Gospel Story Finder

Stephanie Post isn’t about to take any credit. She’s just been a friend. It’s no big thing, she assures. Anybody would do it.
Serena Oddens doesn’t exactly see things the same way. Her thoughts on Stephanie? It is a big thing and, no, not just anybody would do it.
“Stephanie really supported me through some rough times, and she’s been a great example to me,” says Serena.
It’s a Saturday in Den Haag, Netherlands. Youth from stakes in the Netherlands and Belgium have gathered together for a day-long activity, and Stephanie and Serena are happy. Although they’re in the same stake, they don’t get to see each other that often. As they sit on the lawn, the talk turns to the beginning of their friendship a few years earlier.
Serena thinks to when her life wasn’t where she knew it should be. “At my school, nobody was studying, and it seemed everybody was smoking and drinking and using drugs. I didn’t stop going to church, but I was hanging around with the wrong friends and not doing everything I should have been doing,” she says. “I see what’s become of many of my former friends, and I think had I stayed at that school nothing good would have become of me.”
Enter Stephanie. At the same time Serena’s mom asked her to transfer schools and leave her friends, Serena met Stephanie, 18, a member of the Almere Branch in the Den Haag Stake. “Stephie’s really supported me while telling me good stuff about the Church. She taught me things about the gospel that I didn’t even know,” Serena says. “Stephie always bears her testimony and tells me of the things she’s been through. It’s great for me.”
“But it’s not just one way,” Stephanie says of their friendship. “It’s not that I only helped Serena, because she’s helped me too. She’s been a really good friend.”
Stephanie was born in Australia, but when she was 10, her family moved to the Netherlands. “My mom just knew we had to come to Holland for certain reasons and to help build up the Church. My mother is wonderful. She’s a strong member, and she’s a good example for me because she’s always given me a path to follow.”
Now Stephanie is making a path of her own, and Serena has joined her. Right at the time when things seemed to be falling apart for Serena, Stephanie appeared on the scene. Although distance keeps them apart—Almere is a one-hour car ride from Serena’s home in Alkmaar—they remain close. Thank goodness for phones.
“There are no other members of the Church at my school, and I often feel like I am the only one who is doing good and right things,” says 17-year-old Serena. “I sometimes feel like I am standing alone. Stephie was there along with all my friends from church who were supporting me. But the thing about Stephie is that she knows everything about me and I know everything about her.
“When I’m feeling down or upset,” she continues, “it’s like my school friends don’t understand me or what I’m feeling or what I’m going through. When I talk to her about it, we can get things off our chests and she understands.”
Stephanie knows teenagers in Holland aren’t much different from those all over the world. Once they hit their teenage years, they start experimenting and changing. She’s just glad she was there to help Serena.
“I think it’s really sad to see the youth we have hung out with in our stake go fully inactive or have other troubles that take them from the Church,” Stephanie says. “But it’s really nice to hear that someone who has been inactive for a while is active again or going on a mission. That’s what’s been so great about Serena.”
It’s moments like this when Stephanie feels grateful she’s stayed active her whole life. Stephanie remembers turning down classmates’ invitations to parties, or the times they called her a “goody-goody.” But along the way, Stephanie’s testimony has grown.
“I’ve known since I was little that the Church is true. When you know something so strongly I guess you can’t go around it,” Stephanie says. “I’ve had my trials and I’ve had my times when I ask myself what I am doing and why I am still going to church.
“But,” Stephanie continues, “I think Serena and I have come to an age now where we don’t care as much about what people think. We are members of the Church and we are different. Some of my friends call me a goody-goody like it’s a bad thing. Well, I am a goody-goody, and it’s not a bad thing at all.”
Serena agrees. “Stephanie helped me to understand that I don’t need to be ashamed of my standards. When I think back to my inactive stage, it isn’t that I’m jealous of Stephanie because she didn’t go inactive. But if I could turn back the hands of time, I would do things differently.”
As Serena stops talking, Morwenna Kleijweg sits down. Stephanie is finishing a thought. “I think it’s great to be an example to those who maybe aren’t that strong. I’m not sure I always make a difference, but I hope I do.”
“You do,” says Morwenna, a Laurel in the Leiden Ward. She then proceeds to tell how she met Stephanie for the first time at girls’ camp. “When I met Stephie, I was going through a really rough time for myself. She told me things about herself, and I recognized myself in her,” Morwenna says. “When I went home from camp, I realized it was a great experience for me to find someone I could be close to who could be an example.”

About a month after I joined the Church, I met my wife, Magareth, and one year later we got married. While we were dating, I told her that because I knew Joseph Smith was a prophet, I desired to build our family upon the words and teachings of the prophets. For example, President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) was the prophet at that time, and he counseled Church members to stay out of debt. In close to 29 years of marriage, my wife and I have never paid one penny of interest. Never.

