Gospel Story Finder

When I was 11 years old, I wanted to quit the Church. I was often angry and felt guilty because I couldn’t seem to control my temper. Besides that, it seemed the Church had too many rules, and I couldn’t see the point of many of them. I told my mom I wasn’t going to church anymore, and she told me that if I read the entire Book of Mormon and didn’t think it was true, I could quit. I was delighted with this arrangement.
I was very bright and a fast reader. I knew I could finish my reading in less than a week. I planned to zoom through the Book of Mormon in a couple of days, tell my mom I knew it wasn’t true, and be free. In anticipation, I cheerfully grabbed the book and began to read. Just as I thought: it was an easy read and as boring as I had imagined. “And it came to pass … and it came to pass … and it came to pass …”
Then I started 2 Nephi 4:15:
“And upon these I write the things of my soul, and many of the scriptures which are engraven upon the plates of brass. For my soul delighteth in the scriptures, and my heart pondereth them, and writeth them for the learning and the profit of my children.”
Then to verse 17: “Nevertheless, notwithstanding the great goodness of the Lord, in showing me his great and marvelous works, my heart exclaimeth: O wretched man that I am! Yea, my heart sorroweth because of my flesh; my soul grieveth because of mine iniquities.”
I became rapt with attention. I was an avid journal keeper and wrote the things of my soul all the time. Why did he delight in the scriptures? I too felt that God was good and I wasn’t. This was a prophet speaking.
I read to verse 27: “And why should I yield to sin, because of my flesh? Yea, why should I give way to temptations, that the evil one have place in my heart to destroy my peace and afflict my soul? Why am I angry because of mine enemy?”
I read on through verse 35. A waterfall of warmth and light poured into the top of my head and filled my body with a sensation I had never felt before. A feeling of confident, joyful knowing. I slammed the book shut and yelped, “No!” But it was too late. My plan had failed. There was no escape now. I knew for myself that the Book of Mormon was true and that God loved me enough to tell me in such a wonderful way. With mixed feelings, I surrendered my heart to my Savior, wondering what would become of me now.
I didn’t need to worry. I knew God loved me and would help me. I knew He loved me and wanted me to change so I could be happier, not just to fit some rules. I can honestly say that although some years have had their ups and downs, every year has finished more up than the year before as I have studied, pondered, prayed, and delighted in the gospel of Jesus Christ. He is my coach, my friend, my captain, and my Redeemer. All that is wonderful in my life is a gift from Him, and I am thankful that I had a mother who loved me enough to challenge me.
I’m sure that she fell to her knees begging the Lord to save me and send me a blessing that would take me out of her hands and into His. I want that for everyone. I never let a day pass without reading from the Book of Mormon.

