Gospel Story Finder

When I was in first grade, nobody was playing with Jack,* so I decided to play with him. The first time we played together, we played firemen, because that’s what he wants to be when he grows up. I want to be an inventor—Jack’s going to help me, of course. The next time we played together, Jack brought his football to school and we played with it at recess. Ever since then, we’ve played together at recess and after school. We are still good friends, even though other kids don’t play with him. They laugh at him when he talks, and some don’t want to sit by him at lunch. But Jack is a good friend and a very smart boy. I’m glad I can be his friend.

Kimo stood at the sea’s edge and watched the waves gently toss the little boats moored in the cove. He turned to his yellow dog, Paka, and scoffed, “The sea is not such a scary thing.”
With curious brown eyes, Paka looked at his master.
Kimo continued, his voice full of scorn, “Because I am only nine, my parents and brothers say that I am too young to go out in a boat by myself and catch a fish. They say that the sea will swallow me. Well, they are wrong!”
Paka whimpered sympathetically.
“I’m almost a man, Paka, but they treat me as though I were a baby.”
Kimo dug his toes into the warm ground and watched a sand crab scuttle to its hole. “If I could just go out in the boat all by myself and catch a fish, the biggest fish my family has ever seen, then they would treat me like a grown-up!”
He imagined the faces of his parents and five older brothers when he showed them the gigantic fish he would catch. At first they would be surprised; then they would be proud of him. They would visit all the neighbors and say, “Come see the large fish Kimo caught by himself. No one in our town has seen such a large fish!”
He smiled at the pleasant picture in his mind. “I’ll show them,” he told Paka.
That night, Kimo waited until the others had gone to sleep. Quietly he crept outside. The moon overhead was full, casting a creamy light everywhere. “Paka,” he called softly.
Sleepily the dog padded toward him.
“Let’s go.”
In moments, boy and dog were at the seashore. Kimo went to the small grove of trees where he had hidden the things he would need: a rope, a knife, his father’s best pole, and bait. As he handled each item, his stomach knotted into a small, tight fist. For a moment he paused. Maybe his father was right. Maybe the sea was no place for an inexperienced nine-year-old boy. Kimo looked at the cove. The boats bobbed lightly on the water’s surface.
He lifted his chin. He’d been thinking like a baby. He picked up his provisions and whistled to Paka. Together they ran across the beach and waded into the shallow water to the family boat. It was small, like other family boats, but it suddenly seemed very large to Kimo when he placed his gear inside.
Untying the rope that held the boat to the mooring pole, he reached for Paka, who was shivering patiently, then crawled into the boat. “Good boy, Paka,” soothed the boy as he placed the dog on the boat’s bottom. “Everything is going to be just fine.” He began to row away from the shore.
Before long the shoreline was just a distant white sliver gleaming in the moonlight. Out on the water, Kimo felt powerful. He pulled the oars inside the boat and reached for the long fishing pole. He baited the hook just as his father had taught him to, then cast the line far out into the silvery water.
The gentle waves had nearly lulled him to sleep, when Paka began to pace back and forth. Suddenly Kimo heard a drumroll of thunder and saw lightning shatter the sky. He couldn’t believe it—it was going to storm! “Oh, Paka,” he cried, “we can’t go yet. I must return with a fish!” He squinted, impatiently looking for the slightest tug on his line. He saw none.
Thunder rumbled again, closer this time. Kimo grew uneasy. He knew that he should begin rowing toward the shore before the storm got closer. But I can’t leave yet, he thought. Not without a fish.
Suddenly the boat was tossed and lifted higher and higher. As he struggled to maintain his balance, big wet drops pelted his head. Paka whined loudly. Another giant wave crashed over the boat, and his father’s fishing pole was ripped from his hands. He grabbed at it, but it was too late. The wave had snatched the pole, held it triumphantly out of reach, then swallowed it.
Kimo struggled inch by inch to row the small boat back to the cove. It seemed like hours before he finally made it. After securely tying the boat’s rope to the mooring pole, he trudged home, wondering what he would tell his father.
Then he heaved a sigh of relief. Of course! No one would think to ask him where the pole was. If he didn’t say anything, no one would ever know what he’d done. He ran the rest of the way home and quietly went to bed.
The morning sun finally awakened him. He could smell breakfast and hear the chatter of his family in the kitchen. A sick lump formed in his stomach. He knew that if the feeling was ever to go away, he would have to tell them everything. He rolled out of bed and, with his heart hammering, walked into the kitchen.
“Sleepyhead!” one of his brothers teased.
“Good morning, Kimo,” his father greeted him.
Kimo barely mumbled a reply.
“Hey, what’s wrong with baby brother?” another brother asked.
Kimo stared miserably at the ground. He gulped hard. “I must tell you something,” he finally said.
Seeing Kimo’s worried expression, his father nodded.
“Last night, I—” It was hard for him to tell them while they were staring at him.
“Yes,” his father gently prodded.
Kimo’s words finally broke loose. “I was tired of being the family baby. I wanted you to treat me like a man. So I decided to prove myself by going out in the boat alone and catching a big fish.”
Kimo saw his father’s face grow very grave, but he continued. “Paka and I took the boat while you were asleep. I rowed far from the cove. Then it started storming, and I lost the pole. I … I was very frightened.”
There was a long silence. Finally Kimo’s father spoke. “It is a wise thing to be frightened of a stormy sea. I would have been frightened myself.”
Kimo looked up wonderingly at his father.
“What you did last night, Kimo, was a very dangerous and childish thing.” Kimo bowed his head in shame. “However, it takes a man to accept the responsibility for his mistakes. I thank you for telling us. I am happy that I have an honest son. Now go and do your chores, and later we will decide together how you shall make amends.”
Kimo left the kitchen and went outside. Paka ran up to greet him. “I did it,” Kimo told the little dog. “Not in the way I expected to, but at least in one way I have become a man in the eyes of my father.”
And he did all his chores that day with a glad heart.