President Thomas S. Monson is a great example of this principle. In January of 2005, he was presiding over a priesthood leadership conference in Puerto Rico when he demonstrated how the Savior and His servants render service through personal ministry. At the conclusion of that wonderful meeting, President Monson began to greet all the priesthood leaders in attendance. Suddenly, he noticed that one of them was watching everything from afar, off by himself.

President Monson walked away from the group, toward that brother, and spoke to him. With emotion, José R. Zayas told him it was a miracle that he had approached him and an answer to the prayers that he and his wife, Yolanda, had offered before the meeting. He told President Monson that his daughter was in very poor health and that he had with him a letter from his wife that she wanted delivered to President Monson. Brother Zayas had told his wife that it would be impossible since President Monson would be too busy. President Monson listened to the story and asked for the letter, which he read silently. Then he put it in his suit pocket and told Brother Zayas that he would take care of their request.

In this way, that family was touched by our Lord, Jesus Christ, through His servant. I believe the words of the Savior in the parable of the good Samaritan apply to us: “Go, and do thou likewise.”

During the planning and preparation for the Mexico, Central and South America area conferences in February 1977, we were scheduled to hold meetings in La Paz, Bolivia, which is twelve thousand feet above sea level. Dr. Ernest L. Wilkinson and Dr. Russell M. Nelson advised us that President Kimball should have four to six hours’ rest to acclimate his heart and blood pressure to the high altitude. President Kimball is very tightly scheduled during area conferences, and this allows little time for rest. (In reality, the doctors accompanied the General Authorities so that we could keep up with President Kimball.)

I talked with President Tanner and President Romney to seek their assistance in getting President Kimball to rest in La Paz before the start of the area conference. They only smiled and said, “You can try.”

Detailed plans were presented to the First Presidency for area conferences in Mexico, Central and South America. I saw President Kimball make two small red check marks next to La Paz, Bolivia, where there were two meetings that he was not scheduled to attend. “What are these meetings? Why am I not attending?” he asked. There was a pause; then I replied, “That’s a rest period, President Kimball.” And he remarked, “Are you tired, Elder Hales?”

We arrived in La Paz, and the first meeting was a cultural event. He would not rest. My head ached; it felt as though it would explode in adjusting to the altitude, and we breathed oxygen to attempt to speed up our being acclimated to the twelve-thousand-foot altitude; but President Kimball took no oxygen. He greeted, embraced, and shook hands with two thousand Saints.

After the last meeting, he invited one thousand more of his beloved Lamanites, who had come down from the Altiplano, to come shake his hand. They came and embraced him and shook his hand vigorously. He wanted to show his love for the Lamanites.

Dr. Wilkinson was concerned with the President’s vigorous activity at twelve thousand feet and approached him. He asked President Kimball if it would be possible for him to stop soon. President Kimball said, “If you knew what I knew, you wouldn’t ask me that question.” President Kimball is driven by the knowledge that we are preparing for the second coming of Jesus Christ. He knows that it is his responsibility, along with those who are chosen to work with him, to take the message to all nations in their own tongue and language.

One morning shortly after being called as a Relief Society president, I received a phone call from the mother of a family in our ward. She disclosed the loss of her employment, medical issues, and other challenges. It was clear the family had used the last of their resources. As I listened, I silently prayed that the Holy Ghost would guide and direct my words and actions.
I assured this sister that I would contact our bishop and would reach out later that day. I felt an urgency to help this family, especially the children within the home. After making multiple phone calls, however, I discovered that the entire bishopric and elders quorum presidency were out of town. Being new to my calling, I was unsure what to do.
After kneeling in prayer and asking for help, I decided to go grocery shopping for the family and work out things with the bishop upon his return. I also decided to donate some needed items. As I prepared to leave in my car, I had a clear and unmistakable impression: “Wait.” I followed the prompting and got out of my car. An hour later, a knock came at my front door.
Outside stood a widow from our ward. She handed me two large grocery sacks of food and said, “Sister Smith, I know you will know what to do with these.” Then she hurried down our porch steps to her car.
I was overwhelmed with gratitude and tender feelings from the Spirit. The Lord had answered my prayer. I was reminded of Nephi, who was led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand what he should do (see 1 Nephi 4:6).
When we pray and follow small, quiet promptings, we have this assurance from the Lord: “It shall be given you in the very hour, yea, in the very moment, what ye shall say” (Doctrine and Covenants 100:6)—and sometimes what we should do. The Lord knew this family’s pressing and immediate needs before I did. I was blessed to witness a tender mercy of the Lord as this widow provided an offering that fed a family in their very hour of need.

