Gospel Story Finder

For one of my Cub Scout adventures, I had to go somewhere that people worship or feel reverence. My family decided to go to the Sikh (pronounced seek) temple near our house. It was really cool because we’ve driven past it a lot of times. It’s a building with a flag and gold trim around the top. We got to go inside. We got to see how they worship, and we got to eat food with them after.
The people could speak a different language, and all the boys’ middle names were the same: Singh. All the girls’ middle names were Kaur. They treated us very nicely. We had to take off our shoes and put on a hat or a scarf to cover our hair. We did that so that we could show respect for the way they worship. The food that they fed us was really good. They gave us juice, candies, and some sweet fried dough.
I felt amazed after I met them, because the way they worship is a lot different than the way we worship. Instead of sitting on benches, they sit on the floor. But some people whose legs hurt sit on benches. They also have a special place for their sacred books.
We took a picture with the people we met, and then we got hugs from them. I felt happy that I got to know these people a bit. I would love to go back sometime.

In 1948, the children of Berlin, Germany, knew all about bombs falling from the sky. But miniature parachutes carrying candy bars? That was something new. And it was all thanks to a member of the Church who wanted to send a message of love and hope to those children.
During World War II, bombs had destroyed many homes and buildings in Berlin. After the war, the whole city looked flattened and almost deserted. Now only 2.8 million people lived in a city where 4.6 million once lived.
But now there was another terrible enemy in Berlin—hunger! The people needed about 5,000 tons of food a day, but the city had only about 100 tons. How would the people keep from starving? Several countries sent cargo planes with supplies. They brought flour, milk, dried eggs, potatoes, and other food for people to eat and coal and gasoline to keep them warm.
One of the pilots who flew a big C-54 cargo plane was an LDS young man who grew up on a farm in Utah. His name was Gail Halvorsen. He flew daily missions to Berlin.
One day on his day off, Brother Halvorsen took his movie camera to the runway where the supply planes landed every three minutes. He noticed a group of children at the end of the runway watching the planes land. He talked to them. They were so brave! And they were very grateful for the food the planes brought.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his last two pieces of chewing gum. When he gave them to the children, they broke them into tiny pieces to share. Some only got to smell the wrappers, but none of them asked for more.
Then Brother Halvorsen had a great idea. He knew Heavenly Father loved those children. He wanted them to know that they were important and that someone cared about them. He wanted them to be happy and to have hope. “Watch for me tomorrow,” he said.
“But how will we know which plane is yours?” the children wondered.
“I’ll wiggle the wings of my plane as a signal,” Brother Halvorsen promised.
That evening Brother Halvorsen bought some chocolate bars. He made parachutes out of his handkerchiefs and attached them to the chocolate.
The next day as he neared the runway with his load of food, Brother Halvorsen moved the wings of his plane up and down. Then he dropped his candy parachutes to the children watching below.
Soon Brother Halvorsen received many letters addressed to Onkel Wackelflügel (“Uncle Wiggly Wings”). Other pilots started helping too. Children and adults back home donated handkerchiefs and candy.
In all, about 20 tons of candy floated down on little parachutes to the children of Berlin. And each one carried an important message. Every child is important, and each one is loved.

In Primary we learned about giving “warm fuzzies.” We were given three fuzzy balls to cheer up someone who was sick or sad. The next Sunday I was sitting in my grandma’s sacrament meeting, and the man next to me was crying. I gave him a warm fuzzy. It made me feel good inside. A few weeks later, we went to my grandma’s ward New Year’s celebration. The man’s wife told my mom that I had made him feel good when I gave him the warm fuzzy. He thanked me for brightening his day.

In October, a group of young adults, missionaries and stake leaders from Northampton Stake got together to help the Buckingham Canal Society. The society was one of the first organisations within the stake boundary to sign up on JustServe, so the stake was very keen to respond to their needs. The society was founded in 1992. They are currently restoring a canal that spans the Buckinghamshire and Northamptonshire border between Buckingham and Cosgrove.
Keith Reynolds, who is the stake high councillor responsible for the young adults said: “This service was an excellent way for young adults to develop their skills while having fun.
“In these times, when they would typically be out socialising most weekends, they have had to remain isolated due to Covid for the last seven-plus months.
“The look on their faces as they met up for the first time since the summer lockdowns, you could see how important it was to them. To be together while helping the canal volunteers beautify the countryside.
“Oh, and the pizza lunch was good too!!” During times of restrictions, this kind of outdoor service is better than indoors — we all enjoyed ourselves, had fun, created bonds, learned a lot, and ate pizza — what’s not to like! We are now planning further projects with the BCS over the next few months.