Claire’s friends were here. She grabbed her in-line skates from the shelf in the hallway.
“Bye, Mom!” she called to her mother, who was sewing in the other room.
“Bye, Claire! I know you’ll be good and have a good time, too!”
Mom always said that same thing whenever Claire went off with her friends. She was eleven, about to turn twelve. A few weeks back, Claire, Jessica, Amanda, and Whitney had decided to skate once a week at the Recreation Center downtown. After school on Fridays was Claire’s favorite time of the whole week. And today she even had a cute new outfit on—a red plaid button shirt over a cream tank top.
At the Center, Claire sat by Jessica as they put on their skates. “Let’s try the jump today,” she said.
“And let’s work on our turns,” Jessica said. “Everybody ready?”
The girls hopped off the wooden bench and sailed onto the floor. Claire threw out her arms and caught her balance, teetering around like a listing sailboat. Halfway around the room, she felt suddenly at ease, her feet relaxing inside her skates, her body gliding effortlessly along the glistening sea of wooden floor as if pushed by a wind.
“Hey, Claire, that’s a cute shirt,” said Jessica. “Is it new?”
“Do you really like it? My mom found it on sale.”
It wasn’t long before the girls were ready for the jump. A wooden ramp was set up in the middle of the skating rink, reminding Claire of an ocean wave. The four girls lined up behind her and sped around the rink, building up speed for the jump. Claire hit the ramp and for a split second floated on air a few inches above the floor. “Whee!” The others followed with squeals of delight.
After several jumps, Claire wiped her forehead. “I’m hot. Let’s work on our turns, Jessica.”
The two friends went over to a quiet corner of the rink. Full 360° turns required patience and a lot of slow practice.
“I did it!” Jessica exulted. “Now you.”
Claire took one glide forward and twisted her body, her skates making a half circle. Around she went in a shaky, slow-motion twirl. “I did it, too! But it needs work.”
“You get better every time,” Jessica called over her shoulder, in the middle of another turn. “Is that a tank top you’re wearing underneath your new shirt? Is it new, too?”
“Yes, I got it just to wear under my shirts. I think the layers look cool.”
“They look cool, but it’s hot skating and you’re wearing two shirts,” Jessica pointed out, skating around Claire. “Why don’t you take off your shirt and skate in your tank top?”
Claire finished a turn and looked straight at Jessica. “I promised my mom—” She stopped when she noticed that Jessica had taken off her sweater and was skating in a thin-strapped tank top herself. Her bare arms and shoulders looked cool. Still, she remembered her mother’s words as she left the house. “I know you’ll be good and have a good time, too.” Claire also remembered what her mother was sewing—a prom dress for Claire’s big sister because there weren’t any modest ones in the stores.
“Come on, Claire,” said Jessica. “Look at Whitney and Amanda. They’re wearing tank tops, too.”
Claire braked and stood up straight. “I promised my mom I would only wear the tank top if I wore it under other shirts. Besides I like my outfit just like this. Let’s do some more jumps.”
Jessica shrugged. Claire led the way, sailing around the rink, building up speed for the jump. She hit the wave and flew, her new red plaid shirttails flapping in the breeze.
Be Clean.How truly beautiful is a well-groomed young woman who is clean in body and mind. She is a daughter of God in whom her Eternal Father can take pride.President Gordon B. Hinckley(Friend, Feb. 2001, page 25.)

I was waking up from a spectacular sleep when I realized something.
I sat up in my bed and yelled, “Oh, my goodness! Today is my baptism!” I was excited and nervous at the same time. I had to get ready!
First, my sister curled my hair. I loved it. Then I put my beautiful dress on. It had light pink flowers on it. I was getting more excited as every second passed. My family took pictures outside in front of our tree.
After that, it was time. All of my family gathered at the front of our church. I wore a white jumpsuit. It was actually pretty comfy.
I was with my dad, and the water I was baptized in was really warm. I got two sparkling necklaces and a CTR bracelet from my friend and my grandma. CTR stands for “Choose the Right.”
I tried not to cry the whole time! My mom almost cried too. I hugged my handsome dad as hard as a snake squeezing its prey. S-s-sss!
“I love you,” I said to my mom and dad. I knew my fabulous family loved me a lot.
Then I realized something else. I had been smiling all day because the whole time I really, really felt loved!

