Gospel Story Finder

The Holy Spirit has the power to guide. A 15-year-old girl felt that she needed to find new friends. She wrote to the Young Women office, “Now, I don’t know if you have ever had to change friends, but it honestly was the hardest thing I have ever had to do.” She decided to put her problem in the hands of the Lord, and she also counseled with her parents. She says that after several months “she wanted to just give up.”
One afternoon she was casually talking to her seminary teacher, and she confided her problem to him. Then he said, “I really don’t know why I am asking you this, but do you happen to know these girls?”
This girl answered with a yes. And then he said, “Have you ever thought about being friends with them?”
“I told him that there was no way that I could fit in with them. He then asked me if he could talk to one of the girls. I decided I would let him, if he promised not to embarrass me.
“Well, that next day I received a phone call from one of the girls. Now, you have to understand that this girl was on student council, and I hate to use the term, but she was ‘extremely popular.’ She asked if I would like to go to the basketball game with her that night. It was one of the funnest, most peaceful nights of my life. The next day at school, she introduced me to two other girls. We all instantly became friends.”
She concludes by saying, “I don’t know about you, but I would much rather have the Lord, who knows the outcome of everything, direct my life than me, who just sees things as they are at the time. He is right by our side, walking us through life, even when we feel so alone.”

When I was a boy of eleven, I used to go over to the old Richards Ward every Tuesday night. The Scouts would be having their troop meeting. I would lie on the ground and watch through the basement window. The Scouts would have patrol contests, build a fire using flint and steel, practice first aid, drill, and play games. I could hardly wait to become a deacon and a Scout.
When I was ordained a deacon I also registered in Scouting. Bruford Reynolds was the deacons quorum adviser for a period of time and also was the Scoutmaster.
Two months after I joined the troop I went to Brother Reynolds’s home to pass off the Second Class requirements. When I had done this, Bruford Reynolds said to me: “Vaughn, you have a lot of leadership ability, but we cannot use you because you are rowdy in troop meeting. When you get squared away, we need you.”
Having come from a large inactive family that was poor, I had little personal attention. My father had never told me that I could be anything. I gave a great deal of thought to my conduct. I decided to change. The following Tuesday I hardly moved an eyeball. I was as near perfect as I knew how to be.
Bruford Reynolds was true to his word. I became an assistant patrol leader, a patrol leader, assistant senior patrol leader, then senior patrol leader. He believed in me and had a profound impact on my life.

Initially I speak to the worthy young men of the Aaronic Priesthood. When I was a very small boy, my father found a lamb all alone out in the desert. The herd of sheep to which its mother belonged had moved on, and somehow the lamb got separated from its mother, and the shepherd must not have known that it was lost. Because it could not survive alone in the desert, my father picked it up and brought it home. To have left the lamb there would have meant certain death, either by falling prey to the coyotes or by starvation because it was so young that it still needed milk. Some sheepmen call these lambs “bummers.” My father gave the lamb to me, and I became its shepherd.

For several weeks I warmed cow’s milk in a baby’s bottle and fed the lamb. We became fast friends. I called him Nigh—why I don’t remember. It began to grow. My lamb and I would play on the lawn. Sometimes we would lie together on the grass and I would lay my head on its soft, woolly side and look up at the blue sky and the white billowing clouds. I did not lock my lamb up during the day. It would not run away. It soon learned to eat grass. I could call my lamb from anywhere in the yard by just imitating as best I could the bleating sound of a sheep: Baa. Baa.

One night there came a terrible storm. I forgot to put my lamb in the barn that night as I should have done. I went to bed. My little friend was frightened in the storm, and I could hear it bleating. I knew that I should help my pet, but I wanted to stay safe, warm, and dry in my bed. I didn’t get up as I should have done. The next morning I went out to find my lamb dead. A dog had also heard its bleating cry and killed it. My heart was broken. I had not been a good shepherd or steward of that which my father had entrusted to me. My father said, “Son, couldn’t I trust you to take care of just one lamb?” My father’s remark hurt me more than losing my woolly friend. I resolved that day, as a little boy, that I would try never again to neglect my stewardship as a shepherd if I were ever placed in that position again.

Brethren, after more than sixty years, I can still hear in my mind the bleating, frightened cry of the lamb of my boyhood that I did not shepherd as I should have. I can also remember the loving rebuke of my father: “Son, couldn’t I trust you to take care of just one lamb?” If we are not good shepherds, I wonder how we will feel in the eternities.