In my heart of hearts I wanted to serve a mission. But I was in love. Sure I know guys usually leave girlfriends behind, but Chris was different. She was a cheerleader in our high school, blonde, beautiful, with a clever personality, and not stuck-up. I had a crush on her when we went to high school in Nebraska but didn’t have the courage to ask her out until we met in college. She was a year older than I.
For a guy in high school to win an older woman is nearly hopeless. It gets easier in college where you can’t tell how old a guy is by the books he carries. So I asked her out. My heart raced when she agreed to a date. Friendship quickly blossomed into romance. I felt my life was now complete and nothing else much mattered, even a mission call.
Then we argued about something really important. I can’t remember what right now, but I know it was life-or-death because of how angry I felt about it. I did not sleep that night. I continued to sulk without relief. Something had to change, and I was pretty sure it was not me.
In a physics class the next day, as Professor Hill talked about light, I wanted to collapse with some distant galaxy into a black hole. Maybe light was what we had lost. Radiant, burning light. This is how I had felt in the beginning when I was with her—like stars exploding in the skies. But now I felt uncertainty, darkness even. For the first time I longed for what I had been hearing about in religion class—pure love, selfless but fervent caring. I thought of Christ and how he felt for the little children. I knew he was the source. And I knew prayer would help.
I had always said my prayers at night. It was a childhood habit. But, unfortunately, they had become routine. It was more like brushing teeth than communion with deity, a way to prevent spiritual cavities. Please bless … please bless … please bless. Night after night I had been describing to the Lord exactly how I thought my world should be ordered.
But that day in physics I realized my whole world was turned inward. I knew that to escape the confusion I must find a way to reach out to other people. But how? I could not even reach out to my girlfriend. Instead I had tried to annex her personality into my own, to possess it, to lock her up inside me. The problem needed more maturity and strength than I had. All of the routine prayers in the world wouldn’t be adequate. I needed a prayer of faith like Enos offered in the wilderness.
So there in the wilderness of 200 physics students, I looked down as if at my textbook, and with one hand shielding my eyes, offered a simple, heartfelt prayer. My idea was to prepare the Lord for what I would be asking later, to humbly and sincerely bring him up to speed on what I had been feeling. But as I opened my heart the feelings gushed out. I told him everything. Tears trickled from my chin and wet the book. Then, suddenly, a profound peace washed through me. And with it came light, illumination, an unmistakable understanding.
I knew missionary work was the key. I needed a mission more than the Lord needed me to be a missionary. I needed to put aside my own problems and help those who were wandering in darkness worse than my own. I had learned to pray about problems. But those who lived in the dark did not pray because no one had told them they could.
After class I called my bishop.
That evening I met Chris to study in the library. I felt calm as I explained the events of the day and my determination to go on a mission. She was supportive and complimentary. As I looked at her, I considered the real possibility that she would not be waiting when I returned. But peace replaced jealousy. I knew nothing could keep me from my mission.
For two years I wrote to her. Weekly at first, then less often. When I returned, we visited. I told her of the people I had met and the lives I had watched change. She told me about her studies of South and Central America. She had developed such a love for the people of those countries that she now wanted to serve a mission. It was the last time I saw her for several years.
The selfish emotions which had consumed me before were gone, replaced by a desire for service, a love for others, and a powerful new faith in the Savior.
Back in school, I met Julie. She was blonde, beautiful, clever, and someone who cared about other people. More surprising, she was attracted to me. We were married in the spring. I can say with conviction that the Lord knows better than we do how our lives should be ordered. The self-centered existence I would have chosen for myself cannot compare with the blessings that have followed obedience and service.