When I was 12, I never dreamed that I would have to defend my belief in the Church. After all, I lived in a predominantly Latter-day Saint community, and most everyone I knew believed the same things I did. I didn’t anticipate the heated discussion I would have with my brother while he was on leave from his military duties. I wasn’t prepared to deal with the situation, and I finally left the room crying.
Since then, I’ve learned a lot about getting along with family members who don’t believe the same things I do. Here are some of the things that have helped me keep the peace without compromising my beliefs:
Remember courtesy. No matter where they stand on religious issues, it is important to treat all family members with kindness and love—serve them, communicate with them, and include them in family discussions and decisions.
Include family members in all family activities, even if those activities are Church related. For many years my brother refused to have anything to do with our religious activities, but now he wants to be invited to weddings, baby blessings, and other activities. Those with other beliefs still want to feel welcome, even if they don’t accept an invitation.
Use challenging questions to build your testimony. As hard as it was to answer my brother’s questions about the Church, I was determined to know for certain that what I had been taught was true. I studied the scriptures and asked my Church leaders and parents many questions until I gained a firm testimony of the gospel.
Do not avoid religious topics.Because the Church is so much a part of the life of a Latter-day Saint, avoiding the subject of religion may make family members feel as though you’re keeping secrets from them. In your conversations, include personal experiences that relate to the Church.
Seek to understand their point of view. I used to think my brother was always wrong, but when I started to look at things from his perspective, I was surprised. How would I feel if I couldn’t attend my little sister’s wedding? How would I feel if I didn’t understand some of the language my family members often used? If I were him, I might also sometimes react negatively to such things.
Take responsibility for mistakes. I used to argue with my brother or attack his beliefs. When I was finally mature enough to realize I was in the wrong, I apologized, and my relationship with my brother has never been better. You never need to apologize for your beliefs, just for actions that are not in keeping with the gospel.
Avoid contention. The Spirit will not stay where there is contention. If the Spirit is gone, opportunities for learning and growth are also gone.
Encourage those of other faiths in their own religious activities. Although we believe our Church to have the fulness of the gospel, many truths are taught in other churches. And where our views differ, we should still respect the religious views of others. Be as supportive of your family members’ righteous and wholesome religious activities as you want them to be of yours.
“Our adherence to these divinely given standards need never be an offensive thing to those about us. We need not contend with them. But if we will pursue a steady course, our very example will become the most effective argument we could ever make in favor of the virtues of the cause with which we are associated.”President Gordon B. Hinckley, “Contend Not with Others,” Tambuli, Nov. 1989, 4.

As a boy of fifteen I was called to preside over a quorum of teachers. Our adviser was interested in us, and we knew it. One day he said to me, “Tom, you enjoy raising pigeons, don’t you?”
I responded with a warm “Yes.”
Then he proposed, “How would you like me to give you a pair of purebred Birmingham Roller pigeons?”
This time I answered, “Yes, sir!” You see, the pigeons I had were just the common variety trapped on the roof of the Grant Elementary School.
He invited me to come to his home the next evening. The next day was one of the longest in my young life. I was awaiting my adviser’s return from work an hour before he arrived. He took me to his loft, which was in a small barn at the rear of his yard. As I looked at the most beautiful pigeons I had yet seen, he said, “Select any male, and I will give you a female which is different from any other pigeon in the world.” I made my selection. He then placed in my hand a tiny hen. I asked what made her so different. He responded, “Look carefully, and you’ll notice that she has but one eye.” Sure enough, one eye was missing, a cat having done the damage. “Take them home to your loft,” he counseled. “Keep them in for about ten days and then turn them out to see if they will remain at your place.”
I followed his instructions. Upon releasing them, the male pigeon strutted about the roof of the loft, then returned inside to eat. But the one-eyed female was gone in an instant. I called Harold, my adviser, and asked: “Did that one-eyed pigeon return to your loft?”
“Come on over,” said he, “and we’ll have a look.”
As we walked from his kitchen door to the loft, my adviser commented, “Tom, you are the president of the teachers quorum.” This I already knew. Then he added, “What are you going to do to activate Bob?”
I answered, “I’ll have him at quorum meeting this week.”
Then he reached up to a special nest and handed to me the one-eyed pigeon. “Keep her in a few days and try again.” This I did, and once more she disappeared. Again the experience, “Come on over and we’ll see if she returned here.” Came the comment as we walked to the loft, “Congratulations on getting Bob to priesthood meeting. Now what are you and Bob going to do to activate Bill?”
“We’ll have him there this week,” I volunteered.
This experience was repeated over and over again. I was a grown man before I fully realized that, indeed, Harold, my adviser, had given me a special pigeon; the only bird in his loft he knew would return every time she was released. It was his inspired way of having an ideal personal priesthood interview with the teachers quorum president every two weeks. I owe a lot to that one-eyed pigeon. I owe more to that quorum adviser. He had the patience to help me prepare for opportunities which lay ahead.

In 2010, Andre Sebako was a young man seeking for truth. Though he had never offered a heartfelt prayer before, he decided to try. Shortly afterward he met the missionaries. They gave him a pass-along card with a picture of the Book of Mormon. Andre felt something and asked if the missionaries would sell him the book. They said he could have the book for free if he would come to church.1
Andre attended the then-recently created Mochudi Branch in Botswana, Africa, alone. But the branch was a loving, tight-knit group consisting of about 40 members.2 They welcomed Andre with open arms. He received the missionary lessons and was baptized. It was wonderful!