I recently met a young woman in the Philippines whose family became less active in the Church when she was only 7 years old, leaving her alone to walk a dangerous road to church week after week. She told how at age 14 she decided that she would stay true to her covenants so she would be worthy to raise her future family in a home “blessed by the strength of priesthood pow’r.”12 The best way to strengthen a home, current or future, is to keep covenants, promises we’ve made to each other and to God.

A friend told of an experience that ended his relationship with a business he had regularly patronized. He had received a letter in the mail with a coupon entitling him to a free oil change at a particular car dealership. After the work was done, he was presented with a bill for the oil. When he objected, he was told that the coupon did not cover the price of the oil, only the cost of the labor to change it. Technically and legally that may have been correct, but my friend, feeling that he had been deceived, never went back to that business.

1 One day Tanner got a picture of Jesus. He loved the picture. He wanted to share it with somebody. He knew that not everybody knows about Jesus.
2 “Mom, can I give my picture of Jesus to somebody?” Tanner asked.
“Sure,” Mom said. “Who will you give it to?”
“I’m going to give it to my teacher, Mrs. Young. I like her because she reads me lots of stories.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Mom said. “I’m proud of you.”
3 When Tanner got to preschool, he gave the picture to Mrs. Young. She was happy to get a picture of Jesus. Tanner was happy she liked it.
4 A few days later, Tanner and his family made a book that looked like the Book of Mormon golden plates. Then they wrote their testimonies in the book.
“Mom, can I take our book to school to show Mrs. Young?” Tanner asked.
“Yes, you can,” Mom said.
5 The next day at school, Tanner carried a backpack with his family’s golden plates inside. He told Mrs. Young about the book his family had made. Tanner’s teacher was very interested.
6 When Mom picked up Tanner from school that day, his teacher went to talk to Tanner’s mother.
“Tanner brought something very interesting today,” Mrs. Young said. “Can you tell me more?”
“How would you and your husband like to come to dinner at our house?” Mom asked. “We can talk more then.”
“That sounds great,” Mrs. Young said.
7 A few months later, Tanner and his mother went to Mr. and Mrs. Young’s baptism.
“I’m very happy I shared my picture of Jesus with my teacher,” Tanner said.
“I know that she is too,” Mom said. “You are a big reason why Mrs. Young and her husband are being baptized today.”
8 Tanner had a happy feeling as he watched Mrs. Young be baptized. He smiled as Mom leaned over and whispered, “Four-year-olds are great missionaries!”

When Juan Hernández of Salt Lake City, Utah, looks back on his first visit to church, one word sums up his attitude: apprehension.
“My mom was the first to be baptized in the family. At the time, I didn’t know why. One day she asked me if I wanted to go to church with her to see what it was like. I decided to go with her just so she wouldn’t feel bad.” But thanks to the ward’s Aaronic Priesthood, Juan learned that there was something special about the Church.
One of the young men invited Juan to come to a Scout activity flying planes. Though he had no interest in attending religious meetings, flying planes with the Scouts sounded like too much fun to resist. On the day of the activity, Juan was surprised by how friendly and enthusiastic the young men were. “When we went up in the planes, I forgot that I barely knew these young men. Somehow I knew that they would be good friends to me,” Juan says.
Though Juan didn’t expect to be invited again, the young men surprised him by immediately treating him as a member of their troop. And the more he participated, the more he noticed how happy members of the Church were. Over time, he realized that it wasn’t Scouting that made them so happy—it was the gospel. Juan knew he wanted to be happy like they were, too.
Soon Juan, his father, and his sister took the missionary discussions and decided to be baptized. “All of the Aaronic Priesthood kids were there when my family and I were confirmed. Then my dad and I were ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood,” Juan says. “And when I passed the sacrament for the first time, they were all excited for us.” Because members of the Aaronic Priesthood saw an opportunity to reach out to Juan during his first visit to Church, they were able to better introduce Juan to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Scouting provided the activity that helped Juan to feel comfortable around members of the Church.
“I can see all that the Aaronic Priesthood has done for me,” Juan says. “It has helped me to love God and see the love He has for each one of us. I have learned to listen to the Holy Ghost. And I have learned about one of the biggest blessings of all—that if we live worthily we can be with our families for all eternity.
“Thanks to the leaders, my mom, and the Scouts, I could open the door to our Heavenly Father. That’s how my family and I found that piece that was missing in our life.”