by Ugo Libardo, Brindisi [Italy] Branchand Stefania Zitelli, Rome West Branch
There we were—150 young Latter-day Saints from the Italy Rome Mission—invading Paestum, a beautiful town along the shores of the famous “Costa Amalfitania,” to hold our fourth annual conference.
A clear sky, bright sunshine, and a calm and limpid sea formed the scene at Paestum, an ancient town to the south of Naples. Young Latter-day Saints had come from 18 branches in the Italy Rome Mission to gather for their conference. Finally, an occasion to meet each other, a time to enjoy the pleasures ot each other’s company, to feel united in the same joy and cheerfulness!
With the help of an efficient planning committee, young Italian Latter-day Saints were able to spend three full days in activities, games, swimming competitions, and social seminars. Special programs, roadshows, talents, folk dances, and sketches all created enthusiasm. Seminary, institute, temple marriage, and personal development were a few of the themes that leaders stressed. Talent evenings and dances concluded each busy day. Many prizes were awarded for winning musical talents such as guitar, flute, and singing, both native and foreign songs.
And what a beautiful opportunity to visit the ancient grounds where our ancestors lived! Paestum hides within itself the secrets of a great and old civilization. Ancient temples, streets, and ruins testify to its splendor and art. What a cultural and unforgettable experience!
From the very day of our arrival there was an atmosphere of friendship and cordiality. We were also blessed, as an answer to our prayers, with a warm sun that enabled us to fully enjoy the time and the activities prepared by the conference planning committee.
It seems like everything contributed to the success of the assembly: the comfortable hotel; nice swimming pool; green, relaxing meadow in the back of the hotel; interesting ruins of the Greek temples nearby, and, most of all, the special spirits of the young people gathered there.
Almost all the branches of the mission were represented, and each of them had something to contribute with a striking abundance and variety of talents. Very few missed the sports contests, and no one skipped the long-awaited Saturday night dance.
Our last day together was Sunday—a day to be near to our Heavenly Father. After two separate sessions, one for young women and one for young men, a final and touching testimony meeting was held.
The conference was a great help for both members and nonmembers. One youth said, “Before coming to Paestum, I had no idea that Mormons were so talented and such a special people.” When parting time came, many of these special Saints were already wondering about next year’s youth conference. And with gentle thoughts in their minds, all the young men and young women went back to their home cities and branches thankful for the memorable experience.

Then gradually the thoughts of my ancestors who had walked this trail began to fill my heart. First it was Jared and Cornelia with their two-year-old son. I felt the chill in the air, but that chill was nothing compared to the freezing conditions Jared and his little family had experienced during their exodus. Cornelia died somewhere between Nauvoo and Salt Lake. I imagined Jared weeping as he picked up his son and continued on.
My heart began to swell with emotion; it felt as though Sarah had joined me. Jared and Cornelia with their little son were with me also. We walked together amid the light and shadow, past and present merging on this trail—this trail of hope, this trail of tears. In a way I can’t explain, they were with me and awakened in me our shared love of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I realized that my testimony burns in me because it had burned in them—passed from generation to generation—each laying the foundation for the next. I wept with gratitude.
Soon my husband, who had been photographing elsewhere, caught up with me. I stood close to him as I told him of my experience. He, like those Nauvoo Saints, was the first in his family to believe the gospel. And he, like those who had walked this trail more than 150 years before, would not be the last to believe. His testimony and mine nurtured the testimonies that now burn in the hearts of our children, just as the testimonies of Jared and Cornelia and Sarah nurtured the testimonies of thousands of their descendants.

Years ago when I served as a stake president, a man came to confess a transgression. His confession surprised me. He had been an active member of the Church for years. I wondered how a person with his experience could have committed the sin that he did. After some pondering, it came to me that this brother had never become truly converted. Despite his Church activity, the gospel had not penetrated his heart. It was only an external influence in his life. When he was in wholesome environments, he kept the commandments, but in a different environment, other influences might control his actions.

Abby tap-tap-tapped her toes on the floor. She was so excited that her stomach felt fluttery inside. She was at a baptism. And not just any baptism—her baptism! Abby, her family, and her friends had all sung a Primary song together, prayed, and listened to Grandma’s talk. Now, all that was left was Grandpa’s talk before she was baptized.
Grandpa walked to the front of the room and winked at her. He set a big bag on the floor. “Abby, we are very proud of your choice to be baptized today,” he said. “Baptism is a day full of gifts. You are giving the gift of an example to your siblings.” He smiled at Abby’s four younger siblings.
“You’re also giving God promises,” Grandpa said. “And He is giving you promises. But there is one other big gift that you get today.”
Grandpa stooped and reached into the bag. He pulled out a soft white blanket and handed it to her. “This is a gift from me and Grandma. But it ’s also a reminder of the gift of the Holy Ghost that you’ll receive today. When you use this blanket, I want you to think about how the Holy Ghost feels. The Holy Ghost can comfort you like a soft blanket. It can also guide you and tell you what is right.”
Abby pulled the blanket over her shoulders. She smiled at Grandpa. As he finished his talk, she noticed how the blanket felt. It was warm. It was comforting. It helped her feel safe.
Finally, it was time for Abby to be baptized. She walked into the warm font water and took Papa’s hand. She peeked at her brothers and sisters and smiled at them before she closed her eyes.
Papa’s voice was loud but calm as he said the baptism prayer in French. “Je te baptise au nom du Père, et du Fils, et du Saint-Esprit. Amen.”
The warm water rushed over Abby, and then, just as quickly, she was pulled back up. That was it. She’d been baptized!
Abby hugged Papa tightly and climbed out of the font. She changed out of her jumpsuit and pulled on her dress. When she stepped out, Maman (Mom) and her friends Isobel and Florence were waiting for her. They helped tie the bow on the back of her dress and comb her wet hair.
“We’re so proud of you,” Maman said.
Florence smiled at Abby in the mirror. “I always love watching baptisms.”
“Here, you left this on your chair.” Isobel handed Abby her new white blanket.
Abby held the blanket close as Maman and her friends talked and laughed. The blanket was warm and comforting, just like Grandpa had said. But she didn’t just feel warm on the outside. Inside, Abby also felt good and safe. She knew in her heart that she had made the right decision and that Heavenly Father was happy.
This warm, happy feeling was a lot like her blanket. It had to be the Holy Ghost!
Abby smiled at herself in the mirror. She couldn’t wait to be confirmed and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost so that she could always feel this way. It was going to be the best gift ever.
This story took place in France.

