Gospel Story Finder

Photograph by Feng Yu/iStock/Thinkstock
As an elementary school teacher of more than 25 years, I have received a lot of interesting things from my young students. Silly notes, drawn pictures, and imaginative crafts are common gifts. Last year, however, was the first time I had ever received a potato.
“A potato for the teacher,” young Emma said proudly when she came to my desk, “because I didn’t have an apple.” It was a medium-sized potato, scrubbed clean, and beautiful as far as potatoes go. I thanked her and placed it on my desk. I saw Emma’s large blue eyes shine with pride whenever she looked at it throughout the day.
After school, when I was working at my desk, I couldn’t help but regard the potato with a tender smile. Children see things so simply, and with that common potato, Emma taught me something important. I left it on my desk for over a week because it served as a reminder to me.
As a visiting teacher and a sister in my ward, I wanted to serve others, but I was always waiting for an “apple” before I took time to help. If I was busy and couldn’t make an extra casserole or if I wanted to give a special flower but didn’t get to the floral shop, I ignored the still, small voice of the Spirit whispering of someone who needed my service.
“I’ll do something this weekend, when I have time,” I would convince myself. “Nobody needs me today.”
But what if someone really did need me? What if I hadn’t ignored the promptings to visit an elderly neighbor or the young widow who had just lost her husband? Could I have helped or served, even with what I could offer then—a “potato”?
I learned a great lesson from Emma that I am trying hard to put into practice. If I don’t have an apple, I give a potato instead, and I do it now. I don’t wait to make a casserole or my special lemon cream pie; I buy a box of cookies instead. I don’t often get to the florist, but I can drop in for a chat without the flower. A homemade card would be great, but so would a quick phone call. It doesn’t have to be a grand gesture of service every time. A small gesture of love is just as nice.
I have the potato at home now, but I don’t think I’ll ever eat it. It serves as a constant reminder to serve when I’m prompted. I give what I can now instead of waiting until later. A potato for the teacher really was the nicest gift.

President Uchtdorf learned the value of working hard at a young age. The Uchtdorfs owned a laundry, and Dieter rode a heavy-duty bicycle, pulling a heavy laundry cart before and after school. Years later, when he joined the air force, he learned that he had had a lung disease when he was younger. Because he had worked hard through his childhood, his body had healed itself and built up a resistance to the disease.

In 2008, she desired to find her paternal grandmother’s family history. Since she had passed away, Anu tried to find her grandmother’s sister. All Anu knew was her name, the city, and that she lived on Temple Street.

Anu traveled to another city, seven months pregnant with her two little children on her quest. When she arrived at Temple Street, she began asking people if anyone knew her. She said, “It was like the Lord’s hand was there, helping”. Each person she asked drew her a little closer until she found her great-aunt. It was like a miracle.

At first, she was worried if she would be accepted. Her great-aunt is Hindu and Anu is a member of the Church. She had only met her once before. However, her grandmother’s sister warmly welcomed her.

Anu eagerly sketched the four-generation family pedigree as they visited for two hours, “she was like an encyclopedia of information”. Anu exclaimed, “It was an amazing experience! I’ll never forget it! I felt a strong connection with my ancestors, like they were waiting for me to get the information recorded.” Anu explained that India’s government didn’t record birth and death dates. Approximate dates were typically remembered by lunar calendar. For example, a birth date may be recorded as five days after the full moon.