On another occasion I climbed Cuquenan Falls, the second highest falls in the world. To the best of my knowledge, I was the 14th person ever to reach the top. I was accompanied by Terry Brian, my partner in the rafting venture; Bernardo, a Venezuelan who provided transportation to the climb site; and Brazilo, our local Indian guide.
A four-hour hike from our vehicle brought us to the Indian village of Paraitepuy (Pear-rye-tu-pwee). Cuquenan and Roraima, two huge, twin, flat-top peaks loomed above us in the sky, shooting straight up. At the base of the mountains were rolling green hills and ravines overflowing with rain forest. All around were other high plateaus and mountains. Clouds loomed close overhead, and in the many crevices all around were broad-leafed plants, bats, and orchids. Everything was very green and beautiful.
Up at dawn the following day, we hiked across the plateau toward the foothills of Cuquenan. We stopped at the stream for lunch and bathed in the cool mountain water. The going became increasingly hard from there on. Finally we made camp in a large cave in the late afternoon. After bathing in the river, we spent the evening being eaten by jejenees (heh-he-nees), small gnatlike flies that bite as hard as horse flies. Cuquenan loomed larger than ever above us, filling much of the sky. The Indians call it Matuwe (Mat-too-wee), “the place of the dead.” They believe their dead ancestors wander around on its top as zombies, eating any unwary mortals who get caught there at night. The top of the mountain, we were told, was dark, misty, cold, and empty like a lunar landscape.
When we awoke the next morning there was a clear, red sunrise, and then the clouds and mist rolled in. The mist was very heavy, almost like rain. It was very cold at first. In the gloom we saw a single deer bound over the hill and out of sight. We also saw jaguar tracks. We crossed several streams. Tall grass about two or three feet high blocked our way. It was very wet and rough on our legs. Our path kept getting steeper and steeper. Eventually we passed from the tall grass into thicker vegetation. There were lots of prickly plants, seven-foot-tall ferns, and foot-tall carnivorous pitcher plants. The terrain continued to get steeper. From time to time the mist would break enough for us to see Cuquenan rearing up straight above us.
Soon we were slipping and sliding through a dark corridor cut out of a patch of dense rain forest. Moss hung everywhere from the giant fern trees. We finally stopped for lunch high on a rock point in the sun.
Soon we left the massive vegetation, and the terrain got rockier and steeper. Whenever we became thirsty we drank water from the pitcher plants. Then came the steep bouldering. It was very dangerous in parts, and we made slow progress. But finally we saw the top of the mountain, and our route lay clear before us. We scrambled onto the top at about 3:30 in the afternoon.
The top consisted of barren, dark-brown sandstone eroded into grotesque shapes. Here and there were stubby brown trees, about four feet tall, with reddish leaves. There were also some ferns, flowers, and grasses all growing from the bleak sandstone and pools of water. It was very misty and eerie. Through the clouds and mist we occasionally caught glimpses of the mountains below us where red and blue macaws flew above the jungle. We climbed up to some caves to make camp, then walked across the summit to the top of Cuquenan Falls. It was a beautiful view. Simply incredible!
On our way back to camp, I stopped and picked up some quartz crystals in a stream bed. For a moment I thought they were diamonds. Bernardo and I stayed to collect a few and maybe find some real diamonds. Brazilo was eager to get back to camp and build a fire. Bernardo and I didn’t pay any attention to the encroaching darkness because we kept our eyes on the creek bottom looking for diamonds. All of a sudden we looked up and found ourselves surrounded by darkness and misty fog. We were lost somewhere on top of Cuquenan Mountain!
We had built stone markers earlier to mark our trail, but we couldn’t see them now. The scape was all rock so we couldn’t follow our footprints. Bernardo panicked and began running wildly off into the night. I caught him, calmed him, and prayed. Suddenly it came to me that we just needed to follow the creek down to the edge of the mountain and then follow the edge around to where we had climbed up onto the summit earlier. There was some mud there and we could find our footprints. So that’s what we did. Bernardo was still scared, but I was calm inside. We found our footprints and followed them up to the cave where Brazilo was waiting. We arrived in time for spaghetti dinner and hugs and well wishes.

