for people with disabilities. When I found that out, my enthusiasm for sports returned. If a sport was new to me, I tried to learn it. And I gave it the same passion I did with football before I was paralyzed.
Soon I found a sport I loved as much as football—wheelchair basketball. Eventually, after a lot of play and practice, I was selected to represent Argentina internationally. I love the high level of competition between rival international teams.
I played on our women’s national wheelchair basketball team in the Para-South American Games in Chile in 2014, during which we won a gold medal. Then we competed in the South America Championships in Colombia, winning a silver medal in 2015. I also competed in the Parapan American Games in Canada in 2015, where we qualified for the 2016 Paralympic Games in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Later, after qualifying for the World Cup, we played in Hamburg, Germany, in 2018. And in August 2019, we played at the Parapan American Games in Lima, Peru.
Sometimes I still get discouraged, and every day has its challenges that I have to overcome. But I thank my Heavenly Father for the wonderful family and friends He has given me. He has brought many important people into my life who have helped me face this difficult trial. Family support is vital in overcoming challenges—not just our physical challenges but our mental, emotional, and spiritual ones too.
Because of the gospel in my life, I appreciate the many blessings my Father has given me and continues to give me. I know He loves me. Without faith in Him and Jesus Christ, I wouldn’t have been able to endure this challenge.
Yes, I have to travel life in a wheelchair, but even with my wheelchair, I’ve still achieved many of my childhood dreams after all. I tell people, “Believe in our Father. He is with us. With His help, we can overcome our challenges. Don’t lose your faith. Stay firm in the gospel. Set goals, and you’ll achieve them. Our Heavenly Father will help you.”
Along with supporting me in my challenges and goals, my faith also helps me live the principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Participating in tournaments can bring temptations, but keeping gospel principles and my standards in mind helps me make good choices.
I try to help others through my example. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I don’t do other things some athletes do. It can be difficult to share my testimony or the scriptures, but I try to teach others by the things I do and don’t do.
Sometimes we get angry with Heavenly Father because of hard things that happen to us or to people we love, but even if we don’t always have all the answers to our trials, He does.
Heavenly Father doesn’t give us challenges we can’t overcome. As my seminary teacher said, sometimes bad things happen for a reason. And sometimes those difficult things can end up blessing us and others. If we hold on to our faith in the midst of our trials, our examples of faith may strengthen others who need help facing their trials and moving forward.

The story is told of a man named Jack who had a beloved bird-hunting dog named Cassie. Jack was so proud of Cassie and often bragged about what a skilled dog she was. To prove this, Jack invited some friends to watch Cassie perform. After arriving at the hunting club, Jack let Cassie out to run around while he went inside to check in.
When it was time to begin, Jack was anxious to show off Cassie’s amazing skills. However, Cassie was acting strangely. She wouldn’t obey any of Jack’s commands as she usually did so willingly. All she wanted to do was remain by his side.
Jack was frustrated and embarrassed and angry with Cassie; soon he suggested they leave. Cassie wouldn’t even jump into the back of the truck, so Jack impatiently picked her up and shoved her in the kennel. He fumed as those with him made fun of his dog’s behavior all the way home. Jack couldn’t understand why Cassie was misbehaving. She had been trained well, and her whole desire in the past had been to please and serve him.
After arriving home, Jack began examining Cassie for injuries, burrs, or ticks, as he usually did. As he put his hand on her chest, he felt something wet and found his hand covered with blood. To his shame and horror, he found that Cassie had a long, wide gash right to her chest bone. He found another on her right front leg, also to the bone.
Jack took Cassie into his arms and began to cry. His shame at how he had misjudged and treated her was overwhelming. Cassie had been acting uncharacteristically earlier in the day because she was hurt. Her behavior had been influenced by her pain, her suffering, and her wounds. It had nothing to do with a lack of desire to obey Jack or a lack of love for him.