Mike is truly a special person, but it took me 18 years to realize it. Mike is my older brother, and for years we struggled to get along. We are very different. Mike, the family athlete, played basketball while I practiced the piano. I excelled in English and literature. Mike’s forte is science. But instead of our differences forming a complementary relationship between us, we let them turn into feelings of anger and contention.
Consequently, those negative feelings began to concern our parents. “Jeff, we are an eternal family. If you and Mike can’t get along now, you’re not going to be happy with him in the eternities,” my father said one day. “Of all the relationships in your life, this is one of the most important. You must put forth all your effort to build it up. It will take a lot of work; everything worthwhile does.”
That night I thought a lot about what Dad had said, and I knew he was right. I promised myself that I would try my best to build a better relationship with my brother.
With the hopes of building a friendship between Mike and me, our parents planned a long family vacation in Alaska where we could spend a lot of time together fishing, hiking, and camping. Mom and Dad’s plan caught a snag, though. Both Mike and I wanted to stay home to work and earn money for college. Disappointed but supportive of our decision, our family left us in Houston to work for the two months they would be in Alaska.
After they left, we both searched for good jobs with little success until Mike finally found one. The catch was he needed me too. A real estate manager had several houses that needed exterior paint jobs, and he was looking for a couple of guys to paint. At the time, the thought of working several hours every day with Mike was not appealing. But the money was too good to refuse.
On our first day of painting the change in us began. At 5:30 A.M., Mike yelled into my room, “Come on, get up! It’s only going to get hotter!” With a groan, I got dressed. We both knew once the sun was up, the temperature would rise quickly, making outside work even more miserable. Mike loaded the van with our equipment, while I made juice and packed fruit that we hoped would give us periodic reprieves from the beating sun.
As we began to paint, we realized our painting strategies were quite different. While I spent a lot of time on each area, moving on only when the area was well-coated and no spots showed, Mike would paint an entire wall quickly and messily and then return for a second coat to cover any missed spots. The different strategies were equally efficient and caused no problems until we both had to work in the same area. We then compromised. Mike began with his first coat and I followed behind, catching every spot and finishing details. We finished much faster than expected.
Another potential conflict arose in choosing a radio station to listen to. While Mike preferred the “light” station, I complained it was more monotonous than the painting. I didn’t want to argue, though, so I was preparing to give him the choice. But it was Mike who acquiesced. During the course of that day, Mike listened to more alternative rock than ever before. I even caught him singing along several times.
Though we painted through some periods without talking, we also maintained long periods of conversation, perhaps longer than we had ever talked before. Conversation made the job go faster, and as we talked it became clear that we had some things in common. In that one afternoon, we talked about school, the Church, music, and art. I told about a bizarre dream I’d had. He told me about his most embarrassing date. We found ourselves laughing as we realized we had repainted an entire wall in the midst of our conversation.
It was beginning to get dark when we finally finished the house. We cleaned our equipment, loaded the van, and then surveyed the house with satisfaction. As I drove home, I thought about something I’d learned in a physics class. Physicists define work in terms of force (effort) and displacement (movement). Thus, work becomes a term of progress, dependent on effort and movement. I thought about our first day of painting that same way. It had required a lot of effort, and we could see our progress on the house. But there was other work we had done that day too. Our relationship had become stronger. It wasn’t without effort, though. The words of my father echoed in my mind: “It will take work; everything worthwhile does.”
Later, I talked on the phone to my parents about the first day of painting. I told them despite the Texas heat, we were able to finish the first house. “Working with Mike wasn’t too bad. In fact, it was kind of fun,” I told my mom. “I’m excited to start the next house.”
Indeed, I couldn’t wait to continue what would turn out to be my real summer work—appreciating my brother.

When I arrived at BYU–Hawaii I wasn’t a member of the Church. I had friends who were members of the “Mormon” Church. Calling each other Brother and Sister was new for me. I took required religion classes and received the missionary discussions. I was interested in joining the church, but it was difficult for my parents to have me change my religion. Then in the summer of 1980, I attended the baptism of my future father-in-law, Warren Johnson Sr., at Temple Beach I felt a special feeling, and was determined that I would get baptized as well. On July 4, 1980, my basketball teammate, Roger Rowberry from Idaho baptized me a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I can remember that early morning. I didn’t have a way to Laie so I ran from Kahuku to the Laie Hawaii Stake Center. The full-time missionaries had me change into my baptism clothing and one of my best friends baptized me. One of the full-time missionaries confirmed me a member of the church. BYU–Hawaii was definitely a missionary factor. I received the gospel and joined the church when I was a student at BYU–Hawaii. The next summer in August of 1981, I entered the Provo Missionary Training Center to serve in the Wisconsin Milwaukee Mission. This was not a lifetime goal for me and if not for the influence I received from my wife, good friends, and people at BYU–Hawaii and PCC, I would not have gone on a mission. It was a difficult decision to graduate from college or to delay my education and serve a mission first. My parents did not understand a mission therefore they did not support it. I would not hear from my parents for two years until I returned from the mission field. What a great opportunity I had to serve the people in Wisconsin. Wisconsin was a foreign land for me the winters were long and cold. I remembered teaching the Littel Family. This Family was contacted by earlier missionaries going door-to-door finding people to teach the gospel. The earlier missionaries baptized two members of the family, but were unable to baptize the parents and two other siblings. My companion and I were able to share the gospel and the aloha spirit. This family became our friends and they wanted to know more about the gospel and beautiful Hawaii. Later the parents were also baptized. Another son and daughter were not baptized but were friendly towards the church. My required religion classes prepared me for my mission. When I entered into the mission field in August of 1981 I had read all of the standard works because it was required at BYU–Hawaii. What a blessing to have done that. Today students from BYU–Hawaii continue to enter into the mission field and serve millions.