My family and I recently moved to Abu Dhabi. It was very different from where we’d lived before. Our ward was different, and our house was different. We were all struggling to get used to the new place.
I started to think of ways I could help my family. I watched my younger siblings so my mom and dad could unpack boxes and set up the house. I also tried to help my family feel at home. I learned songs on my guitar that my mom and sister would like and that they could sing.
Pretty soon we got our house all set up. I still like to do those things for my family. It makes me feel happy and feel love from Heavenly Father. I know that when I serve others, I serve Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I know that it makes Them as happy as I am.

Let me share a sweet story with you. A family was going through a difficult time. It was hard for them not to focus on their challenges. The mother wrote: “Our world had completely crumpled, so we turned to Heavenly Father for guidance. Almost immediately we realized that we were surrounded by goodness and were being cheered on from every side. We began as a family to express our gratitude to each other as well as to the Lord daily. A close friend pointed out to me that our family’s ‘blessing basket’ was overflowing. From that conversation came a sort of game, which my children and I grew to love. Before family prayer each night we would talk about how our day had gone and then share with each other all of the many blessings that had been added to our ‘blessing basket.’ The more we expressed gratitude, the more there was to be grateful for. We felt the love of the Lord in a significant way as opportunities for growth presented themselves.”

1. Let’s go back 60 years. The minutes of the Wandamere Ward of the Grant Stake for June 4, 1944, indicate the sacrament was administered by my friends Ward Jackson, Arthur Hicks, and me to a congregation of 141. Then it was off to war. In May of 1945, I was blessing the sacrament again—but in a foxhole on Okinawa for a congregation of only one, myself!
The training of my youth took over without fanfare—something only partially appreciated by me then—including abstaining from coffee in those same circumstances when water was scarce and highly chlorinated.
I do not know what lies ahead of you young men, but my advice would be to fasten your seat belts and hold on firmly to your principles!

The Robinson children were all expected to take the scholarship examination and continue their education, but that wasn’t the route George wanted to take. In fact, the family contended that George deliberately failed the exams so that he could attend the Technical School where he wanted to go. While there, his favourite reading included novels by Robert Louis Stevenson such as Kidnapped and Black Beauty, which he would then narrate to his siblings at night before bedtime.

Shortly after I was baptized at the age of 10 in Lappeenranta, Finland, I received my first Church calling. It was 1960, and our small branch desperately needed someone to accompany the hymns for sacrament meetings. I was asked to fulfill this assignment.
While my mother had always encouraged my brother and me to pursue artistic talents, I did not know how to play the piano, and we did not own a piano. But I wanted to fulfill my calling, so we made a plan.
In family home evening, we talked about what this calling meant to all of us. However, because my mother was a widow with two young children, we knew it would be a great challenge for us to purchase a piano and pay for lessons. We decided that we were all willing to make the needed sacrifices.
The first sacrifice my family made was financial. We decided that from spring to autumn we would ride our bicycles rather than the bus. My brother, Martti, was courageous and became especially good at biking—even on snow and ice. I gave up most of my clothing purchases and learned to sew. We also learned to live providently. We started a garden in the countryside near my grandparents’ house and preserved food for the winter. Our “vacations” became our mother’s trips to the temple in Switzerland or picnics and camps close to home.
The second sacrifice my family made was with time. We divided the chores and rescheduled our other activities and homework so I had enough time to practice the piano. Because of our sacrifices and hard work, Mother often remarked that we had no free time to get into trouble like others our age. In reality, my calling became a family calling long before I ever played a note.
I began taking lessons with a music teacher at the local school. I practiced using a paper keyboard and on a piano at the church. When my piano teacher moved away, we purchased his piano, and I was accepted to study with a renowned piano teacher in the area.
I learned the hymns on my own and practiced a lot with the branch music director. Everyone encouraged me—even if a “sour” note slipped in. My teacher was horrified after she found out that I played in front of people before I had thoroughly learned and memorized the pieces. But playing with one hand was better than having no music at all.
I rode my bike to my lessons, and when winter came, I tried to walk or ski if possible. On Sundays I walked alone to Church meetings so I could arrive an hour early and have time to practice. I resolved to ride the bus only when temperatures reached below -15ºC (5ºF). Rain and snow didn’t really bother me; time went by quickly as I walked because I had so many beautiful hymns to keep me company. As I walked, I was crossing the plains with the pioneers (see “Come, Come, Ye Saints,” Hymns, no. 30), walking high on the mountain top in Zion (see “High on the Mountain Top,” Hymns, no. 5), and standing with youth who would never falter (see “True to the Faith,” Hymns, no. 254). I could never falter with that support—even though my family and I were the only Latter-day Saints in our community in eastern Finland, in the shadows of the Russian border.
Over the years I became better at playing and could make music rather than just play the right notes. I learned to be prayerful in selecting the music so the Spirit would be in the meeting. And most important, my testimony of the gospel came to me through music. I could easily recall the feelings, words, and messages of the hymns if I ever questioned something. I knew that the gospel principles and ordinances were true, having learned them line upon line and note after note.

