Gospel Story Finder

President Faust shows how selfless service made an empty cart full and a full cart empty.
Some years ago a priests quorum decided to gather food for the needy as a service project. Jim, one of the priests, was excited to participate and was determined to collect more food than anyone else. The time arrived when the priests met at the chapel. They all went out at the same time and returned at a specified time later in the evening. To everyone’s surprise, Jim’s cart was empty. He seemed rather quiet, and some of the young men made fun of him. Seeing this and knowing that Jim had an interest in cars, the adviser said, “Come outside, Jim. I want you to look at my car. It’s giving me some trouble.”
When they got outside, the adviser asked Jim if he was upset. Jim said, “No, not really. But when I went out to collect the food, I really got a lot. My cart was full. As I was returning to the chapel, I stopped at the home of a nonmember woman who is divorced and lives within our ward boundaries. I knocked on the door and explained what we were doing, and she invited me in. She began to look for something to give me. She opened the refrigerator, and I could see there was hardly anything in it. The cupboards were bare. Finally, she found a small can of peaches.
“I could hardly believe it. There were all these little kids running around that needed to be fed, and she handed me this can of peaches. I took it and put it in my cart and went on up the street. I got about halfway up the block when I just felt warm all over and knew I needed to go back to that house. I gave her all the food.”
The adviser said, “Jim, don’t you ever forget the way you feel tonight, because that’s what it is all about.” Jim had tasted the nutrient of selfless service.

Josh patted his stomach, feeling more than a little full.
“That was so good,” he said, smiling at Mom and Dad.
“Are you done already?” Mom asked. “You must have been really hungry.”
“I was,” Josh said. He eyed the indoor playground in the restaurant where they were eating. “Can I go play now?”
Dad nodded. “Go ahead.”
Josh jumped up from the table, cleared away his trash, and headed to the playground. He knew it wouldn’t be long before his little brother and sister came to join him.
He had just finished climbing to the top of what he imagined to be a giant mountain where he was about to battle a dragon when he heard a voice chirp from far below.
“Joshy?”
That was his sister Anna’s nickname for him. She was almost four. He loved her a lot.
“Just a minute, Anna,” Josh called out as he raced for the twisty slide. In a flash he was down at the bottom, ready to help his sister climb. About halfway up, his younger brother, Brian, joined them. The three of them started off on a grand adventure with dragons and knights and princesses. Anna was the princess, of course. Josh wanted to be the knight, and Brian was happy to be a growly dragon.
It wasn’t long before their imaginary world was interrupted by a group of children coming in to play. Josh didn’t mind. He liked making new friends. After a few minutes, though, he began to wonder if playing with them was a good idea. The kids were nice, but they kept swearing.
Josh had been baptized a year ago, and he had been trying hard to choose the right. Mom and Dad had been talking a lot about choosing which words to use. They had taught him that Heavenly Father didn’t like swearing, mean words, or name-calling.
Josh really wanted to stay and play, but he didn’t like listening to bad words. Maybe the other kids would stop if he asked. Josh turned to the group. “Could you please not swear?” he asked quietly.
“Whatever,” one of the boys said. None of the kids stopped swearing. Josh said a quick prayer asking what to do. Into his mind popped an image of himself dressed in knight’s armor, fighting a dragon. Behind him were his brother and sister. All of a sudden, Josh knew it was more important to protect his little brother and sister from hearing the swearing than to keep playing.
“Come on, guys,” Josh said. “Let’s go see Mom and Dad.”
The three of them went down the slide and ran to their family.
“What are you doing back so soon?” Dad asked, ruffling Josh’s hair.
Josh shrugged. “Some kids in there were swearing,” he said. “I didn’t want Anna and Brian to hear it.”
Dad patted him on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you for watching out for your little brother and sister.”
Josh smiled. It was almost like he really was a knight watching over those he loved while fighting a dragon. Josh also knew he’d done more than protect his brother and sister—he had also protected himself.