A major setback for the handcart company was an unusually early and heavy winter snow storm. The pioneers tried to shelter themselves from the storm, but their tents were useless in such bad weather. “It was very bad, because the people were weak, having been on small rations of food,” wrote Joseph. But, as the storm passed, a great shout arose from the camp. They caught sight of a wagon. Two men from Salt Lake City were bringing word that teams of horses and wagons and provisions were onto their way. “It was glorious news,” wrote Joseph, but news alone did not feed the hundred of hungry Saints or keep them warm in this hour of critical need.
“The next morning when we got up, the pioneers were hungry and cold. To rush them into the snow would be certain death to a great many of them, for we had not yet met the relief wagons, only the one wagon which passed us and went on the Martin Company.”
Joseph recorded in his diary that Captain Willie then decided to take Joseph with him to go in search of the relief wagons. The company would make a camp and try to shelter themselves as best they could. Each pioneer had been allowed a maximum of only eight kilograms of clothing and bedding to keep the handcart light. In the severe cold, it wasn’t enough. Many Saints were literally freezing.
“We started ahead in search of our brethren,” wrote Joseph, and they rode on old and tired mules for [eighteen kilometers] with the snow and bitter wind blowing in their faces all day. The next day they found a guidepost where they were directed to their rescuers, who had been delayed in the storm. “Great was their joy in seeing us for they had been searching for us for a long time.”
It was another day and a half of difficult traveling until Captain Willie and Joseph Elder could lead the rescuers back to the camp to help. They found the cold had taken a terrible toll.
Joseph recorded: “That was an awful day. Many can never forget the scenes they witnessed that day. Men, women and children weakened by cold and hunger, weeping, crying, and some even dying by the roadside. … Oh how my heart did quake and shudder at the awful scenes which surrounded me. The next morning we buried nine, all in one deep grave.”
The fate of the Willie Handcart Company would be remembered as one of the saddest trials of all those endured by Mormon pioneers. But with fresh supplies of food and clothing, the health of the group gradually improved and even the weather got better. “We continued a steady march and at last to our great joy we arrived at Great Salt Lake City on November 9, 1856.” But our of the 450 Saints who had started the trek, sixty-seven died along the way.

On one occasion he was home on a break from college. He was focused on upcoming finals and was not feeling right, though he didn’t feel physically ill.
“If you’re feeling well and don’t feel right,” his mother told him, “you need to go serve somebody.”
Brett threw a snow shovel in the back of the family pickup and went around shoveling the driveways of the widows in the ward. He felt much better.
“I was so focused on myself and the finals, I had forgotten that the real purpose of life is to serve others,” he says.

My mom gave a family home evening lesson on loving our enemies. She taught me and my brothers and sisters what it means to love those who “despitefully use you, and persecute you” (Matt. 5:44).
I remembered that lesson the next day at school when I noticed that a bigger boy who was always trying to bully or tease me didn’t have a lunch. My sister had helped me pack a huge lunch the night before, and I had two sandwiches. So I took my extra sandwich and some other things in my lunch and offered them to the boy. I was happy that he took the extra food, and he seemed glad that I had offered it to him. He is not mean to me anymore, and I am much happier at school.
I am glad that I listened to the family home evening lesson. My mom and dad are, too. They said that they are proud of me for listening to the Spirit and doing a kind and brave thing even though it seemed a little scary.

Many in this vast audience of priesthood bearers are holders of the Aaronic Priesthood—even deacons, teachers, and priests. Young men, some lessons in life are learned from your parents, while others you learn in school or in church. There are, however, certain moments when you know our Heavenly Father is doing the teaching and you are His student. The thoughts we think, the feelings we feel—even the deeds we do in boyhood—can affect our lives forever.