I don’t know how Randy made it into the 10th grade, but there he was the next year when we registered.
Sam Boushelle had moved to town that summer. I’d met him at church the Sunday before classes started, and we’d talked about the ward and girls and sports. But I completely forgot to warn him about Randy Herrman. Sure enough, when I got to English class on Monday morning, there was Sam, and right behind him was Randy, looking smug with a fresh year and a fresh victim in front of him.
I flopped into the desk in front of Sam and tried to explain the predicament he was in. Sam looked at me with a suspicious frown, and then turned around to face Randy. Sam nodded slightly and looked back at me.
“Seems like a nice enough guy,” Sam said.
“Just wait.”
And sure enough, I heard Randy’s whisper during the first pop quiz about a week later.
For a minute, Sam ignored the voice behind him. Then he tore a sheet of paper out of his notebook and began writing furiously. Randy waited for a second and then tried the ear-flipping thing, but Sam just shook his head and laughed and kept scribbling. Finally Sam stopped writing, folded the paper up and handed it back to Randy. Then he went back to his work.
Randy read the note and his faced turned the color of a thundercloud. He crumpled the note up, thought about throwing it, but then stuffed it into his shirt pocket. It was obvious that Randy was mad, but he didn’t pester Sam anymore.
After class I pulled my backpack on and stood up.
“You coming?” I asked my friend.
“No, you go on. I need to talk to Randy.”
I looked back at the little, dark figure of Randy Herrman, leaning back in his desk and resting his head on the back of his chair. He had his eyes closed, like he was having a nice dream and didn’t want to wake up. He was probably wondering where he could dispose of Sam’s body.
“Your funeral,” I said softly.
I didn’t see Sam again until lunch. We met near the pop machines and then went through the cafeteria line, piling our plates high with rubbery spaghetti and red sauce. We paid and found seats as close to the cool kids as we dared.
“So, you’re still alive,” I asked finally. I was dying to know what had happened.
“Yep,” said Sam. He started twirling his fork in the spaghetti.
“Well?”
Sam smiled and moved his fork to a new spot on the plate. “I think he just needs a little help.”
“I’d say.”
“No, I mean he needs a little help with schoolwork.”
I was skeptical. “So what did your note say?”
“Nothing much. I just told him I couldn’t help him during a test. But I did offer to work with him after school.”
I laughed. “He’ll work you over after school.”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t think so. I told him that if we studied together a couple of times a week, he could most likely get good grades on his own.”
“I bet he jumped at that,” I said, with a good dose of sarcasm.
Sam pinched his chin. “Ah, he complained for a while. But eventually he agreed to give it a try. He says nobody’s ever offered to help him before.”
I swallowed with guilt.
“You’re putting me on,” I said. I was incredulous.
“No, he’s actually interested,” added Sam. “We’re meeting tonight at my place to study.”
Sam twirled his fork until he had a mass of pasta the size of a pool ball. Then he forced it in his mouth. “He wants to,” he said, between chews, “get into the Air Force,” another chew, “after school.”
“Huh?”
“And he can’t get in without good grades.”
I was floored. All the time I’d been afraid and avoiding Randy Herrman, he’d been searching for help. I’d helped him cheat. Darren had ignored him. But Sam had taken a chance and found a way to serve his brother.
“I feel like a … I feel like a,” I couldn’t find the word.
“Why? You didn’t know what Randy needed?” said Sam.
“No, and I didn’t bother to find out.”
Sam smiled and shrugged. “It’s no big deal. Come over tonight and we’ll both get to know Randy.”
After lunch, I walked back to class with a weird mix of feelings running through me. For the first time in years I wasn’t afraid of running into Randy. That was a relief, I reasoned. But I couldn’t believe how blind I’d been. It’d taken Sam only seconds to do what I should have done years ago.
I closed my locker and told myself I wasn’t going to let that happen again.
I walked to biology. Under the glowing fluorescent lamps and amid the moving mass of 10th-grade students, I told myself I was ready to begin again.
I can do well here, I thought.
I just need to find a way.

