Gospel Story Finder

Our youngest son Josh, who recently returned from his mission, was giving a talk in sacrament meeting and he shared his plan for attending the temple. Upon arriving at the temple, he would park his car in a secluded spot, then think back over the week and determine if there was anything that needed repentance. He would also contemplate if there were any behaviours that needed to be more like the Saviour’s. Next, he would think about what he needed to learn while serving in the temple that day. Following that, he was going to take all these thoughts and plans and present them to the Lord in humble prayer. Once that prayer was said, he would then feel ready to enter the temple.
After hearing him share those words, and feeling the witness of the Holy Ghost, I realised that he had changed. I realised that I also needed to change. This recently returned missionary was teaching me and others about how to enter the House of the Lord.
I spoke with Josh afterwards and he stated that he used the same preparation for the sacrament and personal prayer. I am humbled to realise that I frequently fall short in my preparation to interact with the divine. I wonder how much more personal revelation we could obtain from our individual prayers, sacrament meetings and temple visits if we follow this pattern.

Women in the Apia Samoa East Stake told us,

We . . . decided to approach the government if it was all right for the Stake Relief Society sisters to plant some flowers around the town clock. We chose the town clock because it is right in the middle of the town, and we felt it would be just the right place to have a beautiful garden. Its flowers would bear the theme of the Relief Society, “Charity Never Faileth.” The government was thrilled. . . . They thanked us wholeheartedly, and then they asked us if there was any way we could paint the 20-foot clock tower as well. We told them . . . we would see what we could do. . . . The stake did not have money, which did not worry us a bit. We only wanted them to approve it, as we had a strong feeling and belief if it was the will of the Lord, things will work out. . . . Paints and equipment were donated, professional painters offered themselves and their time, and the priesthood of our . . . stake also helped out with the work. The sisters of the eight units of our stake worked in scraping the old paint off, scrubbing and cleaning the clock tower, and, of course, in planting the flowers. We will be taking turns in maintaining the gardens there for the whole year. Again, the sisters were generous and willing.

Jeremy John was a wiggler. When he sat on the front row in Primary, he wiggled. When it was singing time, he wiggled. Even when he listened to his Sunbeam teacher, Sister Cardon, give a lesson, he wiggled.
“Jeremy John,” his teacher would say, “please stop wiggling.”
He tried to sit still. He really did. But then his legs would start swinging back and forth, back and forth. And before he knew it, he was wiggling again.
Then one Sunday, Sister Cardon said, “Boys and girls, I have a special Book of Mormon story to tell you.”
Jeremy John liked stories. He scooted his chair a little closer to his teacher.
“This story is about Jesus Christ visiting the Nephites,” she said.
Jeremy John really loved stories about Jesus, so he scooted his chair even closer.
“Jesus Christ taught the Nephites many wonderful things,” Sister Cardon said. “The people loved to listen to Him. And they loved to be near Him.”
She held up a picture of the Savior blessing the children. “He had all the children come to Him,” she said. “He took them one by one, and He prayed for them and blessed them.” Jeremy John could see that his teacher’s eyes were shiny with tears as she said, “Jesus Christ loves every child. He loves you.”
Jeremy John felt cozy and warm inside just like he felt when he snuggled up in his fuzzy green blanket. How he wished he could have been there with Jesus!
He looked at the picture again. There, sitting beside Jesus, was a little boy about the same age as Jeremy John. The boy was sitting very, very still, looking up at Jesus.
I could do that, Jeremy John thought. I could sit still if I were sitting by Jesus. All of a sudden, he knew how to stop being a wiggler.
Now whenever he sits in Primary, he imagines that Jesus is sitting right beside him. And Jeremy John hardly wiggles at all.