When I was a deacon, I loved baseball. In fact, I still do. I had a fielder’s glove inscribed with the name Mel Ott. He was the premier player of my day. My friends and I would play ball in a small alleyway behind the houses where we lived. Our playing field was cramped, but all right, provided you hit straightaway to center field. However, if you hit the ball to the right of center, disaster was at the door. Here lived Mrs. Shinas, who, from her kitchen window, would watch us play; and as soon as the ball rolled to her porch, her large dog would retrieve the ball and present it to her as she opened the door. Into her house Mrs. Shinas would return and add the ball to the many she had previously confiscated. She was our nemesis, the destroyer of our fun—even the bane of our existence. None of us had a good word for Mrs. Shinas, but we had plenty of bad words for her. None of us would speak to her, and she never spoke to us. She was hampered by a stiff leg which impaired her walking and must have caused her great pain. She and her husband had no children, lived secluded lives, and rarely came out of their house.
This private war continued for some time—perhaps two years—and then an inspired thaw melted the ice of winter and brought a springtime of good feelings to the stalemate.
One evening as I performed my daily task of watering our front lawn, holding the nozzle of the hose in the hand as was the style at that time, I noticed that Mrs. Shinas’s lawn was dry and beginning to turn brown. I honestly don’t know, brethren, what came over me, but I took a few more minutes and, with our hose, watered her lawn. I continued to do this throughout the summer, and then when autumn came I hosed her lawn free of leaves as I did ours and stacked the leaves in piles at the street’s edge to be gathered. During the entire summer I had not seen Mrs. Shinas. We boys had long since given up playing ball in the alleyway. We had run out of baseballs and had no money to buy more.
Early one evening, Mrs. Shinas’s front door opened, and she beckoned for me to jump the small fence and come to her front porch. This I did. As I approached her, she invited me into her living room, where I was asked to sit in a comfortable chair. She treated me to cookies and milk. Then she went to the kitchen and returned with a large box filled with baseballs and softballs, representing several seasons of her confiscation efforts. The filled box was presented to me. The treasure, however, was not to be found in the gift but rather in her words. I saw for the first time a smile come across the face of Mrs. Shinas, and she said, “Tommy, I want you to have these baseballs, and I want to thank you for being kind to me.” I expressed my own gratitude to her and walked from her home a better boy than when I entered. No longer were we enemies. Now we were friends. The Golden Rule had again succeeded.

“Well, it’s like a family treasure. Heirlooms may not always be expensive, but they always have a history, a story to tell. Your ring is special because it has a story of its very own. You see, a long time ago, your great-great-grandparents came to this country from a village in Austria. They loved their home very much but were hoping to build a better life for their children. When your great-grandmother was still a baby, they crossed the ocean in a big ship to Pennsylvania, where your great-great-grandfather worked in the coal mines.
“Their new life was hard. The pay wasn’t good—there were a lot of people just like them from the Old Country, working at the hardest jobs because they didn’t know English, and there wasn’t always work for everybody. Most of all, they missed their home and family back in Austria. But they worked hard, hoping to improve their life here and be able to return to visit.”
Mom took a deep breath. “They never did; they both died when their children were still young. It was very sad. One day, years later, after your great-grandmother was grown and had a family of her own, a letter came from a cousin in Austria. Her father’s land had been sold, and the money was being divided up among all the relatives. There was twenty-five dollars for your great-grandmother in the envelope.
“That was a lot of money then—much more than now—and she thought of all the things that she could buy for her family with it. But instead of spending it, she put it into a drawer for safekeeping, and it stayed there for months. Sometimes she’d take it out and count it. She tried to imagine what her parents’ village was like, and she wondered about her cousins.
“One morning she took the envelope into town to a jewelry shop. She picked out a small silver ring with a diamond chip in the center. It seemed very small on her large hand. It wasn’t one of the nicest rings, but it would represent her family and all that they meant to each other, and the price was just the right amount. She paid for it and took it home, putting it into the same drawer the envelope had been in. And when I was just about your age, she gave it to me and told me to wear it proudly. It was ‘a little piece of my home,’ she said.

The first story took place during late spring in the Cascade Mountains. Rodney and Micki, my two sons, and I had decided to do some early mountain climbing. We had been climbing through spotty snow fields and clumps of evergreen trees when we heard the unmistakable roar of large boulders bounding down the mountainside. From the noise they were making as they struck trees and undergrowth and ricocheted off larger rocks, we could tell they were headed our way. Barely in time, we jumped behind a large, old snag as the first of several boulders roared by, barely missing our old protective tree. After the roar stopped as a result of the rocks piling into a snowfield, I poked my head out from behind the tree and looked in the direction from which the boulders had come. I soon detected the cause of our problem; looking like several small busy ants, a group of boys were rolling rocks down the mountainside. At first I yelled and waved my coat, and then we all yelled and waved our coats, but to no avail. Was our weekend hiking trip about to come to an early end, or would it be worth the risk to continue climbing while the youths above rolled rocks down the mountain?
How did these three misadventures turn out? In the first story, we yelled many times together without any luck. Then Micki said, “Daddy, I bet if I blew my whistle, they would hear it!” So he did and they did! We were then able to communicate, after which no more rocks were rolled down the mountain, and we were able to continue our climb.