That night, Chase’s parents gathered the family together for family home evening. After the opening prayer, Chase’s father said, “Tonight we’re going to talk about two of your ancestors—your great-great-grandparents, Joshua and Elizabeth McGowan.
“I think you older children have heard about them already, but Chase and Emily probably haven’t. I just felt impressed that I should tell you their story. As a young man, Joshua joined the Church in England and soon afterward came to America and settled in Kirtland, Ohio. There he met a lovely young woman named Elizabeth Sanders, who was also a member of the Church. They married and bought a farm with money Joshua had saved in England.
“One night,” Chase’s father continued, “an angry mob came and burned all their crops. They burned the barn and their farmhouse. Everything was destroyed. Elizabeth and Joshua had to start all over. Joshua became a blacksmith, and he did that for the rest of his life. They moved to Nauvoo and then later went to Utah with the Saints.”
“But wait—I don’t understand why those people burned their farm,” Chase interrupted.
“Simply because Joshua and Elizabeth were members of the Church,” Dad explained.
“But they must have done something to make those people so mad,” Chase insisted.
“No, Son, they didn’t do anything. It’s just that back then, being a member of the Church was often dangerous. Many people didn’t like members of the Church.”
“Why not?”
“Because they were different. They belonged to a new religion. Most folks didn’t know what the Church was really about. It’s just human nature, I guess, for some people to resent anything that’s new or different.”
“Well, it doesn’t make sense, Dad.” Chase frowned.
“No, Son, it doesn’t.”
That night Chase lay awake thinking about Joshua and Elizabeth and Derek and Gishi.
Tuesday morning was cold and cloudy. It wasn’t hard for Chase to go to school on such a dreary day. As he parked his bike at the rack, Chase heard Derek’s voice coming from the playground.
As he walked over, Chase saw Derek pointing his finger and making fun of Gishi. Gishi bowed his head and looked nervously at the crowd forming around him. Some of the boys and girls snickered.
Chase ran up to Derek. “Knock it off!”
“What?”
“You heard me, Derek. Leave him alone.” Chase looked Derek right in the eye so he would know he was serious. Derek stared back at Chase. Finally, Derek shrugged.
“I was just fooling around,” Derek muttered as he walked away.
“Are you OK?” Chase asked Gishi.
“Yes. OK.”
“Believe it or not, Derek’s really not so bad. I think he just needs time to get to know you.”
Gishi said nothing, but nodded.
Then Chase asked, “Do you want to come to my house after school and play video games?”
Gishi smiled shyly. “Yes. Fine. You live where?” Chase wrote down his address and gave it to Gishi.
That afternoon, the two boys played video games for a while, then talked about some of the differences between English and Chinese. They took turns pantomiming various actions and having the other say the word for the action in his language.
Gishi wrote something on a paper and showed it to Chase. “This is you in Chinese.”
Chase looked at the pencil strokes shooting out at different angles. “You mean that’s the word for ‘Chase’ in Chinese?”
“No,” Gishi said. “Friend.”
“Love one another. Be kind to one another despite our … differences.”Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “Doctrine of Inclusion,” Ensign, Nov. 2001, 38.