The first meeting I attended was a fast and testimony meeting. I came late, and as I walked into the chapel, a young woman was crying and talking about how the gospel helped her with her problems. After listening to her and to some of the other members, I realized that all of them had problems. They weren’t perfect, and they knew it. But I could also see they had something strong inside them. Their faith in God was helping them. With that kind of faith, I thought, maybe I could overcome my problems, too.

“Today is the worst day of my life!” Becky cried as she ran straight to her room. A few minutes later, Mom came in. “What happened at school today, Becky? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Mom, it’s just horrible,” Becky said. “You know how hard I’ve been working on my community service project for school?”
“Yes. The children at the shelter will really appreciate the extra help with their homework and the used books you’ve been collecting,” Mom said.
Becky nodded. “Well, a little while ago I told Elisabeth about my project. She was having a hard time thinking of one, so I thought it would help her get her own idea. But today, when she presented her project, it was my project idea! I’m supposed to present mine tomorrow, and everyone will think I copied her!”
“I’m sorry, Becky. I bet you really feel bad.” Mom hugged Becky tightly.
“I feel worse than bad, Mom. I feel so mad. I thought she was my friend! How could she do this?”
“That is a hard question. What do you think?”
Becky frowned. “Sometimes it seems like it’s more important to get a good grade or have people think you are cool than to be honest. I don’t think Elisabeth even feels bad at all. Maybe I should copy someone else’s project, too. Or maybe I should embarrass Elisabeth in front of the whole school!”
“You wouldn’t really want to do that, would you, Becky?” Mom asked.
Becky buried her head under her pillow and moaned. “No.”
“Why?” Mom asked.
“In Primary we learned about the six Bs that President Hinckley taught. One of them was to be true. Sister MacArthur said that meant that we should have integrity—that we should do what’s right, no matter what,” Becky said.
“That’s right,” Mom said. “Integrity means you are incorruptible—that no one can make you do the wrong thing.”
“Nobody’s incorruptible, Mom!” Becky exclaimed.
“I don’t know about that, Becky. The scriptures teach us about some people who were. One of them was Job. Even though he lost his riches, his health, and even his family, he said, ’Till I die I will not remove mine integrity from me.’* His example showed that no matter what happens, you still have control over the way you respond.”
“Are there any other examples?” Becky asked.
“Well, yes. Helaman’s stripling warriors are known for their courage and strength, but did you know that the scriptures also say they were true at all times?**“
Becky sighed. “I want to be like that. But I still don’t know what to do about my project!”
“The answer may not be an easy one,” Mom said, “but if you ask, Heavenly Father will help you.”
That night and the next morning, Becky stayed a little longer on her knees in prayer. Even though she wasn’t sure what she was going to do, she had a calm, peaceful feeling inside.
When she arrived at school, she saw Elisabeth standing alone by the drinking fountain. Becky took a deep breath and walked toward her.
“Hi,” Elisabeth said uneasily.
“Hi. Can I talk to you about the service project?”
Elisabeth’s face turned red and her jaw tightened. At first she looked like she might run away, but after a minute she looked up at Becky. “Um, Becky, I’m sorry for copying your idea. My grandma is a school librarian, and she sent me a whole box of books that her school didn’t need anymore. I thought about how great the books would be for the kids at the shelter. I guess I just got carried away, and before I knew it, I turned it into my project.”
Becky had to admit that Elisabeth had brought in more books than she could ever have collected on her own.
“But now I don’t have a project,” Becky said. Just then, the bell rang.
“Maybe you still do,” Elisabeth said as she grabbed Becky’s arm and pulled her towards class.
Elisabeth started to cry a little when she told Mrs. Taramoto that she had copied Becky’s project. Becky thought it took a lot of courage to admit what she had done. Elisabeth said she had an idea how to help Becky with her presentation, so Mrs. Taramoto let them have a little extra time before lunch to make a plan.
Usually standing before a lot of people made Becky nervous, but this time she wasn’t very anxious at all. After she explained that she and Elisabeth were going to work together on their service project to create an entire library for the shelter and a homework tutoring center, several children came up to her and asked if they could sign up to be homework helpers or donate some books to the shelter library, too.
The following Sunday in Primary, Sister MacArthur asked the class to think of songs that could represent each one of President Hinckley’s six Bs. Becky and Elisabeth raised their hands at the same time. “Army of Helaman,” they both said. As she sang, Becky thought of the stripling warriors and how they worked together. She also thought of how they were true at all times. She smiled and sang a little louder. It felt good to know she could also be true, no matter what.

