Gospel Story Finder

I had a special experience after reading a quote from an Apostle about simple but effective ways to gain a testimony. When I finished reading it, I immediately remembered a friend whose testimony was wavering. I quickly wrote her a letter and included the quotation.
I took the letter to her home, and I read it to her. At the end I bore my testimony. I can’t describe the powerful spirit that was present. My friend was surprised and thanked me for sharing the quote with her.
From that moment my friend started to change. She began to read the scriptures, pray more often, and attend church. Whenever we visited each other, we shared a spiritual thought and our testimonies. Today she is very active in the ward and serves as my counselor in the Laurel class presidency.Yésica Florencia Martín, Santos Lugares Ward, Argentina Buenos Aires West Stake

When stake missionary Paul Stanfield of the Lakeland Ward, Tampa Florida Stake, travels on speaking assignments as part of his calling as a seventy, he often invites a guest speaker to come with him. The guest is his son Rod, 17, who shares some of his missionary experiences as the only LDS teenager at Kathleen High School.
Participating alongside his parents isn’t a new experience for Rod, who, beginning at age seven, got up at 6:00 A.M. every Sunday for two and one-half years to attend stake missionary meetings with his mother and father, and who placed figures on a flannel board as his parents taught missionary lessons in their home.
“I want to let young people know how great the Church is,” Rod says. “I want them to know they can be proud of it, that they can get along without the bad things a lot of kids think they need to have fun.”
Rod’s commitment is apparently evident to his classmates, who elected him school chaplain. “It’s an office in the student council,” Rod explains. “I help to provide a moral voice for school officers and can also counsel students who come to me for help or advice.”
It isn’t hard for the other students to recognize the chaplain; he’s active in many other school activities as well. These have included playing defensive end on the varsity football team for the past three years (he’s the team member who makes a point about not swearing and the one for whom the coach made sure there was root beer in the locker room cola machine). He attended Florida Boys’ State and was one of 17 finalists out of 600 Florida applicants for Boys’ Nation. He was one of 12 high school students on a panel for the local chapter of Women for Responsible Legislation, a movement to combat the Equal Rights Amendment. He’s the president of the National Honor Society in his school, vice-president of the art club, a member of the lettermen’s club, and the one who presented a paper about Joseph Smith’s accomplishments as his English class project.
Rod’s post-high school plans include a full-time mission and then continuing his education at BYU.