When the missionaries showed me the filmstrip of the Prophet Joseph Smith’s First Vision, it was difficult for me to contain my tears. The story of his search for truth was in some ways similar to my own.
At that time, I was 20 years old and living in Italy, the land of my birth. For five years I had been looking for answers my parents’ religion had not been able to give me. I had sought these answers in other religions and philosophies, but something seemed lacking in all of them. During the year before I met the missionaries, that search had become the most important thing in my life. I distanced myself from some of my friends and even left the university where I had been studying. My relatives could not understand me.
At the end of 1984, I met the missionaries on the street and gave them my address. I knew very little about the Church, but for some reason I wanted to speak to them.
Some days later I was in my room. I opened my heart to God, asking Him to show me what He wanted me to do. As I prayed I felt a great peace surround me. At that exact moment, the doorbell rang. When the missionaries came in, I knew they had the answers I sought.

Earlier I mentioned Sister Andersen and her Beehive Girl’s Handbook. She is the wife of Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Presidency of the Seventy [now a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles], a mother, and a grandmother. I love the thought that even though she has moved so many times, she has always known where to find her Beehive Girl’s Handbook and achievement bandlo. Sister Andersen has stood by her husband and taught the gospel all over the world. She has also exemplified womanhood and goodness as a faithful member of the Church.

As an 11-year-old girl, Sister Andersen couldn’t wait to enter the Young Women program. When her birthday finally arrived, she was given the Beehive Girl’s Handbook. Sister Andersen explains:
“In the beginning of the book it said, ‘As a Beehive girl, and for the rest of your life, set your goals high’ (Beehive Girl’s Handbook, 12). I could tell this was going to be a great adventure for me. I took my book home and immediately read it from cover to cover to see what goals I should complete during the next two years.
“I discovered that there were 80 possible goals to choose from. In my excitement, I determined that if I worked hard, I could complete all of the goals in my book—well, all except one: to go to the temple … and be baptized for the dead (Beehive Girl’s Handbook, 140). I [could not] be baptized for the dead because there [was] no temple in Florida.”
Sister Andersen decided to tell her father about her situation. Her letter continues:
“My father hesitated only a moment. We had no family in the West and no other reason to travel to Utah. He thoughtfully said to me, ‘Kathy, if you [will] complete all of the other goals in your Beehive book, we will take you the 2,500 miles [4,000 km] to the temple in Salt Lake City so that you can do baptisms for the dead and complete your final goal.’
“I worked on the goals in my Beehive book for two years and completed 79 goals. My father worked during those two years to save enough money to make the journey to the temple. My father kept his promise to me.
“Air travel at that time was too expensive for our family, and so we traveled 5,000 miles [8,000 km] by car to Salt Lake City and back so that I could complete my last Beehive goal. What joy I felt as I entered the Salt Lake Temple and in proxy was baptized by my father. It was an experience I will never forget.
“I will forever be appreciative for my mother and father’s willingness to make the temple an important part of my life. … They wisely understood that as I worked on my Young Women goals, my faith would be strengthened. My parents’ faith and sacrifice in making the long journey to Salt Lake City significantly impacted me and the generations that have followed” (“I Can Complete All of the Goals—Except One,” unpublished manuscript).