I went through a rough patch my senior year in high school when I wasn’t making great choices. I remember seeing my mom crying, and I wondered if I’d disappointed her. At the time, I worried that her tears meant she’d lost hope for me, and if she didn’t feel hope for me, maybe there wasn’t a way back.
But my dad was more practiced at zooming out and taking the long view. He’d learned from experience that worry feels a lot like love, but it’s not the same. He used the eye of faith to see that everything would work out, and his hopeful approach changed me.
When I graduated from high school and went to BYU, my dad sent letters reminding me of who I was. He became my cheerleader, and everybody needs a cheerleader—someone who isn’t telling you, “You’re not running fast enough”; they’re lovingly reminding you that you can.

The Wadsworths of Panaca, Nevada
Franklin Don Wadsworth was an enterprising young man from Nevada who met a lovely young woman from Salt Lake City by the name of Sylvia Hinckley. They were soon married, and they were blessed with 11 children: seven sons and four daughters. When the youngest son, David, was seven years of age, his lovely mother died suddenly at age 49. Notwithstanding this tragic and untimely loss, the Wadsworth children rallied around their heartbroken father, providing great comfort to him and to each other. Then, just 17 months later, not long after David was baptized, his father died at age 56, leaving eight unmarried children at home.

The relatives counseled together, and it was decided that one uncle and his wife would take some of the children into their home and another uncle and aunt would care for the rest of the children in their home.

At this point the Wadsworth children met in family council, with the oldest son, Franklin Brent, taking charge. The children unanimously agreed that their deceased parents would not want them to be separated and unable to see each other frequently during their formative years. Their parents had taught them to serve one another and to be responsible for one another, so they declined any outside help. The members of the extended family agreed to stand back and let them give it a try.

Lark was in her third year in high school, and the school allowed her to take all of her classes early in the day so she would be home in time to welcome the younger children when they arrived home from school. Valerie was in the process of graduating from college, and she found a job nearby and helped with the younger children for the first year. Scott was a returned missionary, and he worked the family farm and commuted to Cedar City, where he attended college.

All of the children eventually went to college, and all of the sons served missions. When only two children—David, then 14, and Charlotte, then 17— remained living at home, they were invited by their older sister Terry and her husband, Lorell Bleak, to live with their family.

Though Don and Sylvia Wadsworth were snatched from their mortal existence prematurely, they had taught their children by precept and example that true joy comes from loving and serving others and placing the needs of others above their own. Now in postmortality Don and Sylvia claim a rich posterity of 106 grandchildren and 80 great-grandchildren.

My name is Hailey Achter. I’m eight years old, and I live in Layton, Utah. When I was baptized by my dad and received the gift of the Holy Ghost, I felt happy and clean. I knew I was doing what Heavenly Father and Jesus wanted me to do. So I knew it was wrong a few days later when I looked at my friend’s paper.
We had been doing a worksheet that was very hard. I had figured out most of the questions but found some that I didn’t know the answers to. My friend was sitting close by, and her answers were in plain view, so I quickly wrote the ones I needed on my paper.
Then the bad feelings began. I knew what I had done wasn’t what Jesus would have wanted me to do. The bad feeling lasted until I got home. I decided to tell my mom and dad. They were sad at what I’d done but proud that I had told them. We all talked about it for a long time. Dad talked to me about the steps of repentance; then Mom said I should probably tell Mrs. Taylor, my teacher. I cried. I loved Mrs. Taylor and didn’t want her to think I was bad.
Dad told me he was sure that Mrs. Taylor would be as proud of me as they were. I was not so sure, but we decided that I would talk to her the next morning and that Mom would go with me.
It was a long night.
The next morning I was really scared, so as we were driving to school, I said a prayer. It was a long walk to my third grade classroom. I was glad Mom was there. We met Mrs. Taylor in the hall, and Mom told her that I needed to talk to her alone. I told her what I’d done.
She put her arms around me and gave me a big hug. “Hailey,” she said, “I’m sorry that you did that, but I’m proud of you for telling me!” She hugged me again. “I’ll give you another paper to work on to make up for your mistake. I’m so glad you came to me, Hailey! You are a special girl!”
Wow! I felt so much better! I loved Mrs. Taylor, and she still loved me, even though I’d made a mistake. I finished the paper she gave me then and had a really good feeling inside again.
I’m glad I have the Holy Ghost. I know He helps me do the things Jesus Christ would want me to do. I hope I can always listen to Him and do what I should. This feeling is much better than the other one!