Only two hours after I had gathered the parts, some coming from as near as the trash can and broom closet, I was aiming my homemade telescope into the night sky. At first all I saw was a bunch of smeared blotches, but by moving the eyepiece in and out I was able to focus my telescope, and what a spectacle opened before my eyes! I saw four of Jupiter’s moons, not to mention the huge planet itself, craters on the moon, and the rings of Saturn. As the year progressed, I was able to see the crescent of Venus and the white polar caps of Mars. I even saw the white oval of our nearest galaxy, Andromeda, the nebula in Orion, and the Pleiades (a cluster of stars shining through some interstellar gasses). I saw double stars, the Milky Way, and many other beautiful celestial bodies. I even tried looking at the sun, but it didn’t take long (about a millioneth of a second!) for me to find out that looking at the sun is not a safe thing to do! I managed to get around the problem, without buying a special sun filter, by projecting the sun’s image onto a piece of paper. I held a piece of white paper behind the telescope, about four inches away from the eyepiece, and much to my surprise, there was the sun. It was a very bright circle with little black dots covering its surface. I later learned that these dots were sun spots, regions on the sun’s surface where the temperature is somewhat cooler.
The telescope I built was a very simple one. It consisted of one big lens that I attached to the front of a mailing tube and two smaller lenses out of which I built an eyepiece that slid into the bigger tube. The big lens was salvaged from an old camera, while the two smaller lenses were toy magnifying glasses I bought from the drug store. I even hammered three broom sticks together and made a simple yet sturdy tripod on which I mounted my scope.

In July 2003, a friend convinced me to participate in the Burley Spudman Triathlon—a race consisting of a 1-mile swim, 25-mile bike ride, and 6-mile run. At the time, I had been running regularly and biked occasionally but did not swim well. When I expressed concerns, I was told the swim would be easy as it would take place in the Snake River. All I needed to do was stay in the current and the river would do most of the work. Convinced, I agreed to the race and diligently trained for the bike and run. However, I did not focus on my swimming.
The day of the race arrived and after getting in the water, I worked my way to the edge to be out of the way of the stronger swimmers. Unfortunately, I also managed to move myself out of the strongest current and I did not realize this until well into the race. Because I had not prepared myself for swimming, it was more difficult than expected, and I became exhausted to the point I feared drowning. Eventually—and thankfully—I was able to finish the swim leg of the race.
What would have made the difference for me in this experience? Being “all in” the strongest current would have helped. Also, had I been all in with my preparation before the race ever started, my success would not have been dependent on the current alone. On several levels, I was not all in.
In the frantic moments of my swim that day in 2003, one of the pervading thoughts that kept me going was that my mother had come to cheer me on, and she was waiting to encourage me where the swim leg ended. Knowing she was expecting me to emerge from that river was a strong motivator that was almost as powerful as my desire not to die. Though I was one of the last ones out of the water, she never indicated disappointment or judgment—only love, support, and encouragement.