Oliver Granger was accustomed to having the authority to get things done. Before joining the Church in the 1830s, he had been a county sheriff, a colonel in the militia, and a licensed exhorter in his church. After joining, he served two missions and was a member of the Kirtland high council. But then Joseph Smith gave Oliver the almost impossible task of settling the business affairs of Church leaders who had been driven out of Kirtland.4
Feeling like a failure, Oliver went to Joseph and heard the Lord say, “I remember my servant Oliver Granger; … and when he falls he shall rise again, for his sacrifice shall be more sacred unto me than his increase” (D&C 117:12–13). From Oliver, we learn that the result God is looking for is not always for us to come up with the right solution to our challenges, but for us to grow from facing them.

Digger, you silly dog! You’re as bad as a bull in a china closet! Outside you go!
The next day …
Mama …
Yes, sweetheart? Why, you’re crying! What’s wrong?
You know the vase that Digger broke?
I sure do. I love that animal, but he doesn’t know his own strength.
Digger didn’t break it, Mama. I did. I was pretending to carry water from the well like the Bible women. I’m sorry. I knew that I wasn’t supposed to play with it.
I’m proud of you for telling the truth. That’s another thing that Bible women did, and it’s even more important than carrying water.
Later …
And that’s why you should always tell the truth.

By the time I was ready to go to college, I had trained several branch members to lead the music and play the piano. In college I continued to play the piano and took organ lessons. I thought my chance of going to Latin America was gone forever when I gave up competitive swimming, but after I completed my master’s degree at Brigham Young University, I served a mission to Colombia. While on my mission, I taught piano lessons. I wanted to leave those Saints with the gift of music. Children and youth of Colombia walked miles in the hot sun to have the opportunity to learn to play the piano. They too started with one hand until they progressed to play with both hands. And they made more sacrifices than I did in their efforts to learn to play the piano.

A nearby explosion jolted me awake, and alarms started to blare. For a moment, I couldn’t figure out what was happening. The glowing white numbers of my alarm clock told me it was 06:00. I looked around the darkened room, wondering what was going on. Nothing seemed out of place.
But then a second and third blast began a barrage of incoming rocket-propelled grenades and bursts of gunfire outside. I was not sure from where the barrage was coming, but I knew we were under attack.
Feeling my adrenaline kick in, I rolled off my bed and began grabbing my gear. As I pulled on my tactical vest and helmet, I could hear the continued wail of alarms and the engines of the Quick Response Force vehicles rev as they rushed through the camp to meet the attack.
With my M9 pistol strapped to my side, I grabbed my rifle and headed into the hallway to await orders.
I was about nine months into my longest deployment to Afghanistan with the United States Air Force. My responsibilities working with the senior Afghan Air Force finance officer and officials from the Afghan Ministry of Finance often put me in harm’s way, and I had felt the Lord’s protecting hand. But this attack was a first for me. When our colonel asked for volunteers to follow him outside, I joined six others taking position around the building in case attackers overran the gate.
The colonel ordered me to take my post on the side of our base that faced the attack. Gunfire continued as people darted left and right, seeking shelter. Marines posted on the top of a nearby building ducked for cover as rocket after rocket flew into the camp to the north of my position. They rocked the ground and buildings when they exploded. Some hit a hangar. Many left craters.
I lay on the ground with my M4 assault rifle pointed toward my sector of fire. Deafening gunfire surrounded me, though it was directed toward the camp to the north of me. I had trained for such a scenario but had never faced a real threat. I was terrified, and I wasn’t even in the thick of the fight!
My stomach knotted. Sweat coated my skin. I braced myself, expecting at any moment that a rocket would explode where I lay. Thoughts of my family popped into my mind.
“Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “please protect us so we can all get home to our families.”
As I finished my prayer, a memory played in my mind that momentarily replaced the sights and sounds of battle. The memory was of seven-year-old Gabriel, one of the boys in the Primary class I taught back in the United States. Just a few weeks earlier, his father had emailed me a video of Gabriel praying at his bedside—praying for me and for my safety in Afghanistan.
I remembered teaching my Primary class about prayer. At the time, I had wondered if any of them understood the miraculous power of prayer. But when I saw that video, I was astounded by the faith of that little boy—something I witnessed with many of the children I taught.
Now the memory of that simple prayer inspired my faith in that terrifying moment. I felt God tell me that little Gabriel was praying for me. I knew He had heard Gabriel’s prayer, my prayer, and the prayers of countless others on my behalf. I felt peace replace worry. I felt in my heart that my fellow servicemen and I would be all right.
When the firefight finally ended six hours later, we assessed our casualties. To our surprise, nobody in our camp had been injured by the 47 rocket-propelled grenades and thousands of rounds fired into our camp.
I knew I wasn’t the first to pray on the battlefield. I also knew that not every battlefield prayer had been answered in the same way. But I was grateful for the assurance that God hears and answers our prayers, even those of a little child.