Days start early for sixteen-year-old Jenny Flinn, who lives in the little town of Broadway, near Ilminster in Somerset, England. There’s lots of work to be done, animals to feed, and cows to milk—at least an hour of chores—before she leaves for school.
But there are also rewards. The morning air is brisk, and Jenny breathes deeply and feels renewed. The sun is warm, more tan than yellow as it chases fog away. The fields are damp, but the dew seems to wrap each plant in crystal. The animals, already awake and eager for attention, seem happy just to be alive.
Jenny wouldn’t say it out loud, but living here is like living a prayer of thanksgiving. Yes, there’s work to be done. But work is life, and life is good.
Jenny isn’t the only Flinn up early. By 6:15, her seventeen-year-old brother, Peter, is already off, pumping his bicycle down the lane to do his paper round, which covers most of the homes in Broadway. Peter isn’t particularly keen about getting up at dawn, at least not until he gets going. But by the time he’s halfway into town, he knows the joy of the morning too—the feeling that the day is his to conquer, his own marvelous opportunity to see things through.
Peter’s mind is on work this day, too. As he folds each Daily Telegraph and slips it into a door slot, he’s thinking of all the jobs he’s done, from egg selling to fruit picking, to putting money away for his mission. He’s thinking how that mission is getting closer all the time. Peter might not say it out loud, either, but he’s glad he’s learned to work. It’s a skill that will help him as a missionary. And it feels good to start the day by getting something done.
Jenny and Peter are the oldest of Bruce and Margaret Flinn’s children. The others are Lindsey, 14; Neal, 12; Elizabeth (“Lizzy”), 9; and Rachel, 5. To visit the Flinns on their six-acre smallholding (family farm) is to see not two, but eight, people who know a lot about working. To visit them is also to see much of what can make a family succeed.
“We moved here as much for the children’s sake as because of our own feelings,” explains Brother Flinn, who works full-time as a seminary teacher supervisor in addition to maintaining the smallholding. “Because of my work, I travel a lot. It would probably be easier to live in town.”
“But if we moved,” Sister Flinn says, “our quality of life would drop. We couldn’t keep all the livestock. We wouldn’t learn all the skills about being self-reliant. We might not know as much about how to love work.”
How to love work?
“We believe in the principle of work,” Brother Flinn explains. “We believe it’s a spiritual principle. It’s not just obtaining the end result; it’s the actual doing of the work. It’s good for you.”
And do the children agree?
“When we complain about having to do things,” Lindsey says, “Mum will say, ‘Fine. Shall we move to the town?’ None of us has ever said yes.”
“There are pros and cons to everything,” Peter says. “But I’d say I’m fine here.”
Now all this talk about willingness to work may have you thinking that the Flinns are perfect. The truth is, they’re a typical family with teasing and quarrels and sometimes tears, just like any family. But they’ve learned to work at being a family, too.
“What do we gain from being together?” Jenny asks. “Patience, mainly.”
Does she ever think about being with her family forever?
“When they’re not annoying me,” she teases.
Her ability to laugh is typical of the entire family. They enjoy jousting verbally, but also know they have to do it with love, so that feelings aren’t hurt.
“Everybody’s got their own personality,” Lindsey says. “We’ve learned to adjust for that. Besides, if you say anything negative, Dad makes you say two things positive.”
Other challenges? “One of the biggest ones is juggling time,” Jenny says. “I have to do the animals twice a day, so that’s an hour each morning and evening, and in between I’ve got school. And there’s homework, two hours every night, and seminary is home study, so I have to find time for that, too.”
Church activity can be a struggle because of isolation. “We’re fifty miles from the stake center,” Peter explains. “There’s lots of traveling involved, and not everyone has a car. There’s only two of us in my quorum, and the other one lives forty miles away. We make an effort to see if he wants to come out, but there are various problems, like parents who don’t want to bring him in because it’s out of the way. Distance is the major drawback.”
And in school, being a Latter-day Saint doesn’t keep temptation from being all around. Twelve-year-old Neal says a survey showed there were only two people in his entire class who hadn’t used alcohol.
What’s the counterbalance?
“We have good lessons at church,” Jenny says. “We have good lessons at seminary. And good home evenings at home. We live for Fridays (Mutual night) and Sundays to be with Church kids and strengthen each other.” And of course, there are scriptures and prayer and family support.
“If I have a really major problem, I know I can turn to my family,” Lindsey says. “I suppose I’d call them my best friends. If I didn’t have them to turn to, where would I go?”
That’s an attitude Jenny exemplified when, even though she was taking final exams and needed to study, she walked down to the school to pick up Rachel. “Mum and Dad were late getting home,” Jenny said matter-of-factly. “I knew Rachel would panic if no one showed up.”
That’s part of being a family, part of what the Flinns learn every day.
Step into the Flinns’ family room, and you’ll notice one wall is adorned with corn dollies, the kind actually made from wheat. “You have to braid the stalk while it’s flexible,” Sister Flinn explains. “When it gets old, it’s brittle and won’t bend.
“That’s what we’re doing as a family,” she says. “We live the gospel. We learn about family love. And the children braid them both into their lives.”