Rain poured from the sky as Katie dashed from under the awning of Fitzgerald’s. She vaulted into the passenger seat of the car waiting at the curb with her brother, Mike, at the wheel.
“It would start to rain as I get off work,” Katie said dismally, flipping down the visor mirror to stare at her sodden hair.
Mike laughed at the face she was making and pulled into traffic.
“Oh! I almost forgot,” Katie said. “Fitzgerald’s is having a sale on men’s white dress shirts—in case you need a few more for your collection.”
“I think Mom bought three or four dozen. Do you think 10 ties is enough?”
“I’d better send you some for Christmas.”
“Don’t forget socks,” Mike reminded her. “And cookies.”
“They’ll be stale by the time they get to Brazil.”
“I can’t go two years without chocolate chip cookies.”
Katie said softly, “I can’t believe you’re going to be gone in a week.”
Mike pulled into their driveway. The rain kept falling. “Gotta make a run for it,” he said.
Katie reached out a hand. “No, Mike, wait. You know, this might be our last chance to talk.”
“You mean you’re never going to speak to me again?” Mike asked in mock horror.
“You know what I mean. Tomorrow Dad’s taking you fishing. Sunday is the farewell, Monday is the good-bye party, and Tuesday you drive to Utah while I work.”
Katie’s eyes blurred as she looked through the drumming rain. She and Mike were only 11 months apart and had grown up practically like twins. They had run track together, fished, camped, had the same friends, and gone to Saturday night dances together. When no one else would listen, Mike always did. But now it was hard to express what she wanted to ask him.
“What’s up, Katie?”
“It’s just … why are you going on a mission?”
“Well,” he began, “I’ve taken the missionary prep class, gone on splits with the full-time elders, saved my money …” He stopped. “I guess that doesn’t really answer the question, huh? I’m going because I’ve got a testimony of the gospel. Does that sound too spiritual?”
Katie shook her head. “You really have a testimony? No doubts, nothing?”
He looked at her questioningly. “I’ve never had doubts; neither have you. Hey, you’ve been Laurel class president.”
“Being the Laurel class president doesn’t automatically give you a testimony.”
Mike stared at her in disbelief. “We’ve been together our whole lives: church, seminary, sunrise testimony meetings; of course you have a testimony.”
Katie’s voice shook. “No, I don’t Mike.” I’ve never told this to anyone, but I really don’t know. How can people say they know?”
“I can’t believe you’re saying this,” Mike said softly.
“Don’t look so shocked, Michael. It’s not the end of the world.”
“How can you go on a mission or get married in the temple? All the big things, I just don’t get it.”
“I’m not planning on getting married next month.”
Mike shook his head. “Your testimony is the most important thing in the world.”
“But what is a testimony?” she challenged.
Meeting the rise in her voice, he quickly said, “A knowledge and belief that the Church is true.”
“How do you get it?”
“Through study, prayer, fasting.”
“The usual, typical answers. Is that how you got it?”
“Of course.”
“How did you know?”
“I just felt it. I’ve always known.”
“But what does it feel like?”
He sighed. “I don’t know how to explain.”
“No one can tell me. Not my seminary teacher, not my leaders, and not you.”
“I thought I knew you better than anyone else, and now it’s like I don’t.”
Katie bit her lip. “You’re not helping me. You’re only making me feel bad.”
“But you have to have a testimony,” he insisted.
“Right.” She opened the car door. “Out of everybody in this world, I thought you’d be the one to listen and understand. I wish I hadn’t brought it up.” Katie got out of the car and slammed the door.
The next morning, Katie stayed in bed until after Dad and Mike had left for the lake. When she came downstairs, she found her mother at the kitchen table eating breakfast.
“I’m just wondering what’s up between you and Mike?” Mom said.
Katie became wary. “Nothing.”
“Actually,” Mom confessed, “Mike told us about your conversation last night.”
Katie set down the milk. “He had no right to tell you that! I confided in him.”
“You’ve been so close. I think he was very shaken by what you told him,” Mom said soothingly.
“Now my whole family thinks I’m apostatizing.”
“I never knew you had concerns about your feelings. I wish you had come to Dad and me.”
“It seems like everybody has a testimony, except me. I thought I was weird or something.”
Mom was thoughtful. “There are probably more people in your shoes than you realize, especially teenagers. We’re not born with a testimony. It takes time, lots of prayer, and seeking for the Spirit. Growing up in the Church can make it harder because it’s always around you. From the time you’re in nursery, it’s something you hear about and learn about every day. It might be harder to recognize because it’s so much a part of you.”
“You’re probably right,” Katie admitted.
Mom leaned forward. “Of course, I don’t recommend going out in the world and ignoring your standards just to see how other people live. Your father and I did that before the missionaries came to our door 20 years ago. We had even decided not to have children.”
“I didn’t know that,” Katie said.
“It’s a sad way to live. When I felt the Holy Ghost bearing the truth to my heart that what the elders were telling me was true, it was so different from anything I’d ever felt, I didn’t have any doubts it was from God.”
“I wish I could have that,” Katie said. “But sometimes I don’t think I feel anything.”
“You might be feeling more than you realize. It just takes careful listening. Having a desire to know is the first step. It will come if you seek it. Jesus Christ himself told us that.”
Even after talking with her mother, Katie had a hard time feeling forgiveness toward Mike. She felt like he’d betrayed her deepest feelings. On Tuesday morning she stood barefoot in the damp grass and saw her family off. She hugged Mom and Dad, then stood awkwardly as Mike put his arms around her and squeezed her.
He whispered, “Please don’t be mad anymore. I need your love to make it the next two years. Write to me, okay?”
She nodded, unable to speak. The car pulled away, and Dad tooted the horn.
She was alone. Even though she had to work every day until her parents returned, the next few days would be time by herself. Time to really think, meditate, read, pray and hopefully get some answers.
She went into the house and grabbed her scriptures. A testimony of the gospel, of the Church. It sounded trite, somehow, and that had always bothered her. There were so many doctrines to have a testimony of. What did it really mean?
She turned to the Topical Guide under testimony and testify and read until she had to get ready for work. The basic foundation was a testimony of Jesus Christ, which made sense. That’s where she needed to start.
A few minutes after Katie checked in at work, she was throwing a pile of newspapers out when a headline in the metro section caught her eye: “Top 10 Reasons People Pick Their Church.” She put it in her purse.
The words ran through her mind. How could there be more than one or two reasons people decide which church to join? Wasn’t the church’s beliefs and doctrine the most important thing?
After her shift, Katie spread open the article. A journalist had conducted a local survey among members of various churches and asked them to list the reasons they had chosen the church they currently attended. The results had been listed in order of the most popular.
The church had a good day-care center close to work.
The church had a good preschool or private school.
The church was close to where they lived.
Their friends attended that church.
They liked the beauty of the church.
The church had a good choir they wanted to join.
The church had a youth program.
They had grown up attending that church.
They liked the minister.
They agreed with the doctrines or beliefs.
Katie set down the paper. Incredible. What she had assumed to be the number one reason was actually the last reason people in her community picked their church.
Had she been going to church because of social reasons and not because of a testimony? But it wasn’t because she didn’t want a testimony. She did. It just seemed like such an elusive thing. She almost felt guilty that she would be going to BYU without a testimony.
Every night that week she lay in bed thinking about the Savior, the scriptures she had read, and her pleading prayers for answers. After several days Katie finally felt the troubled, worried feelings disappearing. She knew she was beginning to feel peace. Her testimony would come, just as Mom said it would. She had to have confidence in the Lord.
Katie sat up and switched on the lamp. She picked up her scriptures and went back to section 9 of the Doctrine and Covenants. She’d read the verses about having a burning in her heart so often she had it memorized. Why couldn’t she have that burning?
Slowly she turned the pages, reading verses at random. Section 6 caught her eye. The Lord was speaking to Oliver Cowdery. “Cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things. Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?” (D&C 6:22–23).
Katie sank back against the pillows. She knew she had felt peace. And now she knew it was from God. She glanced down at the page and another passage seemed to strike at her heart: “Be faithful and diligent in keeping the commandments of God, and I will encircle thee in the arms of my love. Behold, I am Jesus Christ, the Son of God” (D&C 6:20–21).
Oh, to feel the love of the Savior as if she were encircled by his arms! Tears came to her eyes as she thought about Mike. She shouldn’t have let him go without telling him she loved him. She thought he had betrayed her, but now she realized that she had deserted him also.
It was almost midnight, but she couldn’t go to sleep. She grabbed her pen and started to write.
Dear Mike, I’ve finally had some questions answered. Probably the best person answered them, too. The one that counts. Maybe I wanted to be struck by lightning or have a revelation or something. But it was even better than that. Now I can know deep inside my heart, where it will never leave.
I’m sorry for how I acted when you left for Utah. I guess I was angry with you for breaking my confidence, but now I know I hurt you also and I wish I could go back and re-do all your last days at home. Would you please forgive me? I do know that you’re going to be a great missionary, and I’m rooting for you! With all my love, Your sis, Katie.
She folded the letter, got in her pajamas, and went to find her brother’s address.