Kevin sat on the kitchen floor trying to tie his shoelaces.
“Over and under and pull both ends,” he said to himself. Then, he carefully made a “bunny-ear” loop with one lace and wrapped the other lace around it. He tried to find the place to poke the other bunny ear through but it had disappeared.
Kevin felt as though he had too many fingers. “I can’t do it,” he said to Mother who was washing the breakfast dishes. “I’ll never be able to tie my shoelaces.” He yanked off his shoes and threw them angrily on the floor.
“I’m sure you can tie them,” Mother said smiling. “Just try and try again.”
“No, it’s too hard. I’m tired of trying.”
Kevin went to his closet and pulled on his cowboy boots. He put on his T-shirt with a picture of a smiley face on it to make him feel better. Then he went outside and sat on the front porch steps. He was still too upset to play.
Then Kevin thought of something. If he could learn to ride his tricycle, maybe he could learn to tie his shoelaces too.
He thought of the little gray spider trying over and over again to start its web. It didn’t give up, and now it was busy spinning itself a home.
He thought of the tiny ant struggling to carry a heavy bread crumb home to its family. And the ant finally made it! The ants were probably having a dinner of bread crumbs right now.
Kevin went back into the kitchen, sat down, and put on his shoes.
For a long time he fumbled with the laces on his left shoe. But he didn’t give up. At last, two loops stood out like perfect bunny ears on each side of the shoe.
“I did it! I did it!” Kevin shouted to Mother. She turned off the mixer that she was using to whip up a pudding for lunch.
“You did! You tied your shoe!” Mother said excitedly. “I knew that all you had to do was keep trying.”
“I just tied and tied again,” Kevin said with a big smile. And he and Mother both laughed as Kevin began tying his other shoe.

Then Jolene asked Todd to help her in the nursery at church. After high school graduation, Jolene had been called to be a nursery leader. One Sunday, when the other nursery leader was going to be out of town, Jolene asked Todd to help her. This was going to be good.

There were 14 children in the nursery. When I came by the nursery after Todd’s first Sunday, I almost felt sorry for him. He had several wet streaks down his suit coat, his tie was flipped over his shoulder, and he had what looked like the remains of an animal cracker stuck in his hair. I could see a perfect half-moon of tiny teeth reddening on his hand.

“Man, those kids are monsters,” he said. “They wouldn’t sit still for the lesson, they just stared at me when I asked the questions, and they spent most of the time crying.”

The next week the bishop called Todd to be a nursery leader. I thought Todd would turn him down flat, but he surprised me. He accepted the calling. Then I realized it meant more time with Jolene Sparks.

Still, even Jolene was not enough to induce him to take on the nursery one Sunday morning. Todd limped around the house trying to call Jolene to tell her he couldn’t make it; he’d beaten up his leg on a mountain biking trip on Saturday. He’d just hung up the phone after trying to call when Jolene called him.