Zachary was spending his first summer on his grandparents’ farm. Zack loved the farm. He woke up early each morning and jumped happily out of bed. First he helped Grandpa milk the cows. Then he dashed to the kitchen to help Grandma by setting the breakfast table and putting food out for the cats that were stretching lazily outside the back door.
One sunny morning Zack’s grandfather had a surprise for him. “How would you like to go on a hayride today?”
Zack grinned a huge grin. “You mean a ride in a big wagon filled with hay? That would be super!” he exclaimed, jumping up from the breakfast table.
“Whoa there, Zack,” Grandpa chuckled. “How about finishing your breakfast first?”
Zack didn’t know if he could sit still that long, but he sat down to give it a good try.
After breakfast, Zack and his grandfather drove to the Steins’ farm. Mr. Stein was preparing the wagon for the hayride, and Zack saw about eight other kids running in the yard. They all seemed to be as excited as he was. Zack felt shy because he didn’t know any of the other kids. Just then a pudgy boy in a red sweatshirt gave Zack a big smile. That smile helped a lot, and Zack grinned back. He felt much less shy.
“OK, kids,” Mr. Stein said, “who would like to try out my new hay wagon?”
Zack loved the feel and the smell of the sweet hay as he climbed into the wagon. The hay poked softly through his T-shirt and stuck in his hair. Mr. Stein drove the wagon all around the countryside. The bumpy ride put tickles in Zack’s tummy. He felt as if he might grin for the rest of his life!
Then a few of the other kids started to tease the boy in the red sweatshirt, the one who had smiled at Zack and made him feel good. The kids were teasing the boy about being overweight. He pretended not to hear them and bravely kept a smile on his face. But Zack knew that the teasing hurt the boy’s feelings. Zack wished that he could help, but when the boy looked over at him, Zack looked away. He didn’t know how to help.
The day was still sunny, the hay was still sweet, and the wagon was still bumping along, but Zack didn’t feel as happy anymore. When the hayride was over, he hopped quickly down from the wagon and ran over to his grandpa’s truck.
“Are you OK?” Grandpa asked. “I expected you to be full of smiles after the ride.”
Zack told Grandpa about the boy being teased. “Grandpa, I don’t know why I feel so awful. I didn’t tease him. But I feel just as terrible as if I had!”
Grandpa thought for a moment, then hugged him tightly. “Zack, I think you feel bad because someone else had his feelings hurt. I’m proud to have a grandson who can feel compassion for others.”
Zack thought about the way the boy in the red sweatshirt had made him feel more comfortable when he first arrived at the Steins’ farm. Suddenly he knew what he could do to help the boy—and himself—feel happy again! “Do you know who the boy in the red sweatshirt is?”
“Yes, he is Teddy Ames. His dad owns the farm next to ours.”
“Would it be OK if we stopped there on our way home?” Zack asked. “I can’t change what happened today at the hayride, but it might make Teddy feel better to know that he has a new friend right next door.”

When I served as a mission president in Hawaii, I had many opportunities to speak with young elders and sisters struggling to become better missionaries. I remember one missionary who became deeply discouraged. His missionary work had become unbearable to him, and he started doubting his testimony. He came to me with the request to send him home.
Instead, I asked him to follow the example of Nephi in pondering and praying about his concerns and desires (see 1 Nephi 10:17; 11:1). This is a practice I have followed for many years and a practice many other General Authorities of the Church follow. I asked the missionary to go to his apartment and do the following:
Rise from his bed early—in his case, a few minutes before 6:30 a.m.
Exercise for a few minutes.
Wash his body and shave—make himself clean.
Dress for the day.
Go to a quiet place inside his apartment.
Kneel, subdue his spirit before Heavenly Father, and call upon Him. Talk with Him in reverent prayer.
Wait for His holy inspiration, pondering the scriptures or a recent general conference talk and think about the specific problems he faced.
I promised this young elder that if he did this and immersed himself in the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon, for a few minutes every day, he would experience feelings of joy and would receive strength to go on.3
A few days later he came to see me. His eyes filled with tears as he told me of his experiences during his early-morning devotional time. He served wonderfully as a servant of the Lord and completed an honorable mission. His wife recently told me that he continues to rise early to have private time with his Heavenly Father.