I have always been impressed with an experience President Hugh B. Brown, former member of the First Presidency, shared with me when I was serving a mission under his direction in the British Isles. He told about his mother’s encouraging words as he left on his mission when he was about 20 years of age. This essentially was her message, as I recall:
“Hugh, you remember when you were a little boy and you would have a bad dream or wake up in the night frightened, you would call from your room: ‘Mother, are you there?’ and I would answer and try to comfort you and remove your fears. Now as you go on a mission and out into the world there will be times when you will be frightened, when you feel weak, inadequate, alone, and have problems.
“I want you to know that you can call to your Heavenly Father as you used to call to me and say: ‘Father, are you there? I need your help.’ Do this with the knowledge that He is there and that He will be ready to help you if you will do your part, and live worthy of your blessings and needs. I want to reassure you that He is there and will answer your prayers and needs for your best good.”

Forty-five years ago I worked with a man named Sharman Hummel in the printing business. I once asked him how he came to receive his testimony of the gospel.
He responded, “We lived in the East. I was journeying by bus to San Francisco. In Salt Lake City a young girl entered the bus—a Primary girl—who sat next to me. She was going to Reno, Nevada, for a visit with her aunt. As we journeyed westward, I noticed a billboard: ‘Visit the Mormon Sunday School this week.’
“I said to the little girl, ‘I guess there are a lot of Mormons in Utah, aren’t there?’
“She replied, ‘Yes, sir.’
“Then I said to her, ‘Are you a Mormon?’
“Again her reply: ‘Yes, sir.’”
Sharman Hummel then asked, “What do Mormons believe?” And that little girl recited the first article of faith; then she talked about it. Continuing, she gave him the second article of faith and talked about it. Then she gave him the third and the fourth and the fifth and the sixth and all of the Articles of Faith and talked about all of them.
Sharman Hummel said, “I was profoundly impressed. When I arrived in San Francisco, the very first thing I did was to look through the yellow pages for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I called the mission president, and he sent two missionaries to where I was staying. I became a member of the Church, my wife became a member, all of our children became members.”
The entire Hummel family remained active in the Church. Each of the daughters has been to the temple. Countless are those who have been brought to a knowledge of the gospel by the members of this family—all because a young child had been taught the Articles of Faith and had the ability and the courage to proclaim the truth.