A young Guatemalan man’s leg was swollen. He wanted to know if he could borrow a wheelchair to get him around so that he could come up with the money to have his leg taken off. It had gangrene, and he had 30 days to have it removed. The doctor wanted $100 to cut the leg off and another $25 to put him to sleep. I gave him the $125. He counted it out, and he handed me $25 back. He said, “That’s okay. I don’t need to be put to sleep.” I gave the money back to him.
Three days later I got a call from down there. He had had his leg off and was getting around in a wheelchair. His wife had found a job, he was in the house taking care of the children, and they were going to be a very happy family.

And, as Michael and Debbie have found, they experience tremendous revelatory moments and attendant blessings when they are working on the Lord’s temples.
“We needed some bigger stencils for a temple we were working on, but since we didn’t know anybody in that particular city we just went to the internet and found two or three stencil suppliers.” Debbie said. “We felt drawn to one in particular, but it was 11 o’clock at night and we needed these stencils as soon as we could get them. We couldn’t find their trading hours on the website but out of the blue the impression came to me, “Why don’t you just call them?”
“We discussed that if we did that maybe their answering machine would give us their hours,” Debbie continued. “So, I called the number and the owner of the business answered.”
He was at the office that night because of some problems his own people were having with a project they were working on. Later, when Michael and Debbie went in to pick up their new stencils, the man told them it was very unusual for him to be at the office at that time of night.
“He said he had to come in to recut all the stencils for his own project and that he was going to be there until two or three in the morning. That had never happened before,” Debbie said. “But Mike had been fasting and praying all day about this, and we believe the Lord led us to the business that could help us complete what we were working on.”
“We’re so grateful for moments like these.”

This sister who helped us—we call her our “Sister Miracle” now—invited us to her home, wanting to know more of our family’s story. Our two families enjoyed talking over waffles about missions, temple work, family history, and all our blessings from Heavenly Father.

As the evening ended, Sister Miracle asked for a priesthood blessing of comfort as she had just been diagnosed with aggressive cancer and was preparing for chemotherapy, surgery and radiation.

Together with her husband, I pronounced a blessing that her life would not be cut short, that she would see her children serve missions, and enjoy watching her grandchildren grow up.

Later, Sister Miracle shared with me about our visit:
“It was a tender mercy from the Lord, knowing that He was aware of me and my new trial with cancer. My faith was strengthened in Jesus Christ. I am blessed to have had this experience with my new friends from New Caledonia.”

She continued to share what she is learning:
“We all experience different trials and challenges in our lives. I am choosing to center my life on Jesus Christ and keep my covenants with Him. I have confidence that He will bless me in His perfect way. I often use the phrase ‘but if not’ in my prayers. I ask for healing and strength, but if I am not cured from cancer, I trust that He will bless me in His perfect way. I have confidence that He will provide miracles as well as little tender mercies along the way; to help me know He is aware of me.
“This message from Elder Soares explains how I feel: ‘I know that when the Lord sees even a spark of desire or a flicker of righteous effort in our willingness to center our lives on Him and on the ordinances and covenants, we make in His house, He will bless us, in His perfect way, with the miracles and tender mercies we need.’”

From the day of our first visit, we prayed for Sister Miracle. Treatments became more complicated, and her white blood cell count was often too low to continue chemotherapy at the same pace. Even with these complications, I had faith and trusted the Lord for her recovery.

Seven months later, Sister Miracle and her husband called me on my way to work. Through video chat, they explained the post-surgery results, after the cancer growth had been removed. Miraculously, the doctors found no cancer cells in that tissue. Words could not describe my joy and tears over this new miracle!

While such a miraculous response is not always the outcome in life’s challenges, Heavenly Father is aware of our needs and has provided strength through covenants with Him.

Indeed, for Sister Miracle, the sustaining help and love she felt from Heavenly Father was the real miracle in her life. As President Russell M. Nelson has said: “All those who have made a covenant with God have access to a special kind of love and mercy.”