As families, we all have needs. Just a few heartfelt words about mothers who parent alone: Let me share with you the story of a mother of five whose husband was deployed overseas. She relates:
“When my husband left in early February, we had reliable vehicles. However, by November, they had broken down, and we were not able to repair them. During this same time, my 17-year-old son let me know that he wasn’t planning to serve a mission because he wasn’t sure if the gospel was true. If ever there was a time in my life that I needed the blessings of the priesthood, it was then. I don’t remember all the details or when and where, but I distinctly remember receiving more than one blessing from caring priesthood holders during that time. I always knew that I could call on my home teachers and they would be there. Neither one could fix my van, but they could give me much-needed priesthood blessings, and they found someone who could fix the car.”

Many years ago my father told us about going for a walk through the woods with an old friend, Judge Bringhurst. The judge sang so loudly along the way that he frightened all the wildlife. But my father said he enjoyed the judge’s singing so much that he didn’t mind not seeing any animals or birds. So when we laugh, smile, sing, whistle, or exercise, we seem to feel better. We either forget our concerns or they are put in better perspective. As we reach out to others, our happiness hormones are stimulated and we find our true selves.

Listening selflessly can be painful, however. You may be the one who needs to change. You may find out things about yourself that you don’t like. My wife once explained, “When we disagree on anything, you end up making me feel stupid.” That hurt. My first inclination was to show her she was wrong, but then I realized I was doing just what she had accused me of doing. I suppressed my pain and listened carefully. Those moments were an important turning point in our relationship. The Lord has promised that if we act with “kindness, and pure knowledge,” our souls will be greatly enlarged. (See D&C 121:42.)

Chelsea’s prayers and hard work paid off. In their second season, the Oak Hills Neighborhood Theater put on A Midsummer Night’s Dream, which Chelsea shortened and simplified for the children. The production went so well that the group was invited to participate in the Utah Shakespearean Festival’s Elementary Shakespeare Showcase in Cedar City, Utah.
“It was the best thing that could have happened to these wonderful, talented children,” says Chelsea.

Another important quality to emulate is humor in the face of challenge. Hannah Cornaby, another member of the 1853 migration, wrote:
“It was three years, to a day, from that memorable first of June … , when our oxen having arrived, we left Keokuk. I wish I could afford a page to a description of our starting. The oxen were wild, and getting them yoked was the most laughable sight I had ever witnessed; everybody giving orders, and nobody knowing how to carry them out. If the men had not been saints, there would doubtless have been much profane language used; but the oxen, not understanding ‘English,’ did just as well without it. But it did seem so truly comical to witness the bewildered look of some innocent brother, who, after having labored an hour or more to get [an ox] secured to one end of the yoke, would hold the other end aloft, trying to persuade [the other ox] to come under, only to see [the first] careering across the country, the yoke lashing the air, and he not even giving a hint as to when he intended to stop.”

Of all the presidential families, none had a greater collection of pets than the family of President Theodore Roosevelt. His six children, ranging in age from four to seventeen, were true animal lovers.
Pets were kept everywhere. There were horses, cats, dogs, guinea pigs, rabbits, squirrels, birds, and raccoons. Twelve-year-old Kermit even kept a small kangaroo rat under his bed, but it was kept a secret. “Don’t worry your mother,” President Roosevelt cautioned his son. “That animal may be clean and harmless, but your mother would not sleep well knowing there was a rat in the house.”