A friend and I were riding our bikes when I had a feeling that I should turn a certain way. Instead, I went a different way. I hit a bump, fell off my bike, hit my knee on the pavement, and had to get stitches. It really hurt.
I am not a member of the Church, and I didn’t know that the Holy Ghost was trying to warn me. Now I know about the Holy Ghost and I want to listen to His voice from now on. It is a voice I can trust to help me choose the right all my life.Carleen B. P., age 10, Alberta, Canada

Earl was sitting with Mom in the front room. From the corner of his eye, he saw something move outside the window. Earl peeked through the curtains and couldn’t believe what he saw. A woman was picking vegetables out of their garden!
Earl and Mom loved their garden. Two years ago, Earl’s dad had died. One thing that helped Earl and Mom feel better was working in their vegetable garden together. It reminded them of how much Dad liked working in the garden, and how much he loved them. And now someone was taking the vegetables they’d worked so hard to grow!
“Mom! A lady is stealing our vegetables!” Earl shouted. “I’m going to stop her!”
He jumped up and ran for the door. He was going to chase that woman right out of the garden!
“Earl, wait!” Mom said. “I’ll go talk to her.”
Earl looked out the window as Mom and the woman talked. The woman had a sad look on her face. She put her head in her hands, and it looked like she was crying. Mom gave the woman a hug.
What’s going on? Earl wondered.
A few minutes later, Mom walked back into the house.
“What happened?” Earl asked.
“That woman needs our help,” Mom said. “Please go get a box and fill it up with the prettiest vegetables from our garden. Then load it in her car.”
“What?” Earl said. “But she’s stealing!”
“She needs our help, and we have enough vegetables to share. Do you remember what charity is?” Mom asked.
Earl remembered learning about charity in church. “It’s the pure love of Christ,” he said.
“That’s right. Do you think Jesus would share from His garden?”
Earl knew the answer, but he still felt upset as he got a box and walked outside. The woman looked surprised and then a little embarrassed to see Earl. He didn’t say anything. He just looked for the best vegetables he could find. He filled the box full of cucumbers, carrots, and tomatoes, then carried it to the woman’s car. When he turned to walk back inside, Earl saw that the woman’s eyes were filled with tears.
“Thank you,” she said. “I know I shouldn’t have gone into your garden without asking, but my family is hungry, and we don’t have food. Thank you for helping us.”
“You’re welcome,” Earl said. A small smile crossed his face.
Earl didn’t feel angry anymore. He was sad the lady’s family was hungry. And he was glad he could share his vegetables. He could feel the Holy Ghost tell him that Heavenly Father was happy Earl had been kind.

During a school break when I was eight, my dad asked me if I wanted to do something to earn money for my mission. I thought it was a good idea, but I wasn’t sure what to do. After some thinking, we decided to make bread. That night, we made 20 loaves. We didn’t know if they would sell, but after we posted about it on social media, they all sold in one night!
I set a goal to keep making and selling bread. At first it was fun. But over time, to be honest, it didn’t feel as fun. It was hard! I had to wake up at six in the morning before school to make the dough. Then my mom helped bake it during the day. When I came home from school, I had to bag the loaves, deliver them, and clean the baking equipment.
I also had to talk to people I didn’t know very well. Sometimes I didn’t know what to say. That was one of the hardest parts. My parents explained that the point of this wasn’t just to earn money for my mission but also to learn to work hard and talk to people. I started to feel more comfortable. And after a while, I enjoyed doing that!
My bread business definitely taught me how to work! I know that what I learned from this goal will help me on my mission.

“Besides having a good sense of humor, Dad cared about people. I remember seeing unemployed men come to his plant and wait for hours, hoping to get a job. He tried to hire one or two extra men every day. I went to him one time and said, ‘That man has been here every day for a week, and he’s hungry.’ I got my dad to hire him. Later in the day I discovered that the man had only potato peelings to eat for lunch. I went into the house and asked my mother to fix him a decent lunch. Then I took it out to him.
“Another good example my dad set for me was when he called me into his office and asked, ‘Do you know where the bishops’ storehouse is?’ When I nodded, he said, ‘OK, you go with the truck driver.’ We took five big barrels of chickens—about a thousand pounds of them—to the storehouse as a gift to the poor and needy from my father. I’ve never forgotten that day.
“Dad made donations like that to the storehouse several times. It was the old Pioneer Stake Storehouse, and it became the model storehouse for the Church general welfare program.
“Another important lesson that my dad taught me was to be totally committed to the Church. He said, ‘Son, you’ll either have to be a hundred percent or zero. You can’t be lukewarm. If you’re going to be active in the Church, you can’t go just when you feel like it; you can’t be hit and miss.’ He insisted on dependability, and I have been active in the Church all my life.
“My mother was a hard worker too. She did the bookkeeping and bill collecting for Dad’s business, and she served as a Primary teacher and a Primary president. The first recollection I have of the Church is of Primary. I’ve always had a good feeling toward it.
“When I was about five or six years old, my mother was so ill that the doctors thought that she would die. The patriarch came to our home and blessed her, and she got well. Later she wrote in her journal about how that priesthood blessing saved her from dying. It was a miracle, and miracles do happen. I’ve witnessed several of them, and I know that they happen today as much as they have ever happened in the history of the world.”