At the end of 1988 I was enjoying my calling as second counselor in the bishopric in Ciudad Ojeda, Venezuela, but I had a pressing concern. I had been a member of the Church for over a year, but I had not yet received my temple blessings.
One day a friend from the nearby city of Maracaibo came to visit. Before long we had struck up a conversation about spiritual matters.
Suddenly my friend was prompted to say, “Brother Troconiz, I believe that Heavenly Father wants you to go to the temple and receive the eternal blessings He has promised His children.”
“I cannot go,” I replied. “There is no temple here in Venezuela, and a trip out of the country is very expensive. I don’t have the money.”
He thought this over for a moment and then said, “If you really want to go to the temple, Heavenly Father will provide a way for you to go.”
I replied, “If Heavenly Father will provide that kind of help, I will go!”
From that moment on I was filled with faith and hope that I would be able to go to the temple. The next day I called the stake leaders and was told that a trip had been scheduled to the Lima Peru Temple, the closest temple at the time, in January. The trip would cost 16,500 bolivares and would cover the plane ticket, food, and lodging.
The days went by, and the deadline for turning in the money was fast approaching. I tried to earn the money, but I was no closer to having what I needed. My faith never faltered, however. I was that sure that Heavenly Father would provide a way.
Not long before the deadline, I received a telephone call from a former employer. The person calling addressed me by name and said, “You were employed by this petroleum company five years ago. When you left, your benefits were not calculated correctly. Please come in and pick up the check we have issued in your name.”
I went to get the check the next day. When I looked at the amount, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The check had been issued for exactly 16,500 bolivares!
On January 17, 1989, I entered the Lima Peru Temple and received my temple endowment. My friend was right. Heavenly Father had provided a way for me to go to the temple. As Nephi declared, “The Lord is able to do all things … for the children of men, if it so be that they exercise faith in him” (1 Nephi 7:12).

Costs of the conference, traditionally held at the Naramata Center in the beautiful, orchard-filled Okanogan Valley, were slightly higher than the year before, and the young leaders worried about those who had greater distances to travel.

“We started thinking one night in our central committee meeting,” said Donn Mason, youth chairman, “about the conference and the gospel and everything, and what it all really means to each one of us. And we felt we wanted everyone to come to conference and to have a great experience. Then Kirk Leaberry brought up the fact that some of our youth have to travel 300 miles over dirt roads and then another 600 miles on pavement to come to conference. We knew it would be difficult for them to raise the registration fee. So we tried to find a way for every youth to be able to come.”

“I figured,” said Kirk, youth vice-chairman, “that sometime we’ve got to learn to live the law of consecration, and I thought now is a good time to start. You can’t just dive in on a law like that. You have to start gradually. Now seemed as good a time as any.”

The youth of the Kalowna and Vernon branches, the groups nearest the conference site who made up the planning committee, sent letters to the other branches in the mission. They said that they knew the cost of the conference was higher than before, but they had been able, through various fund-raising activities, to earn most of the money they needed for themselves, and they would work to earn as much extra as possible to help any of the distant branches meet their expenses.