George Pierce Billings was only seven years old, but no one had told him to go to bed. Never before had he been allowed to stay up so late. He was beginning to wish that he could go to bed, but the air was thick with suspense and fear. Sleep was impossible.
Father had taken his wagon down to the river time and time again. George had wanted to ride along, but there was no room. Father was helping people move out of Independence, Missouri, before morning. Angry men had threatened to burn anything and anybody still there when the sun rose.
George kept checking the night sky. Father had been gone a long time, and Mother was still busy packing. George was worried. His job was to watch his little sister, but he was watching for sunrise, too.
Four-year-old Eunice was getting very tired. Leaning against the wooden porch, George cradled her small curly-haired head in his lap and thought about their Missouri home. He had been only five when they had come, and they had planned to stay forever. He had watched and tried to help his father clear the land. Together, they had built this home and the barn. Father had planted crops on most of the 34 acres, not only for his family, but also for the many new Saints who would not have time to raise a crop that season. George liked Missouri. He liked playing in the trees. He liked catching fireflies. “Even the fireflies must be sleeping now,” he thought.
Then he remembered the big fire. Father had cut 24 tons of hay and hauled it six miles to the property rented by Bishop Partridge from Governor Boggs. He had stacked it there in a long, tall pile. Then, last month, someone had set it on fire and burned it to the ground. George felt sorry for his father.
The night was very dark. Where was Father? Why didn’t he come to get them?
George thought he heard an explosion. Light flashed, but he couldn’t tell where it had come from. In fear, he jumped to his feet, startling Eunice. Light exploded all around him. No, it was above him, high above him—higher than any cannon or musket could fire. George could not believe his eyes! They were fixed on lights in the heavens bursting and streaming across the sky.
George rushed into the house, Eunice right behind him. “Mother! Mother! The sky is on fire!” Mother pulled them close. “Have the mobs come for us already?” she cried.
“No, Mother, no!” George pulled her to the doorway. “It’s not the mobs, Mother. It’s a miracle from Heavenly Father!”
And so it was. The heavens danced with a glorious meteor shower for the rest of the night. Stars raced back and forth across the November sky, lighting the way for the fleeing Saints. In the miraculous light, George saw his father’s wagon returning. Cheered and strengthened by the heavenly signs, George’s family and many others safely settled themselves along the Missouri River banks before sunrise. The meteor showers continued until dawn.

My own blessing is short, and it is limited to perhaps three-quarters of a page on one side, yet it has been completely adequate and perfect for me. I received my patriarchal blessing as I entered my early teenage years. The patriarch promised that my blessing would “be a comfort and a guide” to me throughout my life. As a boy I read it over and over again. I pondered each word. I prayed earnestly to understand fully the spiritual meaning. Having that blessing early in my life guided me through all of the significant events and challenges of my life. I did not fully understand the meaning of my blessing until I gained more maturity and experience. This blessing outlined some of the responsibilities I would have in the kingdom of God on earth.
President Heber J. Grant told of the patriarchal blessing he received: “That patriarch put his hands upon my head and bestowed upon me a little blessing that would perhaps be about one-third of a typewritten page. That blessing foretold my life to the present moment.”
Elder John A. Widtsoe said: “It should always be kept in mind that the realization of the promises made may come in this or the future life. Men have stumbled at times because promised blessings have not occurred in this life. They have failed to remember that, in the gospel, life with all its activities continues forever and that the labors of earth may be continued in heaven. Besides, the Giver of the blessings, the Lord, reserves the right to have them become active in our lives, as suits His divine purpose. We and our blessings are in the hands of the Lord. But, there is the general testimony that when the gospel law has been obeyed, the promised blessings have been realized.”
This was well illustrated in my father’s patriarchal blessing. He was told in his blessing that he would be blessed with “many beautiful daughters.” He and my mother became the parents of five sons. No daughters were born to them, but they treated the wives of their sons as daughters. Some years ago when we had a family gathering, I saw my father’s daughters-in-law, granddaughters, and great-granddaughters moving about, tending to the food and ministering to the young children and the elderly, and the realization came to me that Father’s blessing literally had been fulfilled. He has indeed many beautiful daughters. The patriarch who gave my father his blessing had spiritual vision to see beyond this life. The dividing line between time and eternity disappeared.