He hung up the phone, panic all over his face.

“You gotta help me, Marce,” he said. “Jolene had to go out of town to her cousin’s farewell. I’m gonna have to go to the nursery, but I need your help.”

I’d heard that song before—all nine verses—usually when Todd’s allergies flared up or he had a headache. Work or responsibility often brought out terrible illness in Todd. But he did have a legitimate bruise on his shin, so I begrudgingly pitched in.

“I’m not doing all of it, Todd, just helping out. Don’t get me in there, ditch me and run,” I told him. “Even if you could run.” I scrambled to find pictures and the lesson manual. Then I found a box of Scottie’s goldfish crackers and made up some salt clay in five different colors.

When we got to church, Todd said, “You didn’t have to go to all that trouble. They’re just kids.”

I glared at him as he hobbled down the hall. What did he do in there every week? Just sit and stare at the children? I got things set up for the lesson, and the children started coming in.

Todd sat in a chair wincing and rubbing his leg while I set out the snack of fish crackers and tiny cups of water.

“Hey, Marce. Aren’t these lessons a waste of time?” Todd said. “I mean, those kids don’t have a clue, do they?” He pulled up his pant leg to inspect his bruise again.

“Man, this really hurts.”

Tara gathered her crackers in her paper towel, her favorite blanket in her other hand, and approached Todd. She handed him her crackers, carefully putting them one by one, into his palm, then stood with her thumb in her mouth, holding the tired-looking piece of cloth, staring at Todd. Scottie and two other boys, curious, came over too.

“You got a owie?” Tara asked. She poked his leg gently. Tara then laid “blankie” on Todd’s leg and wrapped it clumsily around it. Then she kissed his knee and said, “All better.”

The other children found a puzzle to play with, but Tara sat near Todd, playing with a toy cash register, occasionally patting Todd’s leg. “Don’t cwy,” she said, as though Todd were continually on the verge of bursting into tears.

I looked at Todd.

“You can’t tell me they don’t understand the lessons,” I said. “Those children probably understand service and empathy for others better than a lot of adults.”

Todd didn’t say anything but nodded, a stunned look on his face.

When nursery was over, Tara’s mother and brother came to get her.

“Where’s your blankie?” she asked.

Tara pointed to Todd.

“It’s on his owie.” Tara went out the door with her big brother.

Tara’s mother looked startled.

“She must really like you,” she told Todd. “She drags that blanket with her wherever she goes. I can’t even get it in the washer because she won’t let go of it.”

I have a testimony of those words and what comfort they give. Four years ago, when I found myself quite suddenly a widow with the youngest of my five children leaving for a mission, I felt alone. I did a lot of walking at that time, and one day I told a neighbor I found myself thinking about youth. She said, “Really? I wonder why?” I concluded that perhaps I was trying to remember who I was before I was married. I said, “If I ever have a chance to work with young people again, I will be so much more patient, so much more gentle, and so much more loving.” And I have since added, “I will do all in my power to encourage young people to prepare for the future.”

This next example shows you do not have to be wealthy or old to be an instrument for good. Eighteen-year-old Marie “Djadjou” Jacques is from the Cavaillon Branch in Haiti. When the devastating earthquake struck near her town in August, her family’s house was one of tens of thousands of buildings that collapsed. It’s almost impossible to imagine the despair of losing your home. But rather than giving in to that despair, Djadjou—incredibly—turned outward.

Associated Press

She saw an elderly neighbor struggling and began taking care of her. She helped others clear away debris. Despite her exhaustion, she joined other Church members to distribute food and hygiene kits to others. Djadjou’s story is just one of many powerful examples of service carried out by youth and young adults as they strive to follow the example of Jesus Christ.

In December 1980, President Spencer W. Kimball sent the director of the Church’s real estate department to Manila to find an appropriate site for a temple. After considering several sites, the director submitted a request to buy 3.5 acres (1.4 ha) in Quezon City. The site overlooks the Marikina Valley, and its location is relatively accessible to many Church members. The request was approved, and the property was purchased in January 1981. The street name was changed to Temple Drive at the request of the Church.