“Oh no, not again,” I thought, as I saw the familiar face walking toward me in the hallway of my college dorm. “What this time?”
Angela [names have been changed] had accosted me in the hallway before, and each time I talked to her she left my stomach tied up in knots. I had been investigating The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for a month, and Angela had taken it upon herself to prove that I was making a big mistake.
Angela invited me to her dorm room for a talk, and I accepted warily, knowing from past experience that she would not leave me alone until I’d heard what she had to say.
“How are you feeling about the Mormons at this point?” she asked me, as I sat on her bed, folding my arms defensively.
“Fine. Actually I think what they believe is quite beautiful. I haven’t decided if I believe it yet …”
“Beautiful?” Angela choked on the word, her face turning red. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go on. Not after what I’ve found out about the Mormon religion.”
She handed me a pamphlet filled with lies and twisted truths about the Church. “Read this,” she confided, “and you’ll never want to talk to those missionaries again.”
I read it and the other things well-meaning people gave me to try to show me “the truth” about the Church. I always ended up feeling confused and sick to my stomach. How could I ever know what was right? The missionaries seemed so peaceful about what they believed. Yet Angela was convinced they were wrong. How could I find my own testimony of what was true? And why did there seem to be silence from the heavens when I prayed about my questions?
Ten years later, I sat in an LDS chapel looking at a young woman in my ward. She sat next to me, her hands folded in her lap and tears streaming down her face, asking me the same questions I had asked 10 years before. How could she know for sure if the things she had been taught were true? Why hadn’t she received any spiritual confirmations or found answers to her many questions about the Church?
This young woman had a boyfriend who had been trying to convince her the Church wasn’t true. He had been telling her the same things about the Church that had confused me so long ago.
I decided to write her a letter, telling her about a prophet who faced a similar situation. During the time of Alma the Younger, Korihor, an anti-Christ, came among the Nephites telling them Christ would not come and that their beliefs were false. Eventually, Korihor was brought before Alma, and he told Alma he would believe in God only if Alma showed him a sign. In answer to his request, Korihor was struck dumb, and he finally admitted that he had been deceived and had always known there was a God. (See Alma 30.)
Both Alma and Korihor knew the words of the prophets, but Alma acted on those words and obeyed the commandments. Alma knew that blessings come from following the ways of the Lord. (See Alma 32:21–43.)
Korihor refused to act on the word of the Lord and wanted to see a sign before he would believe and act. Alma believed first, acted upon that belief, and then received a confirmation of the truth.
We can have an unshakable testimony like Alma’s by following his example. Then we can stand before people and testify of the truths of God, and no clever words or temptations will convince us to deny what we know is true.
I believed the missionaries instead of the clever words of those who opposed the Church. Then I acted upon that belief. I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When I rose up out of the waters of baptism, a warm feeling of peace enveloped me. I knew the Holy Ghost was telling me that what I was doing was good. I had found the truth. Even though I faced much opposition from my parents and friends, I was able to stand strong because of the testimony I had received from obeying the commandments of God.
When we ask in faith, we will receive answers from the Lord as we experiment upon His words. Testimonies do not come from seeing signs, as Korihor believed. They come from doing and obeying.
Pray regularly and sincerely about your questions.
It may help to write your questions in a journal. When you receive answers, write them down so you can remember and read them often. You will begin to see the hand of God in all things, just as Alma did (see Alma 30:44).
Live the gospel and keep the commandments. Attend your meetings, activities, seminary classes, and service projects. Stay away from things that take away the Spirit.
Regularly study the scriptures and the teachings of latter-day prophets, because you can’t have a testimony of something you don’t know anything about.

At school I made an awesome football field out of clay. My friend accidentally knocked it over and broke it. I was very sad. My friend also made a football field, so my teacher asked him to give me his. He had been so excited to show his parents that I said, “No, you can keep it.” He said he was sorry, and I forgave him. It made me feel good to forgive because that’s what Jesus would want me to do.
William S., age 8, Texas, USA