The results of this spirit of service and sacrifice were electrifying. Branches that had earlier claimed they were unable to send their youth because of the cost wrote and said that not only would they raise enough for themselves, but they too would try to raise more than was needed. Even those branches that the committee thought would have the most difficulty wrote in to say that though they probably wouldn’t be able to help other branches, they would be able to raise enough for their own youth.

“The plan was accepted, and it spread fast,” said Donn. “I think it got around faster than the dates of the conference. When we went to a promotional meeting in one of the branches, the kids knew two things—they knew how much the conference was going to cost, and they knew that we were planning to raise extra money. It caught on everywhere.”

Finally all the plans and arrangements were made, and every youth who wished to was able to attend. From all over British Columbia they came—from Bella Coola, Kamloops, Cranbrook, Penticton, Prince Rupert, Kalowna, Vernon, Terrace, Kitimat. They brought brothers, sisters, and nonmember friends. One even brought her mother. In addition the entire mission presidency and their wives attended, the district president came, and many excited adult leaders were there to serve as chaperons. Even the Regional Representative was able to take part in the activities. All were welcomed; all were cared for; all fell within the “midst of the miracle of serving.”

A few months back I was writing to a friend, and I felt a distinct prompting that I should bear my testimony. This prompting confused me, because my friend was an active member of the Church whom I looked up to. But despite my doubts, I followed through with my prompting.
I’m not certain what effect my testimony had on my friend, but I’m sure I did the right thing, because I know I listened to the Spirit. I have faith that Heavenly Father must have known there was some part of my testimony that my friend needed. As we listen to the Spirit, we can all receive revelation from Heavenly Father by the gift of the Holy Ghost.

I used to think my best friend, Chase, would do anything. When I dared him to jump off the top step of my porch, not only did he do it, but he even took a running start!
When I dared him to ride the upside-down roller coaster, he didn’t just ride it, but he actually sat in the front seat!
And when I told him there was no way he would say hi to Julia—the prettiest girl in the whole school—not only did he say hi, but he sat and talked to her for five minutes!
I thought Chase would do anything. Until today, that is.
Chase comes over to my house almost every day. We live super close to each other. There is only one house in between ours. But Chase doesn’t come over on Sunday or Monday. On Sundays he goes to church. On Mondays he has some kind of a family night. He invited me a couple of times. We ate brownies and played games. It was pretty fun.
Chase usually comes to my house to play after school. It’s nice to have him around because my mom and dad are still at work. Playing with Chase is fun. We love to make up jokes. Chase is friends with everybody. I never hear him talk bad about other people—even if everybody else does.
Today Chase and I played basketball. It was pretty hot, so I asked Chase if he wanted a drink.
“Sure,” Chase said, as he rolled the ball into the grass and ran to my front porch.
We walked inside and went to the kitchen. As I opened the fridge, the rush of the cool air made the hairs on our arms stand on end. When I first peeked into the fridge, I just saw juice and milk. Then, an open can in the corner caught my eye.
My dad had left a can of beer open. He would never know if we took a couple of sips. I pulled the can out.
“Want to try?” I asked.
“What is it?” Chase asked.
“It’s beer,” I said. “My dad drinks it all the time. He won’t know if we just take a sip.”
Chase looked at me. He raised his eyebrow and put his hands on his hips. Then he said something I never thought I’d hear him say.
“No way!” Chase said.
“Did you just say no?” I asked.
“Beer’s not good for you,” he said. “We shouldn’t drink it. It makes you do dumb things.”
“Not if you just take one little sip,” I said. “Watch, I’ll show you.”
I raised the can to my mouth, took a small sip, and smiled. It tasted gross, but I didn’t want to look uncool.
“See? Do I look any dumber to you?” I asked.
“I think I’m going to go home,” Chase said. “Don’t drink any more of that stuff. It’s not a good idea.”
As I watched Chase walk out the door and run down the sidewalk back to his house, I couldn’t help but wonder why he would do almost anything but not take even a small sip of beer.
I took another small sip after Chase left. “Blech! This stuff really is gross,” I thought as I put the can back in the corner of the fridge.
Maybe Chase was on to something after all.