I want to tell you two personal stories to illustrate this process of discovery. The first goes all the way back to the fall of 1974, when I entered graduate school at Harvard. I was full of hope and ambition and energy and dreams, just as you are today. I was married, and already the father of a six-month-old daughter.

I had studied economics and political science as an undergraduate at Utah State University, had completed a master's in economics there, and still wanted more. But unlike most of those who seek the Ph.D., I had no desire for a career in academic research and teaching, or at least I didn't think I did. Consequently, I really did not know what I was going to do when I finished graduate school.

Sometime during my last year at Utah State, I was invited to appear as a panelist on a television program broadcast by KUED, Channel 7, in Salt Lake City. The theme of the program was "University Governance," and I was the token student member of the panel, having served as the editor of my college newspaper. Can you imagine an entire program being devoted to that topic-- university governance? One thing I can say with confidence: the programming on KUED has improved dramatically in the last thirty-seven years!

Well, anyway, we had an interesting, and (other than myself), a distinguished panel. The discussants included the provost of the University of Utah, the chairman of the state Board of Regents, and the state senator most responsible for funding higher education. A story the state senator told about growing up on an arid farm in southern Utah, and building a dam for irrigation, is the only thing I can remember about the panel's discussion.

He told of how his father would wake him up early in the morning, before it was light, to go outside to hitch up the horses. He would then drive the team out to work on the dam that they were building, so that they could have water to irrigate the alfalfa. Of course they were growing the alfalfa, so that they would have hay to feed the horses! This was a cycle that as a young farm boy he could not understand. He wondered why not just shoot the horses and sleep in!

I think this anecdote left such an impression on me because at the time I heard it I was struggling with a similar cycle that left me just as puzzled: the struggle to decide which graduate education to pursue and what career path to follow. For although I was excited to pursue Ph.D. studies, I could not connect that study to a career I was interested in. I could not understand why anyone would study hard to get good grades to get into graduate school, if the only purpose was to then study hard to get good grades to get a teaching position somewhere. Where, of course, one would then force some other poor soul to study hard to get good grades to get into graduate school! Like the state senator and the horses, I wondered why not just burn the books and sleep in! The answer to that riddle came about by accident. Two years into my graduate study at Harvard, I was working as a janitor to help support my family. One day I had a conversation with a classmate, Kim Clark, who is now president of BYU-Idaho. We discussed the work we were doing to make ends meet. Like me, Kim was supporting a wife and a young child. He told me that he had a job as a teaching fellow in the economics department, and that he taught the first year course in economics to Harvard College undergraduates. "Do they pay you for that?" I asked. "Sure," he said. In fact, it paid better than my janitor's job. So I asked him if he thought the economics department might use another teaching fellow. Kim graciously agreed to arrange an interview for me with the head teaching fellow, and I was given the job.

I will always be grateful to Kim for that kindness. In addition to improving our family's standard of living, that job opened the door to my career. I discovered the joy of teaching, and that teaching was the best way for me to learn. In fact, I found out that I could learn more about economics by teaching Harvard College undergraduates than I did from sitting in the lectures of my Nobel Prize-winning professors of economic theory. I became passionate about teaching because it enabled me to learn, and I was passionate about learning. I wasn't that good at it at first. But because I enjoyed teaching economics, I got better at it.

This insight: that I could learn most effectively by teaching others, and that I could become good at it because I enjoyed it: was an accident. I made this discovery in the process of simply trying to find a better way to support my family.

Another missionary told of hearing about the gospel in France. The missionaries were not fluent in his language, but he knew that what they were telling him was important, so he studied English in order to better understand them. After hearing the discussions, he had difficulty breaking some of his bad habits. The missionaries told him to ask the Lord for help. One night he was having extreme difficulty and, remembering their advice, went to his bedroom to pray for help. An hour or two later he heard a knock at his door. The missionaries were standing there, drenched from having walked five kilometers in a heavy rainstorm. “Why are you here?” he asked them. “We were asleep,” they said, “and woke up feeling you needed us.” He paused at this point in his talk and looked out over the audience as if looking for someone. Then he said, in a voice trembling with love and gratitude, “I want you to meet my missionaries.” They both lived near the MTC, and he had invited them to hear him speak at our meeting. He spoke of his mission as a privilege.