Sister Paula Thomas of Sandy, Utah, discovered for herself that Heavenly Father does indeed speak to His children. She remembers:
“I was raised in a less-active home. Because of the influence of friends, I began attending Primary. When I was nine years old, my Primary teacher gave a lesson on personal prayer. I knew that I could pray at mealtimes and in meetings, but I had never thought of praying to Heavenly Father on my own.
“After the teacher dismissed our class, I approached her and asked her to teach me to pray. Kindly, she pulled out a piece of paper and began to write and talk at the same time. ‘You always begin by thanking Heavenly Father for all you have,’ she said, ‘and then you tell Him the desires of your heart. Is there something special you want to ask for, Paula?’
“I knew exactly what I wanted—I wanted to make my mother happy. I did not recall ever seeing her smile or laugh. Life was hard, and Mother cried often. I loved her so much that I would write poems, put on programs for her on Mother’s Day, and buy her gifts with my baby-sitting money. She was always grateful, but I knew her burdens were heavy.
“I left Primary that afternoon with those written instructions from my teacher. That night, when the house was quiet, I knelt at my bed and began my very first personal prayer. I prayed that I would be able to make my mother happy. I offered the same prayer every night for seven years.
“When I was 16, I received my patriarchal blessing from a patriarch whom I had never met. In my blessing he said: ‘Paula, the Lord has heard the prayers of your heart. A time will come in your life when you will be able to return with a deep feeling of love the gifts that have been so graciously given unto you by your mother. You will not only bring your mother happiness, you will give her the gift of joy.’
“As he was giving me the blessing, I received a powerful witness of God’s desire to communicate with us through personal revelation. Heavenly Father had heard my prayers, and He let me know he was aware of me.
“Years later, after my mother’s death, I went through the temple to receive sacred ordinances in her behalf. While there, I received an impression that I had truly given my mother the gift of joy—that day and on many other occasions.”

Several years ago, while attending meetings in Salt Lake City, I was greeted by our dear prophet, Russell M. Nelson. In his typically warm and personal way, he asked, “Mark, how is your mum doing?”
I told him I had been with her earlier that week at her home in New Zealand and that she was getting old but was full of faith and an inspiration to all who knew her.
He then said, “Please give her my love … and tell her I look forward to seeing her again.”
I was rather surprised and asked, “Do you have a trip planned to New Zealand soon?”
With thoughtful sincerity he replied, “Oh no, I will see her in the next life.”
There was nothing frivolous in his response. It was a perfectly natural expression of fact. In that private, unguarded moment, I heard and felt pure testimony from a living prophet that life continues after death.

When I was 16, a patriarch who had never seen me before and knew nothing of my background gave me my patriarchal blessing. In it the Lord answered specific questions I held in my heart related to some personal challenges. My thoughts about them seemed too intimate to share. One challenge concerned whether I would find a loving woman courageous enough to marry me in spite of my prominent birth defect—one our children might inherit. The answer was yes. I did marry Marie, and we had five beloved children.

The Lord’s answers in that blessing respected my concerns and my privacy. They were phrased so that only I would fully understand their meaning. From that day, I have had a firm personal witness that my Heavenly Father knows me intimately.

Toby curled himself around his mother’s feet on the kitchen floor and began to purr. “Look, Mommy! I’m a kitty,” he said.
Mommy stirred sugar and salt into a big bowl of hot milk on the table and smiled. “Oh, you’re a kitty, are you?” She bent over and patted his head. Toby gave a contented meow. The yeast in a cup with warm water had risen to the top in a bubbly foam. Mommy tested the milk to make sure that it was cool enough, then poured the yeast and a small amount of oil into the bowl.
When Mommy pulled her feet out from under Toby and went to the cupboard for the sifter, Toby slithered up onto a kitchen chair. “Look, Mommy! I’m a snake,” he hissed. He weaved and bobbed as he watched her mix the fine brown flour into the liquid in the bowl. When the dough became stiff enough to handle, Mommy dumped it onto the clean, flour-dusted table and began to knead it with her hands. Toby loved to watch this part, and he flicked his tongue and rattled his tail as he watched.
Next, Mommy put the dough back into the bowl and covered it with a red-checkered cloth. “Time to feed the baby, Mr. Snake,” she told Toby, and they went into the baby’s room. Mommy sat in the rocking chair and softly hummed as she fed Toby’s baby sister.
Toby sat on the floor and practiced wiggling his nose. “Look, Mommy! I’m a mouse,” he squeaked, and the big rocking chair creaked back at him.
“Can you be a very quiet mouse so the baby can go to sleep?” Mommy asked.
Toby nodded and decided to become a mouse statue. He held very still and tried not to squeak or wiggle as Mommy gently laid the baby in the crib and tucked the soft blankets around her. Toby and Mommy tiptoed out of the room and quietly closed the door.
“Look, Mommy! I’m a bunny,” Toby said with a little hop. As he hopped into the kitchen, he noticed that the dough had rounded up over the top of the bowl and was peeking out from under the cloth. Mommy tipped the dough out onto the table and punched it down, working it between her hands and the table. Toby’s bunny ears pricked up, and he giggled as the bubbles in the dough popped and burped at him.
When the dough was smooth and round, Mommy cut it into four parts and shaped each part into a loaf. She put them into pans and set them on the stove to rise again.
Toby hopped into his bedroom, and when he came out again, he had his white blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “Look, Mommy! I’m an angel,” he said, pulling his angel robe more tightly around himself.
“It’s naptime for all sleepy little angels,” Mommy said. Toby reverently floated into his room and onto his bed. Mommy kissed his cheek and tucked his angel robe up under his chin. Toby laid his head on a fluffy cloud pillow and drifted off to sleep.
When he woke up, a wonderful smell was tickling his nose. He jumped out of bed and ran into the kitchen. Four golden brown loaves of bread were sitting on racks on the kitchen table. Toby watched as Mommy sliced a big piece off the end of one loaf. She spread butter and honey over the warm slice of bread and handed it to Toby.
“Look, Mommy! I’m a little boy, now,” Toby said as he took a big bite. “I’m glad Heavenly Father sent you to be my little boy,” Mommy said.
Toby licked the melted honey and butter that ran down his fingers. “Me, too!” he said happily.