My friend kept asking me about the Church. I phoned her and told her more. Then I taught her how to pray. She said she’s been doing it. I’m trying to invite her to church, but she is busy.
Then one day, I decided that she learned so much that I would give her a CTR necklace and a copy of the Book of Mormon.
She has been reading the Book of Mormon, and I hope she joins the Church.
Kennedy McLeod, age 10Phoenix, Arizona

Hi, my name is Kennedy Lee McKinnon. I am eight years old and in third grade. I attend church at the Whitecourt Branch in Whitecourt, Alberta, Canada. One day I was making a gelatin salad. When I threw the package away, I saw two $20 bills in the garbage. I put them in my pocket and thought, “Wow! Forty dollars!” Afterward, I felt guilty and gave them to my mommy. I felt better. I know I listened to the Holy Ghost and made the right choice. My mommy was glad, too, because my sister, who is one and a half, had taken the money from Mommy’s wallet and put it in the garbage.
Kennedy McKinnon, age 8Whitecourt, Alberta, Canada

Thanks to modern technology, family members can keep in touch with each other, even across long distances. Cole R., 16, says, “My dad still gives me advice, congratulations, and sometimes a rebuke. When my younger brother and I were advancing in the priesthood, our extended family gathered at our home. My dad was on the computer, watching via video chat. He asked family members to say the prayers. It was a powerful witness that even though we are thousands of miles apart, he is still the patriarch of our home and we are still a family.”

One day my father, who was bishop of our ward, left my brother and me to do some work. We thought he would be gone for a long time doing his church work. But he returned sooner than we had expected and found us riding calves.
When he called us over, I will never forget how he looked at me and said, “My boy, I thought I could depend on you!”
That was a great lesson, a severe punishment, to me. I decided then that neither he nor anyone else would ever have reason to say that again to me as long as I lived.

A while back a young woman from another state in the United States came to live with some of her relatives for a few weeks. On her first Sunday she came to church dressed in a simple, nice blouse and knee-length skirt set off with a light, button-up sweater. She wore hose and dress shoes, and her hair was combed simply but with care. Her overall appearance created an impression of youthful grace.
Unfortunately, she immediately felt out of place. It seemed like all the other young women her age or near her age were dressed in casual skirts, some rather distant from the knee; tight T-shirt–like tops that barely met the top of their skirts at the waist; no socks or stockings; and clunky sneakers or flip-flops.
One would have hoped that seeing the new girl, the other girls would have realized how inappropriate their manner of dress was for a chapel and for the Sabbath day and immediately changed for the better. Sad to say, however, they did not, and it was the visitor who, in order to fit in, adopted the fashion of her host ward.

I’m a convert to the Church. I didn’t join until I was about 25 years old. I investigated the Church off and on for about two years before I was baptized. I ended up getting baptized right at the end of my master’s program. At this time, I was feeling good about the Church, but I still had a ton of questions about it and wasn’t 100% committed to it. However, one Sunday the missionaries told me that the next fast and testimony Sunday all the missionaries in Ohio were going to fast for my conversion. I was so embarrassed, but they were so sincere and kind about it that I decided to get baptized. I thought I’d give it a try, what could happen? I’ll be moving across the country at the end of the month to start my Ph.D. program. If this whole LDS thing doesn’t work out no one will ever know… I’ll just try… Well, I learned a couple of important lessons that month. Fasting and earnest prayer can change hearts as proven in my baptism, and it’s not so easy to disappear into the woodwork when you have a determined bishop. The elders helped me pack up my moving truck and 37 hours later when I pulled up to my new apartment in Louisiana the Relief Society was there waiting for me to help me unpack it. How they knew which apartment was mine and somehow managed to know right when I’d arrive, I’ve never figured out. Needless to say, I was grateful for the help unpacking and for their fellowship that day. Since they figured out after the first 10 minutes of meeting me that I didn’t play the piano, I spent the rest of my time in Louisiana either in Primary or nursery. So, while I feel confident in the fundamentals of the Church -say your prayers, read your scriptures, go to church, popcorn pops on apricot trees, and that once there was a snowman – I don’t feel adequate in ministering to adults. I do know that because of my brave step to “just try…” has led me to amazing things. To find and be sealed to an eternal family and to this amazing job and opportunity. To know in my soul the Lord’s love, and to have a passion to share what I have learned while on this blessed journey of becoming a follower of Christ.