A few years later, Chieko met some missionaries. They were from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “Would you like to come to church to learn more about Jesus Christ?” they asked.
Chieko remembered her part in the Christmas play. Who is Jesus? she thought. She wanted to learn more.
When she got home, Chieko asked her parents if she could go to church with the missionaries. “I don’t see why not,” Mama said. “As long as you still come to the Buddhist temple with us.”
At church, Chieko learned new songs and made new friends. In Sunday School, she learned that Jesus Christ was the Son of God. Because of Him, she could repent and live with God again someday. Chieko felt something special inside. She knew Jesus was real.

A respected business leader once encouraged Elder Stevenson to “learn, earn, and serve.” In 2004 the “serve” part of that equation was tested when Elder Stevenson and longtime business partner Scott Watterson were both called to serve as mission presidents. They felt they needed to explain to various stakeholders and customers why they were temporarily leaving their company. One by one they visited them.
“When we described our call and that we would serve for three years without compensation from the Church, they respected the goodness of that,” he says. They left the business in the hands of a trusted executive team, and it prospered.

A few years ago there appeared in a large city newspaper a true story of a young boy, then fourteen years old. The story was titled “The Evolution of a Delinquent.” After rehearsing the many serious involvements the boy had had with the law, the reporter posed the question, “What twisted paths of childhood lead to the tortuous road of delinquency?” Interviews with the boy’s neighbors began to supply at least part of the answer.
One neighbor lady said, “I try not to think of him the way he is now, but how he was when he came to our home and played with our children years ago.” Tears filled her eyes as she recalled one afternoon when the young boy, then a small child, rushed to her home after his father had picked him up at a day nursery. As the little boy held on to her hand, she asked, “Why do you always come running to our house when you come home from the nursery?” The tot replied sorrowfully, “Because there is no mommy at my house.”
The woman said that this answer almost broke her heart. There was a mommy at his house and a father also, but many times the children were left at home alone to care for themselves. Often the children would go to the neighbors’ homes because there was not light and companionship at their own home. They were afraid of the dark. This was not just a darkness that fades with the morning sunlight. You see, there is a darkness that comes when there is no mother there.

Three of my granddaughters are young women. They think it’s amazing that I can actually remember when I was their age. I really do remember many things—some hard things and some really good things. I especially remember a time when I was very happy. I was seventeen years old. My friends and I went to a fireside where the speaker taught us about our Savior’s love.
He told us that we could have confidence in the Savior, that He would lead us, that He would be there for us, that our faith in Him could increase and we could feel greater happiness than we had ever known.
But we needed to participate. We needed to do something. We needed to choose to believe in the Savior and His love; we needed to ask for His help, and then we needed to practice thinking about Him all through the day.
The speaker suggested that to help us remember to think about the Savior, we could listen to the school bell that rang often during the day. Each time we heard the bell, we were to say a silent prayer, even with our eyes open, even walking down the hall. We could thank our Heavenly Father for our blessings, especially for our Savior. We could tell Him of our love and ask for His help. He taught us that in just a few seconds, many times during the day, we could practice thinking about our Heavenly Father and Savior.
There was something else: the speaker suggested that almost immediately we move from praying about ourselves to praying for someone else—a friend, a teacher, a stranger—and asking Heavenly Father to bless that person.
He also warned us that all of this might seem awkward at first but that if we chose to try, we could truly be filled with His love, our faith really would grow, and we would feel joy.
That sounded wonderful to me. I decided to try. I could not believe how many times the bell rang each day. When I heard it, I stopped. “Heavenly Father, thank you. Please bless me and bless Dorene. I know she’s having struggles.” It was awkward at first, but soon I found myself thinking about my Heavenly Father and Savior, not only when the bell rang but many times during the day. I remember walking across a muddy field one morning and seeing a tiny yellow flower. It was probably a weed, but to me it was beautiful, and I felt that He had created it just for me. I loved Him so much. My faith had increased, and I was happy.

A passage from the novel Les misérables illustrates how priesthood holders can treat those individuals viewed as strangers. Jean Valjean had just been released as a prisoner. Exhausted by a long voyage and dying of hunger and thirst, he arrives in a small town seeking a place to find food and shelter for the night. When the news of his arrival spreads, one by one all the inhabitants close their doors to him. Not the hotel, not the inn, not even the prison would invite him in. He is rejected, driven away, banished. Finally, with no strength left, he collapses at the front door of the town’s bishop.
The good clergyman is entirely aware of Valjean’s background, but he invites the vagabond into his home with these compassionate words:
“‘This is not my house; it is the house of Jesus Christ. This door does not demand of him who enters whether he has a name, but whether he has a grief. You suffer, you are hungry and thirsty; you are welcome. … What need have I to know your name? Besides, before you told me [your name], you had one which I knew.’
“[Valjean] opened his eyes in astonishment.
“‘Really? You knew what I was called?’
“‘Yes,’ replied the Bishop, ‘you are called my brother.’”