My father had come for a visit, and I stayed home from work to talk with him. After breakfast, we spoke only briefly before he tired and went to sleep on the small sofa. It was quiet except for the sounds of his breathing, and I found myself filled with thoughts and feelings that surprised me with their intensity.
I could easily recognize the signs of his advanced age. What was left of his hair was gray. His face, wrinkled at the corners of his eyes and mouth, still had the look of character and sensitivity I had often seen as his son. Then, because of a cold, he also looked tired. My father’s hands are larger than should be the case for one of moderate build. His fingers are wide and strong. One little finger is permanently bent because of a farming accident. As a small child I had spent many sacrament meetings rubbing this finger thinking it would feel better.
I sat for several minutes looking at him and reflecting about our life together. I wondered how much longer he would live. He had been very lonely since Mother died three years earlier. And, though sad for me, maybe he would be happier to go soon. I felt very protective as I watched him, much like a parent feels toward a sleeping child who requires concern because he is vulnerable. I leaned back in my chair and fell deep into the memories of long ago.
I was never told by anyone to be like my father. It just seemed natural to follow his footsteps in the snow, or to be interested in music as he was, or to compare myself with him in many other ways. One way I compared myself to him was in his work habits. He was a very hard worker. He began early and worked late on our family farm, which required him to milk cows and irrigate before breakfast. He then put in a full day’s work like other people before milking and tending the irrigation water at night. It was hard to keep up with him, but my brothers and I often tried. Once started he could keep going steadily without resting. At least he did not rest often enough for me.
I am his youngest son, so I was given increased responsibilities as I grew older and was gradually expected to do a “man’s work.” Sometimes when I was extra tired and reluctant to get my own chores done, I would finally arrive only to find he had done them for me. I was glad but ashamed.
Sometime around my 17th birthday, I had achieved my full growth with the usual bulges and ripples in the right places. Dad and I were alone together on the farm since my older brothers were married or at college. One day we were stacking bales of alfalfa hay. I was placing them from the truck on a long conveyer that carried them to where Dad was placing them in the right position on the haystack. The sound of the small motor drowned out any possibility of talk, so, lost in my own thoughts, I worked rapidly to finish the job. I was startled when Dad yelled. I looked up to see that I was sending bales of hay up to him faster than he could place them. After waving for me to stop, he sat down to rest. Dad pulled out a red bandana handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. At that moment I realized I was no longer a small child following my father’s footsteps in the snow. My father was more tired than I was.
I had never before realized that this was natural since I was 17 and he was 55. I was instead a bit shocked by the recognition that he was no longer going to be the person I compared myself to in order to see if I was doing all right. Truthfully, I felt a bit anxious as if I were suddenly without a leader and were on my own. As I sat looking at him, a wave of emotion passed through me. I could not understand all of it, but I knew something significant was taking place. He suddenly looked a bit older to me and more tired than I had been willing to notice.
As we began to work again, and I more slowly, my father seemed a bit less than he used to be. I felt a little disappointed and even resentful. Some fate had robbed me of a security I had as a child, but I gained an understanding that has been a wonderful part of my life. I understood that more than an unattainable example of manhood, my father was just a man. He was a mortal like me, and what he did I could someday do too. Knowing this was far better than trying to be like someone and never succeeding. My father became to me a real person who had feelings and ideas, strengths and weaknesses, hopes and dreams.
My disappointment was brief, and I began to view him differently, even feeling protective of him. As the days followed, I became more responsible in doing my chores and tried in many ways to be more helpful to him. I began to tell him more things about myself, and we became closer. Though he was by nature a reserved and quiet man, we became more openly affectionate with each other. We are not equals. I am better in some areas because of an advanced education he gave me. He is wiser because of his experience.
As I returned from these thoughts of my youth, I was impressed that my father had in this way taught me about being a father. Working by his side, I came to know him well, and I could become like him. But, I wondered, what about my sons? They do not work with me every day. How are they learning about being fathers? Do they even think it is important to learn? Caught up in a whirl of sports, school, friends, and play they do not often see far into the future. Yet the years since I was 17 have seemed to pass like fleeting moments. Someday my sons will, like me now, consider fatherhood the most important of all they do.
It is a mistake to think that a boy will learn about fatherhood later after having children. It is usually too late then if a boy has not learned successfully, and his sons and daughters will receive the brunt of his inadequacies. It is much wiser to think that men are better fathers when they have learned about it when they are sons.
Most of us know that fathers should teach their sons, but most sons are not aware that they could and should learn about being fathers. As a result, boys often do not ask the very questions or participate in special experiences that could teach them. Boys may want their fathers to watch them play ball or teach them how to fish, but they forget to ask their dads how to be a good father. Sons could ask their fathers about many different aspects of family life. Some of these are listed as follows:
Financial Planning. In order to survive, fathers and mothers have had to prepare and make financial plans. Ask your parents how they organize their finances, who pays for which bills, what their biggest problems are, and what they wish they would have done differently.
Child Discipline. Ask your father about the reasons for family rules. Ask what your father learned about child discipline from his parents.
Organizing Family Activities. Successful vacations, family prayer, family home evenings, even chores, require organizational skills. You can ask your father or mother what he or she has learned about making them succeed.
What Your Parents Have Learned as Parents. Being a parent has helped, even forced, parents to learn about themselves. Ask about their experiences as parents and what they have learned since having children. Find out about what they have done that was successful and what they would do over again.
What Your Parents Think and Feel about You. Ask your parents about their feelings toward you. Note their ideas and ask about reasons for their thoughts. Each parent will have his or her individual ideas.
Teaching the Gospel. Ask your father and mother how they teach the gospel. Find out why they do what they do. Inquire about their successes and failures.
I decided not to wait for my sons to ask me to teach them because it seems too important to neglect. In their preparation for fatherhood I would like my sons to know the importance of showing genuine respect for girls and of showing courtesy and consideration in all their dating. They can begin doing this by showing regard for their mother and their sisters. I want them to develop good work habits which will enable them to provide for their family. Each of my sons has work to do and is rewarded for doing it. I believe they need to control their tempers and develop patience, which will be needed with their children. I try to set an example of this. I want them to be creative teachers of the gospel, so I assign them to teach in family home evenings. We read and discuss the scriptures and tell gospel stories to each other. I am trying to prepare them for missions.
I want them to spend time with their children, so I try to spend time with them. I ask what they plan to be like when they are fathers, and we talk about it. Even with all of this, I wish they would ask more questions about being a father.
Still they seem more interested in what they are doing right now, and I do not object too much about that because I have been their age. I would like them to ask me about fatherhood so I could tell them what I believe. Someday they will look at me when I am old and remember the time when they surpassed me. They will know me as I am, just a man, and we will be friends. Then, learning, they will recognize that just as my father continues to teach me, I will also prepare them for what is to come. I am living just a few moments ahead, and my age calls to them as if to say, “Come this way my sons.” I want them to hear, and I want to see them succeed.