For the groundbreaking ceremony on August 25, 1982, despite the threat of a typhoon, about 2,000 Church members gathered from all parts of the islands by boat, train, and bus. Construction of the temple soon commenced, and it was ready to be dedicated in August 1984.

Nearly 27,000 members and nonmembers toured the temple before its dedication. They came despite two typhoons—just 48 hours apart—that had ripped through the Philippines a few days before. Saints from distant provinces arrived weary but buoyant. In many cases they had been forced to take circuitous routes to Manila because roads had been flooded and bridges damaged by overflowing rivers.

The beauty of the temple impressed the visitors, including many prominent Filipinos. Writer Celso Carunungan commented on “a feeling of holiness, that when you get inside you are going to confront your Creator.” Colonel Bienvenido Castillo, chief chaplain of the Philippine Constabulary, said the temple is “a place where you can contemplate heavenly things because you are in such an environment.” Two nuns felt the temple “is truly a house of the Lord.” Eva Estrada-Kalaw, a member of the Philippine parliament, told guides, “I wish you would build more temples here.”6

President Hinckley, Second Counselor in the First Presidency at the time, led the services to lay the cornerstone on Tuesday, September 25, 1984. Nine dedicatory sessions followed, held in the celestial room. Some 6,500 Saints from 16 stakes and 22 districts in the Pacific Area attended the various sessions.

As soon as the last dedicatory session was completed, Paulo V. Malit Jr. and Edna A. Yasona became the first couple to be married in the Manila Philippines Temple, on September 27, 1984. The first president of that temple, W. Garth Andrus, solemnized the marriage ceremony.

Scores of Church members queued up to receive their endowments, beginning with the ordinance workers. Temple work continued through the night into the next day.

Members felt an increased desire to enter the temple. Those who lived far from Manila had to sacrifice much to travel the great distance by boat or bus. But still they came and brought with them stories of faith and determination.

For Bernardo and Leonides Obedoza of General Santos, going to the temple in faraway Manila seemed impossible. But like the merchant man who went and sold all he had to buy one pearl of great price (see Matthew 13:45–46), this couple decided to sell their house to pay for the trip so that they and their children could be sealed as an eternal family. After they sold their home and most of their possessions, they managed to scrape together the exact amount to pay the boat fare to Manila for their family of nine. Leonides was worried because they would have no home to return to. But Bernardo assured her that the Lord would provide. They were sealed as a family for time and all eternity in the temple in 1985. It was worth every sacrifice they had made, for in the temple they found joy incomparable—their priceless pearl. And true to Bernardo’s words, the Lord did provide. On their return from Manila, kind acquaintances gave them places to stay. Their children completed their schooling, and the family eventually acquired their own home in a new location.

Contrast this woman with the Latter-day Saint girl who climbed the heights of self-control as she forgave the man who disfigured her lovely face. Let the United Press newsman, Neal Corbett, tell the story as it appeared in the pages of the San Francisco newspapers.

“‘I would think he must be suffering, anybody who’s like that, we ought to feel sorry for him,’ said April Aaron of the man who had sent her to a hospital for three weeks, following a brutal … knife attack. April Aaron is a devout Mormon, 22 years of age. … She is a secretary who is as pretty as her name, but her face has just one blemish—the right eye is missing … April lost it to the ‘wildly slashing knife of a purse snatcher,’ near San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park while en route to an MIA dance. … She also suffered deep slashes on her left arm and right leg during a struggle with her assailant, after she tripped and fell in her efforts to elude him just one block from the Mormon chapel. …

“‘I ran for a block and a half before he caught me. You can’t run very fast on high heels,’ April said with a smile. Slashes on her leg were so severe [that] doctors feared for a time it would need amputation. The sharp edge of the weapon could damage neither April’s vivaciousness, nor her compassion. ‘… I wish that somebody could do something for him, to help him. He should have some treatment. Who knows what leads a person to do a thing like this? If they don’t find him, he’s likely to do it again.’