I conclude with an example from my own life. I once had a treasured friend who seemed to experience more of life’s troubles and frustrations than he could bear. Finally he lay in the hospital terminally ill. I knew not that he was there.
Sister Monson and I had gone to that same hospital to visit another person who was very ill. As we exited the hospital and proceeded to where our car was parked, I felt the distinct impression to return and make inquiry concerning whether my friend Hyrum might still be a patient there. A check with the clerk at the desk confirmed that Hyrum was indeed a patient there after many weeks.
We proceeded to his room, knocked on the door, and opened it. We were not prepared for the sight that awaited us. Balloon bouquets were everywhere. Prominently displayed on the wall was a poster with the words “Happy Birthday, Daddy” written on it. Hyrum was sitting up in his hospital bed, his family members by his side. When he saw us, he said, “Brother Monson, how in the world did you know that today is my birthday?” I smiled, but I left the question unanswered.
Those in the room who held the Melchizedek Priesthood surrounded this, their father and grandfather and my friend, and a priesthood blessing was given.
After tears were shed, smiles of gratitude exchanged, and tender hugs received and given, I leaned over to Hyrum and spoke softly to him: “Remember the words of the Lord, for they will sustain you. He promised you, ‘I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you’ (John 14:18).”

The bell rang out across the playground. Recess was over. Alvin put away his basketball and walked to the classroom.
“Please sit down and take out your math books,” his teacher, Mrs. Hall, said.
Alvin slid into his seat and reached into his school bag. Then he heard a knock on the classroom door. Mrs. Hall answered it and started talking with another teacher.
Just a few desks over, Blake and Jared started whispering.
“Pssst! Look what I found!”
“Whoa!”
“Wanna try it after school?”
What’s going on? Alvin wondered.
He could just barely see Blake and Jared out of the corner of his eye. It looked like one of them was pulling a little plastic bag out of his pocket.
Wait, were those drugs?!
Alvin’s heart beat faster. His parents had talked with him and his siblings about drugs before. He knew that drugs were against the Word of Wisdom and that they could hurt your body and brain. He also knew it was dangerous to take medicine that wasn’t yours.
What should I do? Alvin thought. He glanced around. Those drugs could hurt someone! None of the other kids seemed to be paying attention. Should I tell someone? Or just pretend I didn’t see it?
Alvin had trouble concentrating during math. He couldn’t focus during reading time. By lunchtime, he felt like a rock was sitting in his stomach.
“Are you OK?” his friend Mitch asked.
Alvin shrugged.
“What’s going on? Tell us,” his friend Hazel said.
So Alvin told them about what he had seen. “I think I need to tell Mrs. Hall.”
“But what if they find out it was you?” Mitch said. “They might be really mad at you.”
Alvin agreed. But the yucky feeling in his stomach wouldn’t go away. Finally he made a decision. He was going to tell their teacher.
“I’ll go with you,” Hazel said.
Alvin and Hazel found Mrs. Hall in her classroom.
“Mrs. Hall?” Alvin asked. “Can we talk with you in private?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Hall said. “How can I help you?”
“Um … ,” Alvin said. Mrs. Hall smiled kindly. That made him feel brave. “I saw Blake and Jared with drugs in class today. I felt like I needed to tell you.”
“You did the right thing,” Mrs. Hall said. “You can always come talk to me when you see a problem. I’ll take care of it.”
Alvin let out a big sigh. The heavy feeling had disappeared.
That afternoon, the principal’s assistant came to their room and called Blake and Jared to come out in the hall.
The boys didn’t come back to class for three days.
When they finally came back, Alvin was nervous to see them again.
What if they figured out I was the one who told the teacher? he thought. What if they’re really mad at me?
But they just sat and joked with each other, like usual.
“Where have you been?” another classmate asked them.
“Oh … uh … we got caught with something bad at school,” Blake said. “So we got sent home.”
Everyone kept talking, and eventually Alvin relaxed. He was glad he’d spoken up about the drugs to help keep others safe. He wanted to make good choices to keep his body safe and healthy.