I remember listening to U.S. Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O’Connor speak at Stanford University. She reported that after her graduation from law school, the only job she could get was as a clerk. What did she do? She took the job. She continued to work. She could not have known at that time that she would one day be serving on the Supreme Court, but her readiness resulted from her continued preparation.

One of the sweetest Christmases President Ezra Taft Benson remembered occurred in 1923, when he returned home on Christmas Eve to the family farm in Whitney, Idaho, USA, after a two-and-a-half-year mission to England. This joyful reunion with his parents and 10 brothers and sisters was also filled with enthusiasm and excitement for Christmas. As a special treat, his parents allowed him to stay up to help with Christmas preparations after the other children were in bed. As he worked alongside his parents, he quietly shared his missionary experiences. He couldn’t hold back the tears during this “choice evening” in his childhood home.3

One day three years ago, when I was 87, I was at a social event. A woman was there playing the piano; she played about like I do. When I asked her name, I found out it was Alice Bodily, my bishop’s mother. She was 90 years old at that time.
I asked my bishop if he thought his mother would like to play duets. He asked her, and she said she would love to. So three years ago we started playing piano duets every Wednesday morning for one hour for our own enjoyment.
We progressed from easy children’s duets to a couple of duets I used to play with my mother. But what we loved the most was playing duets of the sacred hymns of the Church. Our two favorites are “Joseph Smith’s First Prayer” (Hymns, no. 26) and “Love at Home” (Hymns, no. 294).
By playing every Wednesday and practicing in between, we got fairly good and impressed our children with a little concert. My bishop said he would like to have us play in sacrament meeting, so we learned “The Spirit of God” (Hymns, no. 2). That was a real challenge for us, but we worked on it for several months and surprised ourselves and our children and probably our ward members too. Before the COVID-19 hit, we played this hymn in five of our children’s wards.
There are many beautiful hymns that we now love to perform, such as “Come, Follow Me” (Hymns, no. 116), “Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing” (not in the current hymnbook but easy to find), and “Called to Serve” (Hymns, no. 249). Sometimes finding a duet arrangement may mean asking for help, but a family member, ministering sister, or ward music leader is usually happy to assist.
We even found a collection of Christmas songs and prepared a 40-minute program to present at an assisted-living facility in December. Another musician joined us and played a xylophone and a set of bells to add variety to our performance.
Through our music, at our ages of 90 and 93, we feel that we are bringing “Joy to the World” (Hymns, no. 201) not only at Christmas but also all year long. We have been playing together regularly now for three years. Choosing to play duets together was clearly a key decision for both of us!

It’s Saturday evening in the Waila Ward of the Nausori Fiji Stake. The responsibilities of the day are fulfilled, and holders of the Aaronic Priesthood have prepared for the Sabbath and are now gathered at the home of Brother and Sister Maiwiriwiri. It is an opportunity for them to have a small meal before beginning their fast—followed by an evening sleeping on mats in the Maiwiriwiris’ home.