Illustrations by Garth Bruner
The cast was blue. Amy had seen a cast on Lee’s arm at school, but she had never seen a cast on an elderly man’s arm. Just before stake conference started, Amy leaned forward and asked the man in the next row what happened to his arm.
The man smiled and turned around. “I have a sore muscle,” he said.
“Ouch,” said Amy. “My name’s Amy. What’s yours?”
“I’m Charlie Young,” he said and used his other hand to shake her hand. “And this is my wife, Nancy.”
Amy sat back in her seat. She knew Mom had brought paper and crayons in her bag, so Amy got them out and colored three pictures for Brother Young to make him feel better.
“Your pictures are beautiful,” Nancy said when Amy gave them to Brother Young.
“I think I feel a little better already!” Brother Young said.
In her prayers that night, Amy prayed that Brother Young’s arm would get better.
Six months later it was time for stake conference again. In the chapel Amy looked all around for Brother and Sister Young.
“There they are!” Mom said, pointing across the room. “Let’s go sit by them.”
“How’s your arm?” Amy asked Brother Young once they sat down.
“All better.” Brother Young held up his arm for her to see. No cast. “I put your pictures on my refrigerator. They helped me feel better. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Amy said.
Mom nodded and leaned forward. “Brother and Sister Young, we’d like it if you could come to Amy’s birthday party in a few weeks.”
“How old are you?” Brother Young asked.
“I’m turning eight. How old are you?” Amy asked.
“I’m 83. Say, if you’re turning eight, does that mean you’re getting baptized soon?”
“Yes!” Amy said. “Can you come to my baptism too? I’d like you to say the closing prayer.”
“I would be honored,” Brother Young said. “And Nancy and I would be happy to come to your party. We’ll have to think of a very special present for such a special friend.”
A few weeks later, Amy’s birthday finally arrived. Charlie and Nancy Young came, and so did lots of Amy’s school friends. When it was time to open presents, Mom had Amy cover her eyes while Dad brought something into the room.
“OK, you can look now,” Dad said.
Amy opened her eyes and saw that her first present was a brown guinea pig. “Wow, my first pet!” Amy said.
Amy’s second present was from Brother and Sister Young. It was a beautiful blanket that was almost as soft as the guinea pig.
“Yellow, purple, and orange. Those are my favorite colors! How did you know?” Amy asked.
“Your mom told me. I crocheted it myself as a surprise for you,” Brother Young said.
“Thank you!” Amy said, hugging Charlie and Nancy. “I have a surprise for you too, Brother Young. I’m going to name my guinea pig Charlie, after you.”
Brother and Sister Young laughed. “I’m sure you’ve found the very best name,” Sister Young said.
“And the very best friends,” Amy agreed.

He also served several missionary assignments, accompanying American missionaries to other areas for proselyting. On one of these journeys, Opapo, his long-time friend Elisala, and one of two American missionaries went to the island of Manu‘a. Upon arriving they found that the local king, Tuimanu‘a, had forbidden anyone from receiving or assisting the Latter-day Saints in any way—the punishment for disobedience was immediate stoning. However, the missionaries were determined to succeed and stayed for two months, eating fallen coconuts from the beaches and sleeping each night in holes. They covered their heads with leaves to protect themselves from the mosquitoes, each one taking a turn nightly to help the others arrange their leaves and then unassisted himself, suffering from bites the rest of the night.
After several weeks of this grueling ordeal, Opapo was awakened by the smell of some freshly baked food in a nearby basket. The missionaries did not know whether through a human or a divine source; but after weeks of coconuts, they were profoundly grateful. Near the end of their stay the incident was repeated when an elderly woman brought them some food, saying that if she had to die for her kindness, she would, but she did not fear Tuimanu‘a.
A few weeks later, after exhausting every possible avenue, the missionaries prepared to depart. Ceremonially, Opapo and Elisala spoke directly to Tuimanu‘a and his people, warning them that they would feel the wrath and power of God if they did not repent. As his last act before boarding the longboat, Opapo paused at the edge of the village and dusted off his feet as a witness against the island. A couple of weeks later a devastating hurricane struck the island, killing many, destroying all of the crops above ground, and leveling every house except one—the fale (hut) in which lived the elderly lady who had helped the missionaries.
It is true that miracles strengthen the faith of believers but do not necessarily give faith to the unbelieving. It was not until 1974 that a branch was actually organized in Manu’a. On the other hand, the Saints to whom Opapo returned heard of the incident and increased in faithfulness.