“But, Mom! I don’t want to go!” There was no way she’d ever convince me. “Can you imagine what three days without showers or my cell phone will do to me? I’ll die!”
“Oh, don’t be like that.” My mother dismissed my worries like they were nothing. “It’ll be a good experience for you.” That was the end of it; my fate had been decided. I moaned and groaned for an entire month, but that didn’t change anything. I still had to go on pioneer trek with the youth in my ward.
We were scheduled for three days of wandering through what seemed a Wyoming wasteland, with only the “bare necessities” packed into a one-gallon paint bucket. I couldn’t believe other people were excited to go on a trip like this. I tried every loophole I could find to get out of going. All I got was a lecture on the “importance of my ancestors and understanding how they lived.” Personally, I appreciated the pioneers. I really did. But why did that mean going on trek? Couldn’t I appreciate them from the comfort of my own home?
The last week in June found me awake at four in the morning to help load the cars and drive across endless miles of desert for six hours into the Wyoming wilderness to reenact part of the early pioneers’ migration westward. Grumbling, I took my gallon bucket and sat sullenly with my other muttering friends.
Our leaders cheerily greeted us with a smile and handed everyone pieces of paper. Looking down, I saw a mournful face in a very bad, very old photograph on a paper. Next to the small picture was the story of Bodil Mortinsen. She had traveled with the Willie Handcart Company in October of 1856. I had been assigned Bodil’s name. I folded up Bodil’s biography and stuck it in my pocket.
“The handcarts are here!” someone called out. “Everybody get your buckets!”
I lifted my bucket into a handcart and waited for more instructions. I lost count of the number of times we were lectured on leaving the snakes alone. The phrase “DON’T GO OFF THE TRAIL” was engraved into our brains over and over again.
“And … ,” the voice of our tour guide wavered in the hot afternoon sun, “please remember why you’re here.” What could he mean by that? I knew why I was here. I was here because my parents had told me to come here. I was here because the pioneers had traveled this exact same road and apparently I had to too. I reached into my pocket and felt Bodil Mortinsen still there, limp from hours in the heat from my jeans.
“Off we go!” Brother Boulter called. He took hold of the first handcart, and moving with the methodical lethargy of a herd of cattle, the procession of teenage pioneers set off.
Nearly 48 hours later, I pushed my handcart from behind, completely exhausted. The sun hung high in the desert afternoon. It pulsed on my back, and I felt sweat trickling down my face. I felt the gritty texture of dirt mixed with the salty-sweet taste of sweat in my mouth but, surprisingly enough, didn’t complain. Suddenly, the caravan halted, and I wearily looked up. Brother Boulter had stopped at the opening of Martin’s Cove.
“We’re leaving the carts here,” he called out in a strained, hoarse voice. “Just bring your canteens and follow me.” We were led up a steep hill and came to several benches set up at the top of the mound. Gratefully, we dropped down and rested in the scorching midday sun.
“You are here,” Brother Boulter stated after a small pause, “to gain an understanding of what your ancestors went through. The Martin Handcart Company passed through this cove over 100 years ago. They suffered frostbite and scurvy and even gave their lives so that you could live in a better place. We are so proud that you have come with such a great attitude.” My friends and I exchanged sheepish looks. “You all have around half an hour to walk through the cove and see where the Martin Company took refuge from the blizzard that killed 50 people.”
A quiet stillness overtook us as we meandered along the trail. I imagined the pioneers a century ago trying to take shelter beneath their handcarts. I tried to imagine the feeling of freezing out here in the Wyoming wilderness, and my fingers became cold in the summer sun as I felt a nearness to my ancestors. Walking out of the cove, we took up our handcarts again. The story of Bodil Mortinsen was still in my pocket, growing steadily more limp.
We returned to Rocky Ridge. Here, the Willie Handcart Company had suffered a similar fate to that of the Martin Handcart Company until the rescue party from Salt Lake City found them. This time, the air hung heavy with rain, and we could smell the distant scent of wet sagebrush and sand.
Rocky Ridge was a small gully nestled between two grassy hills and cut in the middle by a quiet brook. A large boulder stood next to the trail with one word carved into it: “REMEMBER.”
“There,” Brother Boulter said, again at the front of our group and motioning to a point ahead of us, “is where the Willie Company buried their dead.”
Glancing up the trail, I saw two piles of rocks waiting at the crest of the hill. These graves were little more than two plots marked by jagged stones over their tops. The graves had been poorly dug, as it was wintertime when the Willie Company was here. The ground had been too frozen to make deep graves, and the pioneers had covered them with rocks to keep the dozen bodies from being destroyed by wild animals.
We stood there in silence. Suddenly, I realized that I had not read Bodil Mortinsen’s story. I carefully pulled out the wilted paper and looked again at the mournful black-and-white face. I read her story. I stood where she had stood and envisioned her grieving over a lost parent or brother or friend. At the bottom of the page, I read:
“Two of those buried at Rock Creek Hollow were heroic children of tender years: Bodil Mortinsen, age nine, from Denmark, and James Kirkwood, age eleven, from Scotland.
“Bodil apparently was assigned to care for some small children as they crossed Rocky Ridge. When they arrived at camp, she must have been sent to gather firewood. She was found frozen to death leaning against the wheel of their handcart, clutching sagebrush” (President James E. Faust [1920–2007], Second Counselor in the First Presidency, “A Priceless Heritage,” Ensign, Nov. 1992, 84–85).
I had imagined Bodil standing here, perhaps mourning the loss of a family member. Now I realized that she hadn’t stood here at all. She was buried here. Tears pricked at my eyes. A nine-year-old girl was buried here, and her family had been required to leave and move on. They walked and walked until they reached the Salt Lake Valley. After starving, freezing, and suffering, they had not been afraid to continue on. If they could keep walking, surely I could too.
These pioneers had been real people. Old men, young men, widows, mothers, young girls just like me. They had suffered and traveled away from everything they knew to live in a better place. I lived in that place. I had lived in a good place all of my life because of my pioneer ancestors. They were not just people who lived a long time ago, and I was not here just to see what they had done. They were my people, and I was here, standing in front of the graves at Rocky Ridge, to get to know them.
I went home after that adventure with a newfound respect and appreciation for my heritage. I can’t ever forget how it felt to stand at those graves. The boulder said “REMEMBER,” and I will forevermore.