“… April Aaron has won the hearts of the people in the San Francisco Bay area with her courage and good spirit in face of tragedy. Her room at St. Francis hospital was banked with flowers throughout her stay and attendants said they couldn’t recall when anyone received more cards and expressions of good wishes.” (Cited in The Miracle of Forgiveness, p. 294.)

While on a flight to Peru a few years ago, I was seated next to a self-proclaimed atheist. He asked me why I believe in God. In the delightful conversation that ensued, I told him that I believed in God because Joseph Smith saw Him—and then I added that my knowledge of God also came from personal, real spiritual experience. I shared my belief that “all things denote there is a God” and asked him how he believed the earth—this oasis of life in the vacuum of space—came into existence. He replied that, in his words, “the accident” could have happened over eons of time. When I explained how highly improbable it would be for an “accident” to produce such beauty and order, he was quiet for a time and then good-naturedly said, “You got me.” I asked if he would read the Book of Mormon. He said he would, so I sent him a copy.
Now, I do not know whether my atheist friend ever read the Book of Mormon or joined the Church. My second friend did. For both of them, my responsibility—my opportunity—was the same: hold up the gospel light—to love, share, and invite each of them in a normal, natural way.

“Here is your class,” Lilly said.
It was Sam’s first day in Primary. Lilly was happy to help her brother.
When Sam cried, Lilly sat by him. She helped him feel better. Sam was scared when they went to class. So Lilly stayed with him.
Lilly helped Sam every Sunday.
“Lilly, you have been a good helper with Sam,” Mom said one Sunday. “Now it’s time for his teacher to help him instead.”
“But if I don’t sit by Sam, he’ll cry,” Lilly said.
“I know,” Mom said. “But his teacher can help. Then you can go to your class too.”
Lilly frowned. She didn’t think this was a good idea.
“Sometimes we need to obey, even when we don’t know why,” said Dad. “When we obey our parents, it helps us learn to obey Heavenly Father.”
“OK,” Lilly said. She hoped Mom’s idea worked.
Lilly sat with her own class in Primary.
Sam cried for a little bit. His teacher helped him. Soon Sam was singing songs with the others. He liked Primary.
Lilly liked sitting with her class too.
After Primary, Dad asked how it went.
“It was great!” Lilly said. “Sam only cried a little. We both had fun with our classes. I showed Sam how to be reverent.”
Now Lilly felt double happy. She was happy she helped Sam. And she was happy she obeyed.

Author and independent historian Don Bradley of the United States faced questions about Church history during a time when, he explains, “I just wasn’t happy and had a skeptical outlook. Cynicism about anyone would negatively impact a relationship, and I lost my faith and relationship with God.” Years later, Don began working toward hopefulness and gratitude in his personal life.

He also began examining studies about the mental and physical health benefits of organized religion. “I couldn’t deny those studies,” Don recalls. “Gradually, I realized I had been substituting skepticism for critical thinking, and with a more hopeful attitude toward life, I regained my faith in God and Jesus Christ.” Don returned to the historical information he once grappled with, but now this same material led to a conviction that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God.