It was Thursday night, Mom and Dad’s regular night to work at the Cardston temple. I was in my teens, like you young women. My grandmother, who was living with us, was away, so I would be home alone. As they left, Dad hugged me and said, “Now, Sharon, be in good company.”
I thought, “What is he thinking? Doesn’t he know I’ll be here by myself?” And then I realized—that is exactly what he was thinking.
Standing in holy places is all about being in good company, whether you are alone or with others. It’s being where the Holy Ghost is our companion—alone or in a crowd. When we determine within ourselves that we will control our thoughts and our actions and be the best we can possibly be, the best of life will come to us.

Because of a drought, my husband, John, and I had to either sell our beef cattle at a loss or move them from the Melba Valley, in southwestern Idaho, USA. Fortunately, John found summer range at a cousin’s family farm, located in the Preston area, about 300 miles (480 km) away.
We arranged for a trucker to take all 40 cattle in one load, but he didn’t like the looks of a rough ranch road that led to the cattle pasture, still 20 miles (32 km) away. To our disappointment, he unloaded them at nearby stockyards. There we were, late in the day with 40 head of cattle to transport and no way to do it.
John stopped a local farmer, explained our plight, and asked for help. Minutes later Bishop Steve Meeks and his young son followed us to the stockyards to see what could be done.
The cattle had become unsettled. Seeing a broken section of fence at the stockyard, they ran toward it, seeking freedom. All the cattle hurdled the fence into another enclosure—except for one cow. She managed to get most of the way over, but one hind leg slipped between two fence planks. She ended up hanging precariously on the fence, one front foot barely touching the ground. She kicked her other hind leg furiously in an effort to free herself.
Releasing the cow would require hoisting equipment. If she broke a leg, we would have to put her down. To lose a cow would put considerable financial strain on us.
The cow weighed more than 1,000 pounds (455 kg), and we could not get near her, nor help her if we did. The havoc on the fence made the rest of the cattle nervous.
I didn’t think there was anything we could do, but at that moment I remembered Amulek’s counsel in the Book of Mormon: “Cry unto him when ye are in your fields, yea, over all your flocks” (Alma 34:20). I withdrew myself from the others, knelt down, and prayed with all the sincerity of my heart. Concluding my supplication, I pleaded, “Heavenly Father, please help the cow.”
I returned to the corral, the prayer still lingering on my lips. By now the cattle had quieted somewhat, including the one on the fence.
Suddenly, the largest of the milling animals broke away from the herd. Resisting our efforts to turn her back, she moved toward the dangling cow. Lowering her head, she dropped to her knees, forced her way under the stranded cow, and staggered slowly to her feet. She lifted the tangled cow into the air and then lowered her. The cow was free! A hoist could not have done as well.
As the two cows ran back to the herd, Bishop Meeks stared in disbelief at what he had just witnessed. My tears flowed as I whispered, “Thank You, Heavenly Father.”
Anyone who knows cattle will tell you that cows do not reason things out in their minds. But there is an explanation for this incident. Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers. He answered mine—at a stockyard in Preston, Idaho.