Mike Bruneau’s parents and Church leaders told him that work is something to take seriously, to be honest at, even when it is not very glamorous. He took that advice to heart.
Mike, 15, is working as a temporary custodian for a Pepperell elementary school during the summer. If you have ever pushed a vacuum around your own living room you can probably testify that cleaning is not the most exciting job. Mike says the temptation to slack off at work is strong at times, but he sets goals and takes pride in his work.
“It could be boring because we do a lot of the same things over and over,” Mike said. “So I set a goal to make sure we get everything done before the end of the day.”
Mike also adds that he wants to be a good example because he’s LDS. He has had the opportunity to tell other employees about the Church and feels better about talking religion when others can see what kind of person he is trying to be.

A week after Bishop Stone was sustained as the new bishop, his executive secretary arranged for an interview with Kevin Blake. Kevin was about to turn 14 and needed to be interviewed about his worthiness to be ordained a teacher.
Kevin waited after church to see the bishop. He didn’t expect it would take long, so Kevin asked his family to wait for him.
“Hello, Kevin,” said the bishop. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to be interviewed to be ordained a teacher,” Kevin said.
“Oh, yes. Of course. Let me ask you a question. Do you know where we find the duties of the office of a teacher?” Bishop Stone asked.
“I don’t know. In the teachers’ manual, I guess.”
The bishop smiled and opened his scriptures and handed them to Kevin. “Read Doctrine and Covenants 20:53–54 [D&C 20:53–54], please.”
Kevin began to read. “The teacher’s duty is to watch over the church always and be with them and strengthen them; And see that there is no iniquity in the church, neither hardness with each other, neither lying, backbiting, nor evil speaking.”
“You can stop there,” Bishop Stone said. “That seems like a tough job to me. How are you going to do it?”
Kevin sighed. “Well, I know that teachers go home teaching.”
“That’s true; they do. Good answer. That does help us to watch over the Church, and be with them and strengthen them. But let me ask you another question. As a teacher, how are you going to see ‘that there is no iniquity in the church, neither hardness with each other, neither lying, backbiting, nor evil speaking’?”
Kevin was stumped. “I don’t know.”
The bishop smiled. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know either. But we both need to find out. I’d appreciate it if you’d think about it this week and then come back next Sunday and give me some of your ideas.”
On the way home, Kevin’s mother asked him how the interview had gone.
“I can’t believe it. I have to go back next week.”
His 12-year-old sister, Emily, picked up on that. “I’m not surprised,” she said.
Kevin rolled his eyes.
“Would you like to talk to your mother and me in private?” asked his dad.
“I didn’t do anything wrong. The bishop just asked me to come up with a plan about how I was going to see that there’s no backbiting or evil speaking in our ward.”
Just before they ate, Kevin’s friend Todd called to tell him about the teachers quorum activity for the week.
“I’m not a teacher yet,” said Kevin.
“No, but you will be, right?”
“I have to go back and see the bishop next week.”
There was a long pause and then Todd said, “Oh.” Todd made a quick excuse that he had to eat and hung up.
Kevin wasn’t very hungry, but he ate a little and excused himself and went to his room. A few minutes later his dad knocked on his door and asked if he could come in. He pulled a chair up to Kevin’s bed and said, “Kevin, I don’t think the bishop is down on you. I think he is just asking for your help.”
“I don’t see how I can help him,” Kevin said.
“Well, the Lord did give teachers in the Aaronic Priesthood the responsibility to see that there’s no backbiting or evil speaking. Maybe the bishop is just honoring the responsibility you have as a teacher. We have a good ward, but we’re not perfect. There is some backbiting. Not much, but some. Why not honor the bishop’s request and see what ideas you can come up with?”
Kevin reluctantly agreed to do what he could.
At first he couldn’t think of anything, but then things started to change. On Monday after family home evening, he swallowed his pride and went to Emily. “Do you ever see any backbiting or evil speaking in our ward?”
“Sometimes.”
“What causes it?”
“Not every girl comes from a family with enough money for expensive clothes. That can cause people to talk.”
“I don’t see how I can stop that,” said Kevin.
“I try to stop it,” Emily said. “Whenever anyone starts saying bad things about a girl, I try to say good things. You could do that too.”
“That’s not going to stop it.”
“It will if more people look for the positive instead of the negative.”
Kevin felt a twinge of conscience. One of the boys in the deacons quorum was Justin Evanston. Everyone else in the quorum liked sports and camping, except Justin. The boys sometimes made fun of Justin, especially when he tried to play basketball. He was uncoordinated and awkward. Kevin himself had made fun of Justin. He felt bad about it now.
At school on Monday, Kevin saw Jon Dunford in the halls. Jon lived in their ward but didn’t come anymore. He’d gotten into drugs in the seventh grade and a few months later was arrested. He spent six months in a juvenile correction facility and then came back to live at home. Kevin had seen him the first day after he got back. “I’m going to start back to church,” Jon had said.
“Right,” Kevin had replied sarcastically.
Jon came to church once but never returned. Eventually he went back to his old friends. Kevin figured it was only a matter of time before Jon would be put away again.
Kevin decided to talk to Jon.
“Jon, that time you came to church after you first got back, what was it like for you?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I just want to know.”
“Okay. I’ll tell you,” said Jon, an edge in his voice. “A lot of cold stares, a lot of whispering behind my back, and nobody my age talking to me. A lot of the adults said they were glad I was back, but nobody my age did. Not even you.”
Kevin swallowed hard. “Sorry.”
“When I first came back, I really wanted to change my life,” he sighed. “But it’s too late for that now.”
“Give us another chance,” said Kevin. “Come to church with me next time. I’ll do better.”
Jon looked at Kevin for a long time. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“Maybe sometime,” Jon said, starting to walk away.
“What about tomorrow night? We’re going to a TV studio to see how they do the news.”
Jon pursed his lips. “That doesn’t sound too bad. Maybe I’ll go.”
The next day before school Kevin found Jon in the parking lot behind the school with the guys he partied with. “Is tonight still okay?”
Jon smiled. “I’ve never seen you out here before.”
“What about tonight? We could pick you up a little before seven.”
“That’d be okay.”
When they stopped by later that night, Jon wasn’t home, but Kevin wasn’t discouraged. He’d just have to keep asking until Jon gave in and went with him.
The next Sunday after church, Kevin waited to see the bishop. He no longer felt bad that the bishop had asked him to come back; in fact he was glad. This time, when the bishop asked him what a teacher could do to see that there was no backbiting or evil speaking, Kevin had some things to say.
He could hardly wait to see the bishop.