Amber Martin and Kortney Kline are closer to earning their Young Women Personal Progress Award after organizing all the youth in the Valley Forge Pennsylvania Stake to donate their reading books to an inner-city school in Philadelphia. A stake youth dance was held and the “admission fee” was to bring some books. Amber and Kortney managed to collect over 500 books. These two young women said it was an awesome experience to give youth in their stake an opportunity to donate books to students in need.

For example, in a counseling session, Marilyn described how frustrating it had been to lie in bed after she and her husband had yelled at each other. “I knew I was in the right,” she said. “I knew he was going to flip on the light and apologize, but he never did. The more I thought about it, the madder I got. When I heard him start to snore, I couldn’t stand it—I jumped out of bed and yelled at him some more and then went downstairs. Can you believe that he still didn’t apologize?” Marilyn’s experience is a good example of how not to deal with angry feelings.

For me the message of reconciliation sank deep when my beloved teacher, Manuel Tun, told the parable of the prodigal son in his own words in the Maya language of Yucatán. Allow me to retell it, with adaptations, as he gave it to me.
A father had two sons. I’ll call the younger son Johnny. Johnny’s father was rich. He had hired hands who worked in his fields. Johnny and his brother and father worked hard alongside the hirelings.
To each son the father gave a gold ring to symbolize fidelity to God and to family. Working and talking with his father and brother, Johnny felt contented. His eyes shone, and there was a peaceful expression on his face. He was twelve years old. He was responsible. He was obedient. He was polite and respectful.
Three years passed. He was fifteen now and had new friends. But these boys didn’t like to work. They only liked to play. They teased him: “Johnny, your father takes advantage of you.” And Johnny began to believe them. Often he played all night with them, and in the morning he was too tired to get up and work. He thought: “Why should I work? Why should my father exploit me? I have my own life.”
Quarrels erupted between him and his brother, and unkind feelings developed between Johnny and his father. Now Johnny no longer prayed. He no longer read the word of God. He didn’t like to spend time with his family. At home he felt bored. He didn’t want to work with his father and brother, or even talk with them. He only wanted to play with his friends. He didn’t notice that the warm feeling that was in his heart had disappeared, together with the light that formerly shone in his eyes.
One day his friends said to him: “Your father is rich. Why should you work? Let your father’s hirelings do the work. Go to your father and demand your inheritance. Then you can leave home and be your own boss.”
And Johnny thought: “That’s right! I’ll leave, and I’ll never come back. With my inheritance I can live like a king. I don’t need my family. I’ll live with friends.”
The decision made, Johnny went to his father and said:
“I want my inheritance now! Here’s your ring, your ‘symbol of family unity.’ It has no meaning for me anymore. I’m leaving, and I don’t plan to come back.”
“Your inheritance? You want it now? Johnny, have you thought this over thoroughly?”
“I won’t discuss it, Dad. Just give me my money now!”
Johnny took his inheritance money and left. He made his way to a far city, feeling immensely rich and totally free. Where he went we don’t know, but we can imagine that he went to a place where he was sure no one would recognize him. In the city he found friends, and with them he squandered his inheritance, leading a debauched life. One day he woke up to find that the money that he figured would last forever was all spent. And soon he found that his friends were no friends at all. There was no one who cared for him. He was alone and frightened.
Shortly after the money was all spent, there came a famine, and Johnny began to suffer from hunger. I can just see him standing on a street corner. A cold wind is blowing, and he is clutching a tattered blanket about him. He is hungry, but more than that, he is ashamed. People look on him with pity for the misery he has brought on himself, and children mock him for his wretchedness.
I note the painful expression on his face as he shouts out: “You make fun of me, but my father is richer than you all. Don’t you know who I am?” But no one pays any attention. No one helps.
Now he had lost everything. He had no home, no family, no dignity. He had thrown away everything. In his desperation he thought of sending a letter to his father, asking for money. He still thought money could solve his problems. He did not yet see that the void in his heart could only be filled by reconciliation with his father.
One day a neighbor traveling abroad saw him in this sad state. “So, Johnny, this is where you are. I see you’re in dire straits. Listen, lad, before setting out, I told your father I was coming here. He said: ‘Please, if you happen to see my Johnny, tell him I still love him and want him to come home.’”
“What? Does my father speak of me?”
“Does he speak of you? Every day he speaks of you. Johnny, his heart aches for you.”
“Tell my father I’m okay. I’ll manage.”
But Johnny couldn’t manage. He begged a citizen: “Sir, help me, I am hungry. Give me something to eat.” The man looked on him with pity and gave him work. He sent him into his fields to feed swine.
Emaciated and weak, Johnny ate pig fodder and swill. Soon sick, and with no one there to attend to his desperate need, he cried out in agony: “Oh, God, what have I done? Help me, God. Help me return to my father. I’ll say to him: ‘Father, I am no longer worthy to be called thy son. Make me only as one of thy hired servants.’”
Now Johnny got up and set out for home. I can imagine him walking along dusty roads, climbing hills, descending into valleys, passing through fields and wilderness. He is aching within. Sweat mixed with tears streams down his face, but his every step is quickened by hope.
Nearing his father’s lands, he wondered, “What if Father’s heart has turned against me?” (Oh, but how little he knew of his father’s heart!) How he longed to see his father’s fields. He remembered the happy days of his childhood, pleasant hours spent at play with his brother, times that he was working, playing, singing, and chatting with his dad and mom.
Now Johnny came within sight of his father’s house. His father was standing on a hill from where he could look down on the road. Every day he had stood there, hoping to see if by chance his lost son might be coming up the road. And that day, as always, he was there hoping and praying. Suddenly he saw the figure of a young man approaching. His heart jumped. The boy’s clothes weren’t recognizeable. They were tattered and dirty. The boy was limping. His hair was long and disheveled. But the father recognized his son, and his heart filled with compassion. Johnny had come home! He ran joyously to meet his son and threw himself on his neck and kissed him. “Johnny, my son, you’ve come back!”
But the son said to his father, “Father, I have sinned against God.”
“Yes, Johnny, I know.”
“I have sinned before you, Father.”
“Yes, my son, I know.”
“Oh, I am ashamed, Father. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.”
“Johnny, my son, my son. How terribly you must have suffered.”
The father called to his servants: “Bring clean clothes and dress my son. Put shoes on his feet. Put this ring back on his finger. Come, let us celebrate. For this my son was lost but now is found. This my son was dead but has returned to life.”