Morning for these young men of the Aaronic Priesthood comes early. Long before daybreak, they quickly arise, don their white shirts and ties and their dark slacks, and by 6:00 a.m. they have left the home of Brother and Sister Maiwiriwiri in pairs—much like missionaries. Each of these companionships has a specific route to take in order to get to the chapel by 10:00 a.m., when priesthood meeting begins. Their responsibility is to stop at each member’s home on their route and invite them to contribute fast offerings.

These young men walk three miles (5 km) from the Maiwiriwiris’ home at one end of the ward to the meetinghouse at the other end of the ward. This is an opportunity to fulfill their duty and invite members of the Church to participate in the great work of caring for the widows and for their brothers and sisters by contributing fast offerings. President Alipate Tagidugu of the Nausori Fiji Stake commented that as a result of this effort by the Aaronic Priesthood, fast offering contributions have gone up 20 percent.

Just as important, these young men have an opportunity to fulfill their duty and help the members of the ward keep their covenants made at baptism:

“As ye are desirous to come into the fold of God, and to be called his people, and are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light;

“Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that ye may be in, even until death, that ye may be redeemed of God, and be numbered with those of the first resurrection, that ye may have eternal life” (Mosiah 18:8–9).

For these great young men, collecting fast offerings is not a burden but a blessing. They gladly wear their white shirts and ties, eagerly rise early, and willingly knock on the doors of the members in the early-morning hours to invite them to partake of the blessings that come from giving a generous fast offering.

As I watched these young men prepare for and fulfill their duty as priesthood holders, I thought what a wonderful blessing it will be to them throughout their lives to understand the significance of their efforts in inviting members of the Church to come closer to the Savior through giving fast offerings. How much better missionaries they will be, and how much better husbands and fathers they will be as a result of their priesthood efforts.

They will better understand this scripture about the Lord’s people: “The Lord called his people Zion, because they were of one heart and one mind, and dwelt in righteousness; and there was no poor among them” (Moses 7:18).

When I was 12, some of the girls in my new school invited me to a birthday party. It was the first party with these school friends I had been invited to. When I asked my parents if I could go, they said no because the party started too late.
A short time later, I got another invitation. I again asked my parents, but they again said no, and I got mad. Couldn’t I have any fun?
Then one of my closest friends planned a party. I was one of the first people she invited. The party started earlier than the others. It would be private and held near my home. I asked my parents for permission to go, and they said yes! I was excited.
The day arrived. As my parents drove me there, they said that they would pick me up at 10:00 p.m. When I got to the party, I found my girlfriends. Twenty minutes later, I still hadn’t seen the birthday girl.
A few minutes later, a young man came up to us and asked, “Have you brought money for the pisto?” He made a sign that let me know that “pisto” was beer. My girlfriends gave in at the request for money. I didn’t have any money with me, so I decided to go off with some other girls while these ones did their business.
Finally, the birthday girl arrived—an hour late. I congratulated her, and while we were talking, a big truck arrived. Five men got out and unloaded two crates of beer. Everyone crowded around and started handing out the beer. My girlfriends went off, and I was alone, watching those young people fighting to drink beer.
My girlfriends came over and offered me some. “No, thanks,” I told them. They again insisted. I again said no. My heart started beating fast, and I felt strange, like in a suspense movie where I was the main character and I was trapped in the middle of nowhere. Then I heard a car horn—it was my parents! I made my exit with a single good-bye and ran to the car.
I got in, breathing hard. I started thinking how heavy the environment felt where I had been. My mom asked if I was all right. “Yes,” I replied, “but something surprised me.”
“What surprised you?” asked my father.
“All my friends were drinking, and there I was, startled, waiting for something good to happen. How I wished for you both to get here, and now I’m here.” I looked at the car clock; it wasn’t yet 10:00.
My mom said, “That’s how parties are in the world. That was why we didn’t allow you to go to previous parties.”
That night when I prayed, I thanked my Heavenly Father that my parents had arrived early.