“Thursday, March 26—President McKay told an interesting story. He said, ‘A farmer had a large tract of land. When he grew old it became too much for him. He had a family of boys. He called the boys around him and told them they would have to carry the load. The father rested. But one day he walked out into the field. The boys told him to go back, they did not need his help. He said, “My shadow on this farm is worth more than the labor of all of you.”’ President McKay said that the father in the story represented President Stephen L Richards, who was ill, but whose contribution and friendship President McKay valued so highly.

When my father was about three years old, he was diagnosed as deaf. From that point on, his parents did all they could to learn American Sign Language (ASL), and my grandmother fought for rights for her children and deaf children especially. She knew that mothers and fathers have the responsibility to provide for their children’s needs. Because of her efforts, my dad and his siblings had successful schooling experiences, and all communicate in ASL. When the family gets together, almost everyone signs and feels accepted and understood. Though this unique family unity certainly required a lot of effort and was not easy to achieve, my dad and his siblings have been blessed by their parents’ efforts.
My father (pictured with his sister when they were young) was about three when he was diagnosed as deaf.
Photograph courtesy of the author

As soon as I walked into the house, I smelled the sweet, yeasty dough. I charged into the kitchen. “Can I help?” I asked.
Mom was standing at the kitchen table, and there was a huge brown blob of dough in front of her. Her hands and arms were covered with flour, and she was pushing her hands into the dough and rolling it over and pounding it with her fists. She looked up at me and smiled. “Whew!” she said. “I’m worn out, Aaron. Hurry and wash your hands, and you can help me.”
I hung my cap on the bathroom doorknob and hollered to Jarom, “Mom’s making bread.”
Jarom was in the basement, putting together a model race car, but as soon as he heard me yell, he came thundering up the stairs and headed straight for the bathroom. “I thought I smelled something besides glue,” he panted.
A few minutes later we were both in the kitchen, dusting our hands and arms with flour and getting about as much on our shirts and faces.
“All right, Mom, can we punch it now?” I asked. Mom nodded, and Jarom and I doubled up our fists, reared back, and began punching. We pretended we were fighting the Blob from outer space.
“I think you’ve kneaded it enough,” Mom finally said. “Now we need to divide it into eight parts and pat it into loaves. We’re going to add magic to them today.”
“What’s going to be magic about them?” Jarom asked.
“You’ll see.” Mom smiled.
“Does it have magic in it yet?” I asked.
“A little bit,” Mom replied.
Nobody added anything to the dough while we shaped it, or when Jarom and I helped Mom grease the bread pans and drop the little logs of dough into each pan, or when we set them on the kitchen table to raise. Afterward, Jarom and I washed our hands and ran outside to play catch, but every few minutes we crawled up the cherry tree and peeked in the kitchen window to check our loaves of bread. Slowly each loaf began to swell and bulge. Just when it looked like they would pop, Mom put them into the oven. We didn’t see her add anything to them then, either.
The next time Jarom and I came into the house, it was filled with the smell of Mom’s magic bread. It seemed like you could grab a gob of air, spread some butter on it, and eat it. Finally the little clock on the stove jangled, and Mom took the loaves of bread out of the oven and tipped them from their pans onto a clean white dish towel spread on the table.
“Is it magic bread now?” Jarom asked, reaching out to gingerly touch the hot golden loaves of bread.
“Almost.”
“What else do you have to do to them?” I asked, scratching my head. “They look plenty good to me.”
“To make them really magic,” Mom whispered, like she was telling us an important secret, “we have to give them away.”
“Give them away!” Jarom and I gasped. “We don’t want to give them away. We want to eat them.”
“But they’re not magic if we eat them.”
“Then let’s not have magic bread. Let’s just have the regular kind,” Jarom said.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “We did all the work. We should get to eat the bread.”
Mom took a deep breath. “Don’t you want to give at least some of it away?”
“Maybe one loaf,” Jarom mumbled.
“All right. Take one loaf, and if you can see the magic work, maybe you’ll want to come back and give some more away.”
“How does the magic work?” I asked, getting just a little curious.
“The magic makes people happy. People who are angry or sad or ornery become happy and kind if you give them a loaf of magic bread.”
“Let’s take one to Sister Rogers,” Jarom said. “I like her.”
“But she’s always happy,” I pointed out. “We’d never know if the magic worked.” I grinned. “Now, if we gave a loaf to Brother VanGesen, we’d really find out if it was magic.”
“He’d have to eat the whole batch of bread,” Jarom said. “I wouldn’t waste any of it on him. He’s the meanest man I know. Every time our baseball goes into his yard, he yells at us and tells us he’s going to call the police.”
“Then he’s just the man who needs a loaf of this bread,” Mom said as she grabbed a loaf of warm bread, wrapped it in paper towels, and handed it to me.
“You mean I have to take it?” I cried.