Last year a dear family friend passed away. Lucile was 89 years old and had been a widow for more than 20 years. She was not a rich woman, she was not famous, and most of the world knew nothing of her passing. But her family knew. Her neighbors knew. The members of her ward knew. For all who had experienced her love, her death had left the world a diminished place. During her years as a widow, Lucile had endured difficult challenges, including the death of a beloved grandson and infirmities brought on by age. But Lucile continued to nourish everyone she knew with her spirit; with her baked goods, her quilts and afghans; with her humor and goodwill. And she loved to work in the temple. One spring day in 1981, she wrote in her journal: “This morning at 3:30 A.M., as I was walking up the path to the temple, I watched the flag gently blowing in the breeze and looked at the beautiful sky and thought how happy I was to be there. I felt sad for all the people who [were] sleeping and missing the awakening of a beautiful day.”
Most of us don’t think the world is “awakening” at 3:30 in the morning, and we’re perfectly happy to roll over in bed about then and allow Lucile to feel sorry for us. But what an attitude! Only a flow of goodness from within could explain it. Did she possess this purity of spirit at 15, at 25, or even 55? I don’t know. In most cases, it probably takes a lifetime of listening to the Holy Ghost before we know God’s voice so well and before we trust in the living waters enough to taste them throughout the entire day—especially a day that begins at 3:30 A.M. But I believe the living waters sustained Lucile during those long years when she might have given way to self-pity, and her life, her spirit, became nourishment to everyone she knew.

Many of the LDS kids in Alice attend St. Philip’s, a private school run by another church. Like most Australian schools, St. Philip’s has a strict dress code. Everyone must wear uniforms, and there are even rules about jewelry—only one pair of earrings, no bracelets, no rings.
That was the rub for the Mormon kids—no rings. Like many Latter-day Saints worldwide, they like to wear CTR rings. But they were told to remove them, even though exceptions had been made before for jewelry with “religious significance.”
“I’d explain why it was important to me,” says Lavinia Archibald, 16. “But one of my teachers kept saying to take it off or she’d confiscate it.”
The LDS students and their parents (including branch president Mark Webster) talked to the principal, who knew the LDS youth as some of his best students. He talked to the faculty, explained that CTR stands for “choose the right,” and gave his approval for Latter-day Saints to wear the rings.
“Now the teacher is fine about it,” Lavinia says. “She’ll have you reach your hand out, then say, ‘Ah, you’re allowed.’”