Many of my memories of being a five-year-old consist of volleyball nets, floor polish on gym floors, referee whistles, and roughly scribbled rosters. My dad coached a team of young volleyball players in our ward. I was his “assistant.”
My dad taught the players principles of hard work, team spirit, honesty, trust in self and in others, goal setting, perseverance, and sacrifice. There were prayers before games, 5:00 A.M. practices on Saturdays, and ice cream socials at our house.
One of the most important lessons I learned from my dad and his players was that of honesty. When a player touched the net inadvertently or mishandled a pass, my dad taught that it was important for the player to reveal his error with a raised hand. That lesson would make a lasting impression, not only on the members of the team, but also on a five-year-old “assistant coach.”
Our team had struggled in the beginning. But when the championships were held, we were there to compete. When it was time for the final match, the four years the team had spent playing together paid off. Just one match stood in the way of our winning the championship.
There was a spirited atmosphere at the championship match. Crowds of people came to watch the competition. I took my place next to Dad when the horn sounded to begin play.
I don’t remember much of that match, but I do remember the end of the final game. The crowd cheered as my dad’s team scored the final point. Participants and spectators flooded the floor. Brent, a big, formidable player on our team, had made the final point with a decisive spike. So powerful was his contact with the ball that even the experienced referee didn’t notice that Brent’s finger had brushed the net. It was a penalty that easily could have been forgotten. But amid the excitement, Brent slowly raised his arm into the air.
The teams reassembled, the crowd took their seats, and the game continued. Shortly thereafter, the game ended, and my dad’s team captured the championship they had been working at for four years. They could feel good not only about winning, but also about doing it honestly.
Many years have passed since my days of chasing volleyballs for my father and his players. But the memory of a coach teaching the value of honesty to his team still remains firmly planted in my memory. From my low vantage point on the floor that day, most people seemed tall. But the way I—and everyone else—saw it, Brent stood the tallest.

Remember the May 1992 Mormonad? It depicted a basketball player, quite a bit shorter than his teammates, holding the MVP trophy. The coverline read, “Don’t Sell Yourself Short.”
Well, Ty Church hasn’t.
At about the time he posed for that Mormonad, Ty, at only five-feet-two inches tall, broke into the starting lineup as a sophomore on the Olympus High School varsity basketball team in Salt Lake City. During his three years as a starter, Ty never missed a game, and was instrumental in the Titans’s successful 1993–94 hoop season. As a senior, Ty was the second leading scorer in the state tournament, he broke a Utah high school record by scoring 21 points in the first quarter of a game, and he helped Olympus to a second-place state finish. But now the basketball heroics have been put aside for a couple of years.
These days, Ty is known as Elder Church. After graduating from both high school and seminary, he became a full-time missionary last September. With an eight-week stay in the MTC behind him, Elder Church, 19, is now serving in the Czech Republic Prague Mission.

One newly called bishop, in his first meeting with his counselors, declared, “The Aaronic Priesthood is a prime responsibility of ours.” To the second counselor, he directed, “I ask you to be personally responsible to ensure that every deacon, at the appropriate age, be worthy and be ordained a teacher.” To the other counselor, he said, “Will you please do the same as pertains to the teachers, that they may, on schedule, be worthy and be ordained priests.” Then the bishop continued, “I will take the same responsibility for the priests to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood and be ordained elders. Together, and with God’s help, we can do it.” And they did.