Mom thought for a moment, then wrapped another loaf and handed it to Jarom. “You’re right. Each of you should take one.”
“But, Mom,” we protested.
“Run along,” she said, pretending to be stern. “Go see if the magic works.”
Jarom and I left the house, each carrying a loaf of bread. I dragged my feet, hoping that we’d never get to Brother VanGesen’s. But pretty soon we saw his house. He was on his hands and knees, pruning and digging around the rosebushes in his front yard.
When we got to Brother VanGesen’s front walk, I gulped, blinked twice, licked my lips, then started creeping up the walk. Maybe he wouldn’t see us, and we could just set the bread on one of his lawn chairs and run home.
But when we were a few feet from him, he turned around to get his pruning shears and saw us. “Well, what are you boys doing here?” he growled. “I hope you didn’t walk across my petunias.”
“No, sir, we didn’t,” I said. I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs. “We brought you some fresh bread,” I blurted, thrusting my loaf at him.
Suddenly the frown on Brother VanGesen’s lips disappeared. A smile chased it right off his face! He pulled his gloves off and reached for both loaves. “They’re still warm!” he exclaimed.
“Yeah,” I replied. “We just finished baking them.”
“You helped your mom make them?” he asked.
We nodded.
“And you wanted to give them to me?”
We nodded again. We could tell that he was surprised. And it was easy to see that he was happy. It looked like he might even do a little dance.
“It’s best if you eat it while it’s still warm,” Jarom explained. He looked at the ground. “That’s why we brought them now.”
“Well, thank you.” He beamed, then looked around, set the bread on the lawn chair, ran over to his porch, and came back with a baseball. “I found this in the bushes.” He smiled. “I don’t know whose it is, but I’ll bet that you boys do.” He handed the ball to me. “Say,” he added, “why don’t you pick a couple of roses for your mother.”
As soon as we had each picked a rose and were out of Brother VanGesen’s yard, I turned to Jarom and whispered, “That is magic bread. I’ve never seen anything like it. Did you see him smile? I didn’t even think he knew how. And he was nice too!”
“Do you suppose that magic bread will work on anybody?” Jarom asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, “but I sure want to find out! Let’s try some on Sister Willis. All she does is sit on her porch and growl at the dogs that cut across her lawn.”
“And what about that man who just moved into the Henderson place. I’d like to see him smile.”
Soon we were galloping up our front steps, yelling, “Mom, it works! It works! We want to give away more magic bread.”
Mom was sitting at the table, waiting for us. “Don’t you want the rest for yourselves?”
We shook our heads. “We need to help our neighborhood. There are too many grumpy people in it.”
Mom got a big paper sack and filled it with the rest of the loaves of magic bread wrapped in paper towels.
We gave a loaf to Sister Willis, and she was just as happy as Brother VanGesen had been. When we took a loaf to the man in the Henderson place, he smiled and gave us each a little box of raisins. We hurried all over the neighborhood, giving magic bread away. Jarom and I had never been so excited and happy in our whole lives! The magic had rubbed off on us too!
Soon there was only one loaf left. We’d already given loaves to all the real sourpusses, so we were thinking about eating it ourselves. But just before we reached home, Barney Stubbs came by, carrying a baseball bat over his shoulder.
“Oh, no!” Jarom whispered. “Should we run?”
Barney was always pushing around anyone littler than him, including Jarom and me. “Maybe we could give him the magic bread,” I muttered.
“Maybe we could give him a punch in the nose,” Jarom countered. “Together, we’d have a chance.”
“Hey, what are you guys doing?” Barney yelled at us when he was still a little way off. “And what’ve you got in the bag?”
“Something for you,” I called out, reaching into the bag and pulling out the last towel-wrapped loaf of bread.
Barney reached out and took it. “What is it?” he growled.
“Mom’s bread. We helped her make it, and we thought you’d like some.”
Barney took off the top towel, broke off a corner of the loaf, and put it into his mouth. He chewed it, broke off another piece, and stuffed it into his mouth. Slowly a smile tickled the corners of his mouth. “Hey, this is good!” he announced.
“It’s even better with butter and jam on it,” Jarom told him, still a bit anxious.
Barney nodded. “I’ll go home and get some right now.” With his bat over his shoulder and his bread under his arm, he hurried off down the street. Before he had gone far, he stopped and called back to us, “Hey, why don’t you guys meet me at the park after a while. I have a new bat we can try out.”
We nodded, and Barney headed on down the street.
When we returned home, Mom was smiling and waiting for us in the kitchen. “Did you save any bread for yourselves?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “It was too much fun watching the magic work.”
“Can you make another batch?” Jarom asked. “We’ll help again.”
“Another batch?”
“Sure,” I answered. “There are lots of people who can use some magic bread.” Then I asked, “Mom, what exactly was the magic that was added to the bread?”
Mom motioned for us to come closer, then whispered in our ears, “Love.”
“Love?” I almost shouted.
Mom nodded.
“When did we put love in?” Jarom demanded, rather confused.
“When we made it for someone else. And when you gave it away. That filled the bread with love.”