When I was a child, my parents took me to church only occasionally. I was baptized and ordained a deacon, but attending church was not a big part of our lives. By the time I was 14, I wasn’t attending church at all. I was in the middle of yet another custody battle between my parents. When I moved in with my mom, I had no motivation to study, because I saw no purpose in my life. A lot of people stayed away from me in my new school because I wore black clothing and combat boots. My grades were terrible. That was the year I entered ninth grade.
One day I was visiting my grandma when she told me that if I would graduate from seminary, she would give me $100. For me that was a lot of money. I said I’d think about it.
When I went to my new school to register, the school counselor signed me up for three shop classes because other classes were full. I didn’t want to take shop, and then I remembered Grandma’s offer. Suddenly the idea of getting out of shop and getting $100 sounded pretty good. I signed up for released-time seminary. I went to class, but I sat in the back and participated as little as possible.
One day I got to seminary class late, and the only seat available was on the front row. I sat down and heard our teacher, Brother Peck, say, “I don’t know why, but I feel like we need to watch this today.”
We watched How Rare a Possession, a movie about how the Book of Mormon affected the lives of different people. As the movie ended and we got up to leave, something unexpected happened: I realized that I felt peaceful. It was such a foreign feeling that I wondered what it could mean. An impression came: I was feeling the Spirit. At that moment I knew the Book of Mormon was an inspired book.
I started going to church with some friends in our neighborhood. But then we moved and I stopped going.
In my new school I signed up for seminary. I began reading the scriptures daily. One night it hit me just how much my life needed changing. I had been learning about the gospel, but I hadn’t been living it. I was still hanging out with people who made it difficult to live righteously. I knew I had to get serious about changing my life. The next day I went and talked to Brother Porter, my seminary teacher. He told me when and where my ward met.
The next Sunday I went to church but sat down in the back of the chapel. It took a while to make friends because of my reputation, but I kept going each week because I knew that was where I was supposed to be. For my 15th birthday, my other grandma gave me a gift certificate for a haircut and some new clothes. A few days later I was ordained a teacher.
When general conference came, Brother Porter gave us an assignment to watch at least one session. I put off the assignment until Sunday morning. When the session started, I rolled over in my bed and turned on the TV. As I watched President Thomas S. Monson, then the Second Counselor in the First Presidency, talk about the history of the Church in the German Democratic Republic, I felt that same feeling of peace. I recognized it as the Spirit testifying that I was listening to prophets. That afternoon my mom and brothers went grocery shopping. I stayed home to watch another session.
By that point I had made two very important decisions: I would live the gospel, and I wanted to get married in the temple. But I wasn’t going to spend two years on a mission. Then our seminary teacher gave some lessons on missionary work. By the end of the week, I knew that going on a mission was the right thing to do.
I went to the bishop to get a recommend for my patriarchal blessing. Through that experience, I learned that God had a plan for my life. That knowledge helped me form my own plans for the future. My grades improved, and I started getting involved in clubs and activities at school. I was assigned to be a home teacher with a neighbor, who taught me about service and how a priesthood holder should live.
Despite the changes I made, my life wasn’t easy. In some ways it became more difficult. Going to church meant more conflicts with my family over the kinds of activities we engaged in on Sunday and the kinds of movies we watched. Most of the time I went to church by myself. I missed out on dinners, movies, and visits to amusement parks. But that was more than made up for by the Spirit I felt. The Holy Ghost comforted me in difficult times and taught me as I read the scriptures.
When I graduated from high school and seminary, my grandma gave me the promised check for $100. I thanked her and told her I didn’t want it, but she insisted. The testimony I had gained of a loving Heavenly Father, the Savior, the Holy Ghost, the restored Church, and prophets who lead us today was worth far more than any amount of money.

“I first heard about the Church from my best friend, Vera, who is 16. I was curious to know about her beliefs, especially why Latter-day Saints don’t drink tea and coffee and where my friend went for three hours every Sunday. I asked her to take me to church, and a month later I was baptized.
“At first I didn’t understand many things. Everything seemed to be strange and unusual, but I kept asking questions of friends and missionaries.
“Now, four months later, I reflect on the many ways I have changed since my baptism. The day of my baptism, I could feel the Holy Ghost, but I was very emotional, somewhat worried, and a little afraid. Now I can feel the peaceful, quiet influence of the Spirit, and I have what is most important—my faith in the Savior.”
Vera Terekhova,Vasiliostrovsky Branch,St. Petersburg Russia West District