The youth of the Charleston, Fairmont, and Huntington stakes in West Virginia wanted service to be a part of their youth conference. In preparation for the conference, local governments and organizations were contacted and asked in what areas the youth might be of service.
Faced with funding problems, the public library asked the youth to help with a pledge drive. The librarians had not had the manpower to stage the campaign themselves. The head librarian said, “We were excited when the Church came to us and said they would like to help. I’m impressed with the Church and with their willingness to help. If every church made these kinds of efforts for the things they believed in, it would be exciting to see what would happen in the world.”
In addition, the youth helped with heavy yard work and cleaning for several widows in town. They also painted and cleaned the Head Start building. The youth presented a musical program at a local nursing home and spent time talking individually with the residents.
The youth also helped clean up along the roadways leading into town; cleaned, raked, and helped prepare a new soccer field; and painted park restrooms and a gazebo.
The group participated in a Book of Mormon marking project as well. They underlined specific scriptures in 120 copies of the Book of Mormon to be used by the missionaries in the Charleston West Virginia Mission.
At the testimony meeting at the conclusion of the youth conference, those involved left feeling better about themselves because they had helped someone else.

Illustrated by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
1. Hurrah! Dad’s going to build our playhouse today!
I’m going to start building it, big guy. It’s not a one-day job.
2. C’mon, Daddy, start sawing and hammering! Why are you reading those papers?
They’re the plans for the playhouse.
3. You don’t need plans, Dad. Just make it look like this picture.
I can’t without the plans. They were drawn by someone who knows a lot more about building playhouses than I do.
4. Several days later
Here, Dad, put this board right over there.
Let’s check the plans. It looks like it goes over here, instead, if we want a window in this wall.
5. Still later
Let’s make this bench longer.
Look at the plans, Princess. That wouldn’t leave room for the cupboard.
6. Finally …
Wow, Dad, you’re a good playhouse builder!
Well, I had some good helpers.
And some good plans.

When I was a junior in college, I married my high school sweetheart, Clea. After three years of serving in the Navy as an officer on a destroyer and attending graduate school, I moved with my wife to Detroit, Michigan. I worked there for many years for Ford Motor Company, and that’s where we raised our four children. Once I had to travel to Asia for my work. There was a cholera epidemic in Asia at the time. Before I left, I got a shot to protect me from getting cholera, but the doctor forgot to record on my passport that I’d had the shot.
When it was time for me to return home, I gave my passport to the government official. He noticed that it did not show that I had had a cholera shot, which was required. He said that I could not go home until two weeks after I had the shot. I told him that I had already had one. He said that if I gave the emigration officials fifty dollars, they would let me leave without having the shot. I knew that it is dishonest to bribe officials, so I went to the United States ambassador and asked him to call the doctor who had given me the shot. With his help, I was allowed to leave.
Someone I know once said, “Wrong is wrong, even though everyone is doing it. Right is right, even though no one is doing it.” This is a concept you need to use all your life. You don’t have to lie. Don’t get into the habit of telling fibs. Honesty is a good habit.