In 1946 I was assigned by President George Albert Smith to go to war-torn Europe to reestablish our missions from Norway to South Africa and to set up a program for the distribution of welfare supplies—food, clothing, bedding, and so forth.
We established headquarters in London, England, and then made preliminary arrangements with the military authorities on the Continent. One of the first men I wished to see was the commander of the United States forces in Europe. He was stationed in Frankfurt, Germany.
When we arrived in Frankfurt, my companion and I went to seek an appointment with the general. But we were told by the appointment officer, “Gentlemen, there will be no opportunity for you to see the general for at least three days. He’s very busy, and his schedule is filled up with appointments.”
I said, “It is very important that we see him, and we can’t wait that long. We are due in Berlin tomorrow.”
He said, “I’m sorry, but he can’t see you.”
We left the building, went out to our car, removed our hats, and united in prayer. Then we went back into the building and found a different officer at the appointment post. In less than fifteen minutes we were in the presence of the general.
We had prayed that we would be able to see him and to touch his heart, knowing that all relief supplies contributed from any source were required to be placed into the hands of the military for distribution. Our objective, as we explained to the general, was to distribute our own supplies to our own people, through our own channels, and also to make gifts for general feeding of children. We explained the Church welfare program and how it operated.
Finally he said, “Gentlemen, you go ahead and collect your supplies, and by the time you get them collected, the policy may be changed.”
We replied, “General, our supplies are already collected. They are always collected. Within twenty-four hours from the time I cable the First Presidency of the Church in Salt Lake City, carloads of supplies will be rolling toward Germany. We have many storehouses filled with basic commodities.”
He then admitted, “I’ve never heard of a people with such vision.” His heart was touched as we had prayed it would be. Before we left his office, we had written authorization to make our own distribution to our own people through our own channels.

Three days after Sally arrived home from Mexico, she was crowned Miss Utah. A short time later a special letter for Sally came in the mail. It was one she had written to herself several weeks before as part of an assignment in an M Men and Gleaner class.
“Write something which will help you later in your life,” the teacher said. “And then, when the time is right, I’ll mail you your letter.” Appropriately, the letter came:
Hi Sally …
By the time you receive this letter, you will have been to Mexico and probably will have made some important decisions.
Just remember, the Lord loves you and he has a very special responsibility for you in the near future. Strive each and every day to draw close unto him and to let him guide and influence your life.
You have a very special talent that you should work at diligently. If you do, you will bring joy and happiness to those around you and will please the Lord.
Always keep your ideals high and be the kind of girl that a wonderful young Latter-day Saint man will love and cherish as his wife.
Honor your parents, and though there may be problems sometimes, remember to love and understand them and to be as patient and tolerant as you would want them to be with you.
People are aware of your example. Remember always to walk in the ways of the Lord and he will bless you beyond measure. You will have many opportunities to be in the public eye, so do nothing that would be contrary to Christ’s example.
Work hard. Use discipline. Have courage, faith, and pray always.
As you love yourself, you will love others.
Smile,
Sally
“Sally,” I exclaimed when she shared the letter with me, “you were positively prophetic when you wrote that!”
“Not really,” she replied thoughtfully. “It is the kind of letter any young Latter-day Saint person could have written to himself.
“Every one of us has important decisions to make,” she continued, “little decisions like whether to attend a bull fight or a Sabbath day meeting and larger ones like whether or not to attend college, go on a mission, marry in the temple—the list goes on …
“Each of us has special responsibilities, talents—and parents to love and to honor.
“Others look to our example. Each of us is ‘that Mormon girl or boy’ from someplace or other. Wherever we go, we represent ourselves, our parents, and the Lord.
“And each one is preparing himself (or herself) to be the eternal companion of someone special who is also preparing. Then when both are ready, we will find one another.
“But for right now, each of us has 24 hours every day in which to work, pray, practice discipline, and cause the wonderful experiences of life to happen.”

We just recently had our third child, a baby girl named Faith. During the delivery, my wife was having some complications and we were scared for our baby. I gave Julia a blessing. Then she asked me to sing to her. The Spirit brought peace to both of us. Soon baby Faith came safely into the world. It was a miracle, and she definitely lived up to her name. Faith’s beautiful smile brightens my life. I can’t express in words how much she means to me.

The Three Princes In this beautifully illustrated tale from the Middle East, a wise and lovely princess told her three suitors that she would marry the one who brought her the thing of greatest wonder. One uses his gift, a crystal ball, to learn that she is dying. The second uses his gift, a flying carpet, to take the suitors to her in time for the third to use his gift, an orange with special powers, to heal her. The gifts were of equal value in saving her life, but she could only marry one of the suitors. … Eric A. Kimmel8–12 years