The first time Kirby Orme of the St. Charles Second Ward really talked to Brandy Easton, he told her the story of Helaman and the 2,000 warriors.
Interesting, she thought, but strange timing. For one thing, she didn’t know Kirby well. For another, she and some friends had just stopped by.
“Somebody asked him about the Book of Mormon,” Brandy says. “And he told us his favorite story. You can’t help but be drawn into it. I was really impressed with that.”
Brandy wanted to hear more. And she liked Kirby’s family. There was something different about them.
“They were so close and they did so many things together. I wanted that for me,” she says softly.
A short time later, Brandy heard some anti-Mormon statements. She went to the Ormes to ask if the things she had heard were true. They gave her a Book of Mormon and bore their testimonies. Kirby’s younger brother Jared also answered a lot of questions over the phone.
“Something was guiding me on. I knew I was doing something right for the first time in a long, long time,” Brandy explains. The Ormes could sense the Holy Ghost at work.
“I knew she was feeling the Spirit,” Jared says. “I knew she would be fine.”
Brandy started taking the discussions. “My parents raised me with strong values, so much of what I was learning was already familiar.” But some things “didn’t make sense at first. I would go home crying, go in my room and pray, trying to understand.”
Finally one night she re-read Moroni 10:4–5 [Moro. 10:4–5]. “I felt calm, though the world seemed in a whirl. The promise came true—the Lord told me the Book of Mormon is true.”
Brandy told her parents she wanted to be baptized. “They said if I felt it was right, I could be. I told them I knew it was right. Before, when I made a mistake, I’d think, oh well, that’s life. Now I try to be an example to others.”
And her example has helped bring one of her best friends, Brandee Carter, into the Church. But that’s another story.

Growing up, I had lots of fun with my older brother and my younger brother. We had water fights with water hoses and garbage can lids. We took apart roller skates and made them into scooters. And I always looked for ways to earn money. One summer, I picked vegetables from our garden and sold them around the neighborhood—until my mother found out! I was selling what she was counting on as food for our own family. When I got older, I mowed lawns and did other jobs around the neighborhood.