To make sure that answer holds true, I testify today that supporting the rising generation in a time of unusual challenges and temptations is an essential responsibility given to parents and bishoprics by Heavenly Father. Let me illustrate the importance of a bishopric with a personal experience.
When I was a deacon, my family moved to a new home in a different ward. I was beginning junior high school, so I also attended a new school. There was a marvelous group of young men in the deacons quorum. Most of their parents were active members. My mother was completely active; my father was exceptional in every way but was not an active member.
The second counselor in the bishopric, Brother Dean Eyre, was a devoted leader. When I was still adjusting to the new ward, a father-son event was announced for Bear Lake—about 40 miles (65 km) away. I did not think I would attend without my father. But Brother Eyre issued a special invitation for me to go with him. He spoke highly and respectfully of my father and stressed the significance of my opportunity to be with the other members of the deacons quorum. So I decided to go with Brother Eyre, and I had a wonderful experience.
Brother Eyre was a marvelous example of Christlike love in fulfilling the bishopric’s responsibility to support parents in watching over and nurturing the youth. He gave me an excellent start in this new ward and was a mentor to me.
A few months before I left for a mission in 1960, Brother Eyre passed away from cancer at age 39. He left a wife and their five children, all younger than age 16. His oldest sons, Richard and Chris Eyre, have assured me that in the absence of their father, bishoprics supported and watched out for them and their younger brothers and sister with Christlike love, for which I am grateful.