For Noah, it was an ark. King Benjamin went with a tower. The Brother of Jared settled on barges. And as for Sarah Christensen from Montana, USA? Well, she decided that she wanted to build houses.
Hermana Christensen, now a full-time missionary serving in the Minnesota Minneapolis Mission, once got a little irritated that a mission was getting in the way of her construction goals—and it wasn’t even her own mission!
Let’s start at the beginning.
“I’ve been helping my dad build things my whole life,” she says. “I got used to power tools and construction, and I just really grew to love it. So, when I was 16 years old, I decided that I wanted to start my own construction business.”
“My dad has taught me to put things together, from two boards to a whole house,” Sarah says.
Sarah first remodeled a house one year over the summer. She loved it so much that she took on another remodeling project the next year. Eventually, she decided to tackle an even bigger project—a “spec” house, or a house that she and her team of subcontractors would build from foundation to finish, hopefully to sell at a profit.
Demolition day! Sarah takes a hammer to a bathroom in one of her projects.
Starting a business was no easy project, especially because Sarah was still busy with high school and cross country running.
Sarah started her own construction company when she was 16 years old.
“I learned so much,” she says. “I had to use a checkbook to pay people, which I’d never done before. I had to become comfortable talking to strangers who were my subcontractors. I’ve also learned how to deal with the stress of running a company, which was not always fun. There’s always the worry that you won’t make the money needed to break even when selling a house.”
But despite the worries and stresses that come with running a business, Sarah never had to face her big dreams alone.
“It always worked out, and I know that’s because of the Lord,” she says. “This business thing wasn’t possible without Him. He helped me through the bad days, the hard work, everything.”
The close relationship Sarah has with her family comes from working together.
Sarah’s family also supported her at every turn—which leads us back to that mission that was interfering with her plans.
Her older brother Tyler planned to help Sarah build a house when he got home from his mission. But one day, he called her with the news that he had been asked to extend his missionary service.
“I was so mad at him,” she admits. “I was like, ‘Tyler, you can’t accept that. I have this planned out.’ And he said, ‘The Lord’s work is more important than your work.’ That hit me. I knew he was right and that I needed to trust God’s plan.”
Sarah’s family welcomed her brother Tyler home after he extended his mission.
Photograph courtesy of Sarah Christensen
Whether she’s getting help from her dad or help from Heavenly Father, Sarah knows she’s not alone.
Tyler’s example inspired Sarah to start thinking about serving her own mission. “I realized how many people my brother helped come unto Christ, and I also saw how much he had come unto Christ himself. I wanted to have similar experiences,” Hermana Christensen says. “I started to seriously study the gospel and found that the more my testimony and my relationship with my Savior grew, the more I wanted to share what I had.”
Sarah made the choice to put her construction business on hold and serve the Lord. This decision has given her powerful new insights.
“The number one thing my mission has taught me is that the gospel completely changes lives,” Hermana Christensen says. “Growing up in the Church made it hard for me to see how significant the gospel was in my life.
“Here on my mission, I am surrounded by people who do not know about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. When they learn that they are children of God and He has a plan for them, it changes their lives. It is the coolest thing to witness and be a part of. I had an understanding of that before my mission, but now I know that the gospel of Jesus Christ is crucial for joy in this world and in the world to come.”
Hermana Christensen (right) and her companion Hermana Taylor (left) love to serve any way they can.
Photograph courtesy of Sarah Christensen
To other youth who are thinking of serving a mission, Hermana Christensen says, “Have faith and do not fear. Missions are not easy, but they are worth it. God will bless you in unimaginable ways as you make a decision to be one of His servants.”
Though she misses being able to build houses while she serves, Hermana Christensen doesn’t regret her choice. “Of course, there is potential growth that my business could have made while I’m a full-time missionary,” she says. “But I know the Lord will bless my sacrifice of leaving it behind for a bit. My business can wait, but the Lord’s work cannot!”
Hear more from Sarah on the Gospel Living app this month!

My wife’s great-uncle and great-aunt are two of the kindest, most spiritual people I know, but financially their life together has often been less than comfortable. He worked as a schoolteacher, and she stayed home with the four children. From a fairly young age, the great-aunt suffered from various medical problems, and medical expenses put an almost unmanageable strain on the family’s modest income. One of their few possessions was a beat-up, unreliable old car.
One day a woman unknown to the family arrived unannounced with the key to a new automobile, donated by an anonymous individual. To this day, this couple still does not know the identity of their benefactor.