Creak, creak. Bang, bang, bang!
John looked up from his plate as he heard footsteps and then a loud pounding at the door. It was early evening on a steamy summer Sunday, and five-year-old John was finishing supper with his parents, two brothers, and three sisters. He wondered who could be visiting his family.
Father got up and opened the door. “Let us in, Zachariah!”
John groaned inside as he turned to see his father’s cousins. Dan and Marv were loud and swore a lot, and they didn’t like Mormons. Ever since John’s family had been baptized six years ago, their relatives had harassed them about being Mormons. Lately it had been getting worse.
Dan pushed past Father and stepped into the room. “We’re here to say that you have to stop associating with those missionaries and leave that church of yours,” he said. “Your relatives are tired of being called ‘Mormon-lovers.’”
“I’ve told you we’re not leaving our church,” Father firmly replied. “We joined because we know it is the true Church of Jesus Christ.”
John’s parents had been baptized before he was born, but he had heard their story many times. The elders first knocked on their door in the spring of 1883. Father was impressed with the missionaries’ knowledge of the Bible and the good feeling they brought with them on their visits. He spent months studying with them and finally decided to be baptized. Mother and the older children also joined the Church.
Cousin Marv’s face darkened in anger when he heard Father’s answer. Marv leaned toward Father and spoke in a threatening tone. “If you won’t leave that church of yours, you’d better leave Tennessee. If you don’t, we’ll take care of you just like they took care of Gibbs and Berry.”
John shuddered. He was named after the missionary who baptized his parents, Elder John Gibbs. Five years ago, Elder Gibbs and Elder Berry had been martyred by a mob.
Father straightened his back and stood tall. “I will not leave my church or stop supporting the missionaries,” he replied in a steady voice. “I would rather die a martyr than renounce my faith in Jesus Christ and His Church.”
John’s eyes widened, for Father’s face seemed to shine as he spoke. John felt a warm and peaceful feeling replace his fear.
“Leave our home now,” Father told his cousins. “I will take my family to Zion. You won’t be bothered with our presence here much longer.” His cousins glared at him, then tromped out the door and slammed it behind them.
Mother stood up and walked over to Father. She put her arms around his waist and looked up into his eyes. “We’ll have to leave sooner than we thought,” she said.
John’s family was trying to save money to move to Zion, but they barely had enough to survive. He wondered how they would get enough for the eight of them to make the journey from Tennessee to Utah.
As if reading John’s mind, Father spoke to the family. “We don’t have enough money saved to travel all the way to Zion, but we will start our journey next week. We’ll have to work along the way to earn money for the rest of the trip.” He paused, then quietly added, “The missionaries taught us that no sacrifice is too great for the Lord. Now it’s time for us to follow their example.”
As John finished his supper, he thought of the journey ahead. How long would it take? What would Zion be like? John didn’t know what lay ahead, but he would stand tall in faith, just like his father.

In the October 2021 general conference, President Russell M. Nelson reminded Church members of the importance of being sealed in the temple when he said, “If I could speak with each husband and wife who have still not been sealed in the temple, I would plead with you to take the necessary steps to receive that crowning, life-changing ordinance.”1
Soon after general conference, our married student ward began a temple preparation class to help couples prepare to be sealed in the temple. Many young adults, including several couples in our ward, had been married civilly during temple closures in the pandemic and hadn’t yet been sealed even though the temples had resumed operations.
The class was going to be taught by Brother and Sister Mortezazadeh, our high councilor and his wife, who have become wonderful mentors and friends to my husband and me. Brother Mortezazadeh grew up in Iran, and as part of the incentive to come to the temple prep class, he invited all interested couples—even those who had already been sealed—to come for the class and stay for homemade Iranian food. We were immediately hooked.
I knew that revisiting the basics of the temple was a good idea—I don’t claim to be any sort of expert on the temple—but I really wasn’t expecting to learn anything new. I am so glad I was wrong.
During one class, Brother and Sister Mortezazadeh pointed out that the temple is full of symbols and that we experience those symbols firsthand as we participate in ordinances. They explained that some symbolism is exclusive to the temple, so one reason we are encouraged to go as often as we can is to learn the meaning behind these symbols.
As members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we believe in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. We believe in God’s plan of salvation and the Atonement of Jesus Christ. We believe that families can be together forever. Revisiting these foundational truths allowed me to recenter myself on Jesus Christ and His gospel amid a world of chaos and confusion.
I invite you to continue to learn about your covenants and deepen your faith in the Savior by returning to the temple often. I had already received my personal endowment and sealing, but attending this special temple preparation class allowed me to invite the Spirit to help me deepen my understanding of the gospel and the spiritual power that keeping my covenants invites into my life. I will be forever thankful for that experience.

I have come to realize that in my early life, in my mind, Christmas was all about me. Today it is more about others and family. Traditionally we have always gathered together as a family at our home over Christmas and enjoyed a braai, together with salads, ice cream, cool drinks, and a swim. Those were great days for us. My nieces and nephews still remember those days with fondness.
As a family we felt we needed much more of a focus on the Saviour and started a tradition of having a special family home evening on Christmas Day—inviting the extended family into our home. We gather early and enjoy singing carols and listening to some talks from assigned family members after reading the Christmas story. They have become very special experiences for us as the Spirit has been present in great abundance. Those of our family who now reside elsewhere and are unable to attend still mention how they miss those times.