Let me tell you of just two cheerful givers in my experience. First, whenever I think of the widow’s mite, it brings to mind an experience in a small branch meeting in a row house on a street in a large eastern city in which branch my wife and I served for 18 months. It was located in a very distressed intercity neighborhood that had been burned over during the riots accompanying the Martin Luther King assassination in 1968. Much of it had not been rebuilt. The people in the branch paid their tithing in part with coins and in doing so paid an honest tithe. At one of our meetings, a woman handed me an envelope with the tithing slip and the relevant bills and coins and then after doing that said to me, “If you belong to a church, you ought to contribute. I can’t contribute much, but I can contribute the sacrament bread,” and handed me a baggie with two little pieces of bread in it. As we used her bread for the sacrament, the whole experience carried an additional meaning that day. Going through my mind continually was the verse dealing with the widow’s mite and that she, out of her poverty, had given more than they all.

I had an experience at the dedication of the Los Angeles Temple in 1957. I was in the solemn assembly room with the prophets. President Harold B. Lee touched my heart as he was speaking, and said the single most important lesson about discipleship I had learned in my life up until that time. He said, (as best I can remember): “If you want to show your love for God you must first learn to love and serve the people. That is how you show your love to God.”

I had been raised in an inactive LDS home. The real reason why I was at the temple dedication was because I could get out of school for the day. I was not much of a disciple of the Lord then. But that simple lesson about showing our love to God by first loving and serving the people was my guide to all I did in my family, and later, as I became more active in the church, it was the guiding principle in all I did. That one lesson motivated me to make the effort to serve, to be the first one to put down chairs after meetings, or to set up tables, or to clean the church, or to take people to meetings in my car, do my ward or home teaching, etc. I wanted to show my love for God, so I tried to love and serve His people.

In his autobiography, Parley P. Pratt told of his conversion and then of his compelling desire to share the gospel with others. Parley’s brother William, however, was more impressed by Parley’s material success and could not understand why he would give it all up to teach the gospel.

William asked Parley, “This is your all; you have toiled for years to obtain it, and why not now continue to enjoy it?”

Parley responded, “I see plainly you know but little of my circumstances—of the changes which have taken place with me since we parted five years ago, nor how vastly wealthy I have become within that time. Why, sir, I have bank bills enough, on the very best institutions in the world, to sustain myself and family while we live.”

Again William questioned, “Well, I should like to see some of them; I hope they are genuine.”

Parley replied, “There is no doubt of that. They are true bills and founded on capital that will never fail, though heaven and earth should pass away.”

Parley then unlocked his treasury and took out a large pocketbook full of promissory notes like the following: “Whosoever shall forsake father or mother, brethren or sisters, houses or lands, wife or children, for my sake and the gospel’s, shall receive an hundred fold in this life, and in the world to come life everlasting.” Parley explained to William that the words of Jesus Christ will not fail, and then he said, “I feel called upon by the Holy Ghost to forsake my house and home for the gospel’s sake; and I will do it, placing both feet firm on these promises with nothing else to rely upon.”

Still not fully convinced, William left to do his business, and Parley made preparations for a mission that would be lifelong. Parley was not “conformed to this world.” With all his heart he sought to both obtain and share those treasures that money cannot buy.

As the only member of the Church in her school, Angela has plenty of opportunities to be a missionary there. At a birthday party she attended, the girls began watching an inappropriate movie. Angela soon realized that it was not a movie she should be watching. “I told them, ‘I can’t watch this because I’m a member of the Church.’” She left the room, and another friend who was not a member soon followed. Together they watched a more appropriate movie until the other girls were finished. “When I left, I saw that I was wearing my CTR ring,” she said. She is glad that she was able to choose the right and set an example for her friends.