Subject: Dan
Age: 16 years
Event: First prom date
The dance was over. Dan carefully maneuvered his dad’s car out of the high school parking lot. “I thought we’d go out to eat,” he said suavely.
“Great!” his date said. “Where?”
“Of course, because of the prom, many places will be full.”
“How about the Pyrenes?” she suggested. “My parents go there.”
“I’m sure it’ll be full,” Dan answered quickly.
“Okay, how about the Bonanza?”
“That will be full.”
“McDonald’s?” the girl pleaded.
“Full,” Dan answered firmly. “But don’t worry. I know a place that’s never full.”
“What’s it called?” she asked suspiciously.
“Big Alice’s Truck Stop Diner and Reloading Emporium. You get all the hashbrowns you can eat.”
“Oh,” the girl said with disappointment.
The old diner seemed to be leaning into the wind along the nearly deserted section of old highway that had been abandoned with the construction of the interstate. Apparently a few truckers still went out of their way because two large semi-trucks were parked outside.
“My dad gave me ten dollars to take you out to dinner,” Dan said as they pulled to a stop in front of the place, “but, gosh, you could eat here for a week for ten dollars.”
Alice, a huge woman, stood behind the counter with her arms folded and argued politics with two truckers. Dan and his date moved quickly to the other end of the long row of stools along the counter and sat down. In a minute, Big Alice sauntered down to get their order. “Whataya want?”
“Two hamburgers with everything,” Dan said, “plenty of hashbrowns, and a couple of donuts for dessert.”
“Is it okay, what I ordered for you?” Dan asked his date. “My dad said that the guy is supposed to order. It’s etiquette.”
The two truckers and Big Alice continued their argument as she cooked their order.
“You can’t say that!” one trucker argued.
“Well, I’m saying it!” the other trucker roared. “The trouble with people today is that nobody wants to fight! Especially the kids today. They couldn’t fight their way out of a paper bag!”
Suddenly the three looked down the long row of empty stools to Dan and his date.
Dan nervously smiled at them.
In a few minutes, Big Alice brought their food and then left.
The girl carefully examined the hamburger. “The meat’s all greasy,” she complained.
“That used to bother me, too, when I first started eating here,” Dan eagerly explained, “but I learned a little trick.” Grabbing some napkins, he picked up her hamburger patty and blotted it with the napkins. “There,” he said proudly, “how’s that?”
He eagerly ate, but she took a fork and only probed the food with it.
“Aren’t you even going to eat your hashbrowns?” he asked.
“They’re greasy, too.”
“Yeah, but they’re great with catsup.” He picked up the catsup bottle, and in his eagerness, dumped the entire contents on her plate. Some of it splashed on her formal.
“Whoops,” he said apologetically.
“Please,” she said, beginning to cry, “take me home.”
“Okay,” Dan agreed. “Why don’t you take a donut with you in case you get hungry on the way?”__________

Once, at the Jordan River Temple, Elder Ashton was approached by a young man about to be married. “Do you know where you met me last?” the young man asked. “At the Utah State Prison. You spoke to the inmates at a Christmas gathering there.”
“Oh,” responded Elder Ashton, a little surprised. “What did I say to help you?”
“I don’t remember what you said,” the young man replied, “but afterwards you came down among us and shook my hand. When I realized that an Apostle of the Lord would shake the hand of a man like me, I knew I must be worth something.” This experience had marked the beginning of repentance and forgiveness for the young man.

Merrell: Besides Indian and Three Warriors we have done Take Down and most recently Harry’s War. Would you like to hear the story connected with my doing Take Down?
Merrell: Kieth told me they probably wouldn’t use me on Take Down because the investors wanted someone with a big Hollywood name to help sell the film. My opportunity to do it began, strangely enough, when the BYU basketball team lost to the University of Utah. That night as I was trying to sleep, an arrangement of the “Cougar Fight Song” that I hadn’t heard before kept running through my mind. I finally got up, took a tape recorder, and dictated what I was hearing. A week later I orchestrated it, went to London, and at the end of the regular recording session, recorded the National Philharmonic playing my new “Cougar Fight Song.” It had a combination Star Wars-Rocky-disco sound and I loved it! I wanted it to be perfect because I planned to give it to Coach Arnold to help inspire his team to win.
Well, the day I returned to Utah I was in the studio listening to it and received a call from Kieth. He said, “Merrell, I’m totally frustrated; I’ve gone through composer after composer and no one strikes a bell. Do you have anything with a sports theme that sounds like Rocky and Star Wars combined?” I couldn’t believe it! I told him what I had and then sent him down a rough mix. After listening to it, he called in the investors and had them listen to it, and within three minutes they decided they wanted me to do the music for Take Down.
Later when Kieth talked to me, he said, “I don’t care what you do in the rest of the picture, but I want the end titles to sound like your Cougar song without the Cougar melody.” And that’s how close I came to getting the exact music he wanted before he had even asked me to submit a song. To me that was really a faith-promoting experience because I had been inspired several months earlier to be almost overwhelmed by a certain sound, write it down in the specific style Kieth wanted, record it, and have it ready the very day Kieth called.