One day Sam accidentally hopped on his grandmother’s toe. He accidentally ate a plate of fresh cookies that his mother had baked for dinner. Then he accidentally cut pictures out of his father’s evening paper. The family was very upset with him.
“I can’t read a story to you today,” his grandmother said, waggling her sore toe in a basin of warm water. “My toe hurts too much.”
“There will be no dessert for dinner tonight,” his mother announced at dinner. “Sam ate it all up.”
After dinner, when his father sat down to read the evening paper and found only holes, he said, “Sam, go to your room and try very hard to find a way to keep from upsetting people.”
Sam climbed the stairs, saying to himself, “Grandmother doesn’t like me, Mother doesn’t like me, and Father doesn’t like me either, because I upset them. I have to make them like me again.”
Sam straddled a chair in his room and said to his electric train, “I could buy Grandmother a pair of wooden shoes, and then if I accidentally hopped on her toes, she wouldn’t be upset.”
He jumped up and down on his bed and said to his football, “I could buy Mother a bakery shop, and then she wouldn’t be upset if I accidentally ate some cookies.”
He stood on his head and said to the ceiling, “I could buy Father a newsstand. Then if I accidentally cut out pictures in a newspaper, he wouldn’t be upset.”
But when he shook his bank, which was shaped like a fat toad, and only seven pennies fell out, he knew he didn’t have quite enough money. So he said to himself, “I guess I’ll just have to sit in a chair and be still so I don’t upset anyone. Then they’ll like me.”
Sam went back downstairs. He didn’t slide down the banister. He sat quietly in the soft chair and folded his hands.
His grandmother looked at him over her sore toe. “You’re very quiet, Sam. Does your toe hurt too?”
“No, thank you,” Sam said.
His mother came in from the kitchen and looked at him. “Do you have a stomachache from eating too many cookies?” she asked.
“No, thank you,” Sam said.
His father looked through a hole in his newspaper. “Would you like to walk to the drugstore for an ice cream cone?”
“No, thank you,” Sam said.
For the next hour Sam sat in the chair while the family kept watching him. After a while Grandmother said, “My toe feels better now. Sam, would you like me to read a story?”
“No, thank you,” Sam answered.
His mother felt his forehead. “Are you sick, Sam?”
“No, thank you,” Sam said.
“Would you like to watch television?” his father asked.
“No, thank you,” Sam replied.
Sam hoped the family would see how good he was and begin to like him again, because he didn’t know how much longer he could keep his feet from running.
Grandmother walked around the room exercising her toe and looking at him. His mother watched him over the blue sock she was mending, and his father kept staring at him through the holes in the newspaper.
Finally his mother jumped up from her chair.
“I’m so upset,” she said, “I’m going to call the doctor. I just know that Sam is sick.”
“I’m not sick!” Sam protested.
“But you aren’t running and playing and getting into mischief,” she said in a worried voice.
Sam’s eyes widened. “Do you like me if I get into mischief and upset all of you?”
“Oh, yes,” they all said. “We love you no matter what you do.”
“Yippee!” Sam shouted, as he jumped down from the chair. He raced around the room. His father and mother smiled happily because they were so glad that he wasn’t sick. And Grandmother kept smiling even when he accidentally hopped on her toe.

A friend shared an experience she had as a small child in a branch of the Church where she was the only child of Primary age. Week after week, her mother held home Primary on the same day and at the same time. She eagerly anticipated sitting on the sofa with her mother and learning the gospel of Jesus Christ and how to live it. Minutes carefully recorded by her mother in a notebook revealed that the home Primary meetings always included prayers, songs, and a lesson.

The desire of this mother’s heart was for her little daughter to develop a testimony of Jesus Christ and to feel the joy of the gospel. She provided her daughter with what had been so important to her as a child. This little girl, now a woman of faith and covenant, looks back on her childhood with deep appreciation for her mother’s enthusiasm and commitment to teach her of the Savior. This mother’s diligence became her daughter’s delight—with an exclamation mark!