“That was excellent! You are certainly ready for the recital, Gideon,” said Mrs. Allen, Gideon’s violin teacher.
Gideon smiled. He enjoyed playing his violin. After he put away his instrument, he looked through Mrs. Allen’s collection of stickers.
“I think I’ll take this shiny one,” he said, holding up a “Happy Birthday” sticker for Mrs. Allen to see.
“That’s right! It’s almost your birthday, isn’t it?” Mrs. Allen asked.
“Yes, and not just any birthday. This one is extra special,” Gideon said. He stuck his new sticker on the cover of his music book. “I’m going to be eight years old, and you know what that means?”
“No, I don’t know what it means.” Mrs. Allen looked confused.
“It means that I can be baptized,” Gideon said.
“Oh, you weren’t baptized as a baby?” Mrs. Allen asked.
“No. In our church we are baptized when we turn eight. That’s when we know right and wrong and can choose between them,” Gideon explained.
“I guess that makes sense,” Mrs. Allen said. “I never thought of it that way.”
“I have an idea!” Gideon said. “Why don’t you come to my baptism and then you can see what I mean?”
Mrs. Allen was interested, so Gideon told her when and where he would be baptized.
On the day of his baptism, Gideon and Dad dressed in white pants and shirts. Gideon smiled as his mom took pictures. Then he saw Mrs. Allen and went to greet her. “I’m glad you could come,” he said.
“I’m happy to be here,” she said. She shook hands with Mom and Dad. They sat together while Brother Roberts conducted the meeting.
As Gideon sang and listened to the talk on baptism, he paid close attention to the words. He hoped Mrs. Allen would understand why he was being baptized at age eight.
Then it was time to be baptized. He went down into the font with Dad, listened carefully to the words of the baptismal prayer, and bent his knees to go under the water. When he came up, he wiped water from his eyes and smiled at Mom and Mrs. Allen.
He and Dad changed their clothes and slipped quietly into the row beside Mom and Mrs. Allen. They were watching “The Touch of the Master’s Hand” from the Family Home Evening video. It was about a violin that gets damaged, but then is repaired by the man who made it. Gideon noticed Mrs. Allen wiping her eyes as she listened to the poem and watched the master play the old violin.
After the video someone spoke on the gift of the Holy Ghost. Then Dad confirmed Gideon.
“Did you like my baptism?” Gideon asked Mrs. Allen following the closing prayer.
“It was wonderful!” Mrs. Allen said. “Now I understand why your church waits until age eight to baptize children.” She smiled. “I liked the video too, but it was awful watching that beautiful violin get damaged!”
“I know,” Gideon said. “But I’m glad it was fixed in the end. It’s kind of like repentance. I’m clean now, but when I make mistakes I can be fixed, just like that violin.”
Mrs. Allen laughed. “What a good way to think of it. I’ll remember that every time I play my violin.”

My wonderful father was an All-America basketball player for UCLA under legendary Coach John Wooden. They remained close throughout my father’s life, and occasionally Coach and Mrs. Wooden would come to our home for dinner. He was always happy to talk to me about basketball or anything else on my mind. Once I asked him what advice he had for me as I entered my senior year of high school. Always the teacher, he said, "Your father told me that you have joined the Church of Jesus Christ, so I know that you have faith in the Lord. With that faith be sure to have poise in every situation. Be a good man in a storm."

Over the years, that conversation stuck with me. That counsel to be calm, cool, and collected in all situations, particularly in times of adversity and pressure, resonated with me. I could see how Coach Wooden’s teams played with poise and the great success that they experienced winning 10 national championships.

It had been a long, hard day. First the youth from the Ephraim Utah Stake had cleaned up an old cemetery. Then they had a picnic lunch and a water fight. Now they were on a two-mile hike to find the campground where they’d spend the night. Was there really time to stop and help the woman and children whose car had broken down on the side of the road?
There had better be. The people in the broken down car were part of the youth conference, put there to see if the youth were really learning their lessons. They were. Every group that came by offered to help.
The service-oriented youth conference also found the youth reseeding the ground cover, cleaning up trash, and making new trails in the area of a popular campground. Their service never stopped.

A few months ago, I was at my neighbor’s house. We were having a lot of fun playing. Later in the day, he asked me if I wanted to watch a movie, and I said yes. As my friend got the movie ready to watch, I saw what it was rated and knew that it was one I should not watch. I offered a silent prayer to Heavenly Father about what I should do. I said to my friend, “I think I need to go home now.” As I walked home, I thought about what I had done. I had obeyed my parents and Heavenly Father. I knew that Heavenly Father had answered my prayer and helped me make a good choice.
Marshall Klein, age 9Trabuco Canyon, California

I have seen such experiences happen over and over again. When a child or an adult prays in simple faith, his prayer is answered. Two years ago, my granddaughter Sarah started first grade. At first, she appeared to love it. But within only a couple of weeks, she started to cry every morning and beg her parents to let her stay home. They asked what was wrong, but she either couldn’t or wouldn’t tell them. They talked to her teacher, who had no idea what the problem might be. Sarah was well liked, she had friends, and she was doing well in her schoolwork.
One day after Sarah returned from school particularly upset, her father asked if she thought it would help if they knelt in prayer as a family the next morning and asked for Heavenly Father’s help. “Oh, yes, Dad,” Sarah replied. “I think that would help.”
The next morning, the family went through their regular routine, Sarah crying and protesting but eventually ending up in the car, ready to go to school. “Wait, Dad,” Sarah said just before they left. “We forgot to pray.”
Sarah and her father went back inside and knelt in prayer with her mother and little sister. They prayed specifically that Sarah would have a happy day and a good time at school. That afternoon, when her father picked her up, Sarah left the building with her arms raised in victory. “Prayer works, Dad!” she exclaimed. “Prayer works!”