In 1991 I was playing on a ward softball team that was participating in the local city league in Manhattan, Kansas. Before each game we would gather as a team to have a prayer. At one particular game for some reason we forgot to pray before the game. I was playing second base and in the second inning when we were in the field the first baseman said to me Hey we didn't have a prayer before the game. I responded, yes you are right. But silently I clearly remember thinking. "Ah so what, nothing ever happens at these games". Two innings later we were in the field again. The first batter up hit a hard low line drive directly at me. I could tell by the flight of the ball that it was going to hit about 5 feet in front of me. It was going to be a one hopper, one of the easiest infield plays. Now, I am a fairly coordinated person, and I have played a fair amount of infield. To this day I do not know how I missed the ball but I missed it. It hit me right in the mouth and knocked me to my knees. My very first thought was, I sure hope I still have my teeth. After checking my teeth my second thought was, I guess we should have had that prayer. My lip was split from the bottom of my nose all the way down. It took two hours in the emergency room and 15 to 20 stitches to patch me up. You can draw your own conclusions but I believe that I was taught a lesson that day. Regular prayer makes a difference. Even those prayers we say routinely such as at the beginning of activities or sporting events or meetings. God is paying attention and we should pray always with the understanding and faith that He is paying attention.

When I was young I looked forward to the spring of the year. As the weather warmed, I was ready for baseball to begin. Like most young boys, I would wish that I could become a great baseball player. I am reminded of a story about a very young boy with similar dreams. With the desire to become the next mighty ballplayer, he decided to go outside and practice. He held the baseball in one hand and the bat in the other, and he threw the ball into the air. With a wish to hit the ball as far as he could, he took a great swing, but the ball fell to the ground without even touching the wood of the bat. Not to be denied, he went at it again. As he was about to throw the ball in the air, his determination grew as the thought of a powerful hit came into his mind. But alas, the results were the same. The ball lay on the ground. But as any good ballplayer knows, you have three strikes before you are out. He concentrated even more, threw the ball in the air, and gave the mightiest swing he had ever attempted. As the ball again fell to the ground, the tears began to swell in his eyes. Then all of a sudden a great smile appeared, and he said, “What a pitcher!”

While my older children were at school and the little ones napped, I spread the household bills across the kitchen table. I began this dreaded monthly task by praying for wisdom and ability to stretch our meager income. The tithing check, as always, would be the first one written.
When I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as a young wife and mother, I had committed to pay tithing. I had never wavered from that promise. I was deeply distressed, however, by inadequate funds to cover yet another month of utility, mortgage, and insurance bills.
Now I was a single mother of six young children. I frequently felt overwhelmed by the constant workload, financial worries, and endless decisions involved in my efforts to be both mother and father with no extended family to give me relief or support.
As I sat at the table pleading with the Lord for His help and mercy, the Holy Ghost opened to my view a beautiful and comforting manifestation of the Savior’s love. I was able to see the money owed for household expenses with a new perspective as the sacred priorities of life were brought to my remembrance. I knew that our Heavenly Father wanted me to have the blessings promised to those who faithfully paid tithes and offerings. I also knew that tithe paying should be a joyful act of love, devoid of fear and worry.
As the Spirit of the Lord filled me, I found myself bearing testimony of convictions I had long held firm and sacred. My voice broke the silence of the kitchen as I declared that I would rather lose the water source to my house than lose the living water offered by the Savior. I would rather have no food on our table than be without the Bread of Life. I would prefer to endure the darkness and discomfort of no electricity than to forfeit the Light of Christ in my life. I would rather abide with my children in a tent than relinquish my privilege of entering the house of the Lord.
The burden of worry immediately lifted. My love for the Lord overcame the weakness generated by my fears. Our Heavenly Father is our deliverer, our benefactor, and our protector. He truly does supply all our needs. His promises are sure and unfailing. He commands us to pay tithing on our increase so that He may shower down blessings from heaven—including peace of mind, freedom from worldly and material worry, and confidence in His holy name.
From that day forward I have counted it a joy to pay my tithing, without reservation or fear, to Him and for Him who first loved me.