When Ryan Q., 15, of Missouri, USA, finished his Eagle Scout project a few years ago, he was itching for more of that just-served, feeling-great excitement, and he didn’t think his work was done. “I felt the community could still use volunteers,” Ryan says. “And I saw a need for youth specifically to serve in the community.” A couple friends from his homeschooling group agreed. “We started out with myself and one other friend coming, but we’ve grown to about 10–15 people coming to a project.” The youth come from different family and religious backgrounds, but they all share the same desire to serve.
Three years after they first came together, the interdenominational service group is still going strong. Ryan and the others work with local organizations—like senior citizen aid groups and environmental protection groups—to identify needs in the community. Then they plan and enthusiastically complete a project every month during the school year. Activities have covered all kinds of things, including cleaning yards and streams, lifting spirits, and helping feed the hungry.
“My favorite activity was at a local animal shelter,” says 17-year-old Jessica M., who identifies with Metaphysical Spirituality. “We helped organize all the pet supplies. And then we got to play with the cats!” They also hosed out cages and gave the workers a much-appreciated hand. “The best part of being in this group is meeting friends and helping animals and people,” she says.
“I also like visiting the assisted-living homes because I get along well with seniors,” Jessica says. “We talk and share stories and sing while Ryan and others play the piano.”
Visiting with elderly members of the community has been a popular activity—and the group has done it more than once. “We went to an Alzheimer’s home over Christmas,” says Ryan. “We each sat with a resident and got to know them. We made crafts and sang Christmas carols together. All the youth felt the Spirit and wanted to do the project again!”
Another time, they took “warm fuzzy cupcakes” (fuzzy socks rolled into the shape of cupcakes) to the residents of another assisted-living home.
“While there we celebrated a woman’s 101st birthday!” says Ryan. “We had a great time talking with the residents, laughing with their jokes, and learning from their life lessons. One woman was 103 and still loved doing crossword puzzles on her iPad with her friend who was 102!”
Looking for a cheap project with a big reach, the group harnessed the power of sidewalk chalk. They obtained approval from the city and set out. “We went downtown and wrote kind messages on the sidewalk with chalk,” says Isabelle C., a 15-year-old Lutheran. “When we finished, we left some chalk and wrote a message saying ‘write some more’ so other people could keep writing kind messages. This was my favorite project because I knew the messages we wrote would make someone smile. And they made me smile!”
“What I love most about the service group is knowing that through the activities we do, I’m helping someone in need,” she says. “I also love being able to connect with the other people who are in the group. The service group is a great way to build strong relationships. All the members in the group are service-minded teenagers who love helping others.”
Ryan’s already thinking of more ways to serve. “We’ve been focusing on teen-only service projects, but next year we’re hoping to include families as well. I’m also trying to find more projects where we can work directly with people. We’ve found that those are the activities when we most feel the Spirit and the joy of serving.”
“This has been a great opportunity to reach out and do work with members of other faiths,” Ryan says. “Service has provided an experience where we can all bond in the service of Christ.”
Want to start your own community service group—and keep it going? Ryan’s advice: look to groups you’re already a part of. Find people with a shared interest. “Our homeschool community provided the niche that nurtured the group. But it could be any niche—be it a yoga club, hiking group, whatever—just as long as the values are the same and the connections are made, the group will flourish.”

One of the wealthiest men in the Church today is Jon Huntsman. Many years ago, just after Jon and Karen were married and living in a small apartment in Los Angeles, they decided to donate to charity a certain amount of money every month. That amount of money represented a sizeable percentage of their meager monthly income. Brother Huntsman indicated in an interview that it was this decision, early in their marriage, that prepared them to be able to give when they had great wealth. They continue today to be major philanthropists, often in quiet and confidential ways.

I have just read a copy of the New Era, which our seminary teacher let me bring home. Never have I known God lived so much as when I finished reading some of the articles. And the Church is really great for giving us this help. My father and mother were formerly active in the Church and went to the temple, but they do not live as they did once. I showed them this magazine and my father said he’d pay half of the subscription rate. He even read some of the articles about things he likes. So I want to take the magazine as much for him and mother as for myself. As a result of reading some of your articles, I am really going to try to live better and to get my parents active again.
Name Withheld—a girl

When Elder LeGrand Richards was getting along in years, he generally gave extemporaneous conference talks. As you know, we have some time restraints. There was concern as to how to notify him when his time was up. A little flashing light was put on the podium, and during one of his talks he said, “There’s a light here that keeps flashing.” The next conference they made the light red, but he just put his hand over it. So I might resort to some of that today. As we age, we get to the point where the teleprompter doesn’t work for us anymore; then the printers seem to be doing a poor job in printing the text; and then the ink doesn’t seem to be as good as it used to be either! But I am honored and grateful to be here with you.