I feel happy with that decision I made to not drink. I thought that I would be made fun of afterwards, but my friends ended up with more respect for me because they know my standards. After that, I have not been afraid to say no to what I know will harm me.

“My father was a great, honorable, and good man. I have much admiration for him. He died very suddenly when I was fifteen. All of my growing-up years he was in the bishopric. Ten years after he was in the bishopric of the old Adams Ward, I served in the bishopric of that same ward.”
Elder Osborn’s father’s death was the hardest thing he had to face during his boyhood. His brother William said, “After Father died, Mother, Spencer, and another brother moved to a new neighborhood away from the home and friends they had known for many years. It was a lonesome time for Spencer. I lived about two miles away and built a basketball standard for Spencer in my driveway. He would walk over to my house and play basketball by himself. But even during this difficult time, Spencer was always interested in the Church; he was a solid kid all through his life.”

Elder Mark E. Petersen taught me another penetrating lesson about delegating when he was the supervisor of the missions on the East Coast in the late 1960s. He toured the North Carolina Virginia Mission over which we were presiding in order to give instruction and help.
Knowing of his very distinguished service as president of the European missions, I knew he would be able to give me the answers to all my mission supervision problems. So when we had a few spare minutes together, I would ask about a problem and invite his recommendation. In response he would most often say something like this: “I know one mission president who solved that problem in this way. Another in a more distant area solved it this way.” Always he outlined possible solutions but left the selection of the solution to me. After six days he left on the plane, having responded to my every request for help but leaving to me the responsibility to choose the solutions and accept the consequences of my decisions. That was one of many helpful lessons taught by an outstanding leader in the Lord’s work.

My mind goes back to a day when I was approaching my eighteenth birthday. We were all very fearful. World War II was still being fought, and every young man knew that he had to make a choice. There was not much latitude to the choice: he could choose to go into the army, or he could choose to go into the navy. I enlisted in the navy.

Forty-four of us young men stood there in the recruiting office. I shall never forget the chief petty officers coming up to us and presenting a choice. They said, “Now, you young men must make an important choice. On one hand, you can be wise and choose to join the regular navy. You can enlist for four years. You will receive the finest schooling. You will be given every opportunity because the navy looks upon you as its own. If you choose not to follow this direction, you can go into the naval reserves. The navy does not have much interest in the naval reserves at this stage of the game. You will receive no schooling. You will be sent out to sea duty. No one knows what your future might be.”

Then they asked us to sign on the dotted line. I turned to my father and said, “What should I do, Dad?”

In a voice choked with emotion, he replied, “I don’t know anything about the navy.” That was the position of every father who was there that day.

Forty-two of the forty-four enlisted in the regular navy for four years. The forty-third one could not pass the regular navy physical, so he had to enlist in the reserves.

Then they came to me; and I confess to you that I sent a prayer heavenward, earnestly hoping that the Lord would answer it. And he did. The thought came to me just as clearly as though I had heard a voice, “Ask those chief petty officers which they chose.”

I asked each of those veteran petty officers: “Did you choose the regular navy, or did you choose the reserves?”

Each of them had chosen the reserves.

I turned and said, “With all the wisdom and experience that you have, I want to be on your side.”

I chose the reserves, which meant that I enlisted for the duration of the war, plus six months. The war ended, and within a year I was honorably discharged from the service. I was able to continue my schooling. I had the privilege of serving in many Church capacities. Who knows how the course of my life might have been changed had I not taken that moment to call upon my Heavenly Father for guidance and direction in what might appear to some to have been a minor decision!

During a period when I was preparing to be shipped to Northern Ireland, a new recruit joined my platoon, as my replacement. The thing I remember most about him was that he was always very calm and I used to wonder how he could be like that, in the midst of what our work entailed. Every morning he would put a book called The Book of Mormon on his pillow. I did not know what it was about, and my departure prevented me from learning; I never saw him again. Fast forward to the year 2000. I was trying to recover from the loss of my mother, when, following a prayer to God for peace and comfort, a few days later, missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints knocked on my door. That was when I became aware of the content of The Book of Mormon. Following in-depth discussions, I made the decision to be baptised and so began my new life in the gospel of Jesus Christ.