“Race you to the river!” Jimmy shouted to his nine-year-old twin. Charlie’s legs pumped as hard as he could make them go, but Jimmy’s light, springy bounds took him to the oak seconds ahead of his brother. “Hi!” He grinned. “Where’ve you been?”
“You always win,” Charlie pouted. “I can beat anyone else, but never you.”
Summer vacation had begun, that year of 1898, and the Thorpe boys were happy to be back on the Oklahoma ranch. The Thorpes were Sac-Fox Indians, and their home was a cozy log cabin twenty miles from the reservation.
The twins delighted their father, Hiram, who watched them wrestle, jump, and run, always winning the contests that the Indians liked to hold. Mr. Thorpe himself was never defeated, and the boys hoped to be just like him when they grew up.
Their parents told them legends of the Sac-Fox tribe. Best of all they liked the stories of the great chief Black Hawk, their great-grandfather. “You can become great braves in a different way,” Mr. Thorpe said. “You can prove that you have courage and skill. You can study in school so that you can take your place in the world. You can prepare yourselves to be winners in the things you do best.”
“What if we lose?” Charlie asked.
“Like Black Hawk did at last, my son? You must lose with honor, as he did.”
That night, Charlie whispered, “Did I lose that race with honor today, Jimmy?”
“Sure. You always do.”
“Sometimes I get mad when I can’t ever beat you,” Charlie admitted, “and I forget about being like Black Hawk.”
Jimmy hadn’t realized that his brother cared so much. “Maybe I run best,” he told Charlie, “but you are best at school. Someday you could even be a teacher.”
“Maybe so.” Charlie began to feel better.
One day in early winter, the boys planned to go hunting with their father. Charlie was so excited that he could hardly eat the spice cake Mrs. Thorpe had made for supper. “Do you feel all right?” she asked, feeling his forehead. “Why, Hiram, he has a fever!”
Charlie had to stay home. Jimmy could see that he was shivering under his pile of blankets. “I wish you could go,” he said awkwardly. His heart was heavy, for the twins had never been separated.
“Me, too,” Charlie whispered.
In two days Mr. Thorpe brought down three deer and a small bear. The third day he loaded the gun and handed it to Jimmy. “It’s your turn, son.”
Only once had Jimmy shot the big gun at a target. Although the recoil had knocked him over, he hadn’t missed! Now they were hiding in the brush near a little stream. When a big stag came to drink, Jimmy quietly sighted along the barrel. For Charlie, he thought as he squeezed the trigger. Boooom! Jimmy reeled backward, but the deer lay on the ground.
“Good work!” his father praised him. They loaded the horses, and Mr. Thorpe shouldered two deer himself for the long hike home.
“You must be as strong as Black Hawk!”
“Your eye is keen, your thinking straight, and your speed great,” his father returned the compliment. “Already you follow the path of Black Hawk.”
Jimmy thought about his Indian name, Wa-Tho-Huck (Bright Path). He hoped that whatever his “bright path” might be, it would be honorable, like Black Hawk’s.
Mrs. Thorpe met them at the door, but in spite of the great good luck of so much meat, tears streaked her face. “It’s Charlie,” she mourned. “He had pneumonia. He’s gone.”
Blindly Jimmy turned away. How could it be time for Charlie to go to the spirit world? If only he had let Charlie beat him just one time! He felt father’s strong arms around him.
For a long time, everything reminded Jimmy of his twin. Understanding his grief, the Thorpes arranged for him to go to Haskell Indian School in Kansas. There, for the first time, he saw boys kicking a strange, point-ended ball. Other boys were hitting a small, leather-covered ball with a club, and still others were using a pole to jump over high crossbars. Jimmy tried all the new sports, and he learned to love them.
Later he went to Carlisle Indian School in Pennsylvania, where he led the football team to great victories over all the big teams in the country at that time—Yale, Harvard, Pittsburgh, Chicago, West Point, and many others. No one could run as fast, dodge as well, hit as hard, kick as high, or think as fast on the field as Jim.
He represented the United States in the Olympics in Sweden in 1912. He competed in the pentathlon, a series of five grueling contests, and the most difficult event, the decathlon, a series of ten punishing contests to select the top Olympic athlete. His decathlon score set a record that was not matched for many years!
The King of Sweden placed the victory medals around Jim’s neck and gave him his personal gift, a bronzed statue, saying, “You are the greatest athlete in the world!”
But heartbreak was ahead. His Olympic medals were taken away when it was learned that he had once been paid a few dollars for playing baseball. Jim hadn’t known that it would disqualify him for the Olympics. In 1982, thirty-nine years after his death, the honors were restored to his name.
Jim played professional baseball and football, and in 1950 he was named the greatest male athlete of the half-century. To many, he is considered the greatest male athlete of all time. A town in Pennsylvania changed its name to “Jim Thorpe” in his honor, and a movie was made about his life. Truly Jim Thorpe had followed the bright path set by Black Hawk; he had won at all the things he did best.