As a young man, S. Dilworth Young was attending a conference at which a number of church leaders were present. During the course of this meeting, he noticed an older brother on one of the last pews. He was sound asleep, with his head back, his mouth wide open. Brother Young then noticed a skylight immediately above this gentleman’s head. The thought went through his mind that if he could climb to that skylight, he could drop wads of paper into the man’s mouth and give him the shock of his life. As terrible as the thought was, he said that it nonetheless preoccupied his mind for the rest of the meeting. Finally the meeting ended, the benediction was offered, and all arose to leave. Brother Young found himself behind a man who was obviously touched. This brother turned to the man by his side and said, “Wasn’t that a spiritual feast we had today.” Brother Young then said to himself, “Dilworth, where were you when the feast was being served?”4 Feasts are regularly served in classes, in Sacrament meeting, and in many other locations, but in many cases, we leave fasting rather than feasting. Fortunately, you can correct this. You can listen more carefully; you can take meaningful notes; you can ponder and share what you have learned; you can be a more attentive student.

While my husband, Brandon, was in Orlando, Florida, on business, he woke up one night with a high fever and difficulty breathing. He called for an ambulance to take him to the hospital, where he learned that he had a serious case of pneumonia.

Because Brandon and I have toddler-age sons, I couldn’t immediately travel from our home in Pennsylvania to Florida. I called Brandon daily, hoping for his improvement so that he could return to us.

However, Brandon’s condition worsened. When a nurse at the hospital urged me to come to the hospital as soon as possible, I started thinking about who might be able to take care of our boys.

My mother agreed to take time off from work and said she would come as soon as she could, but the flight I needed to take left before she would arrive. I called a few friends to see if they could watch the boys until my mother arrived. A friend from Relief Society, Jackie Olds, said she’d be happy to watch them.

“Just bring their clothes and diapers,” she said, “and I’ll keep them for however many days you need to be gone.”

I started to refuse because this sister, with three children of her own, had a busy life, but she insisted. When I dropped our boys off a short while later, she comforted me by saying, “Don’t worry about them. Worry about getting Brandon better and getting him home. I’ve taken care of toddlers before.”

I knew then that the boys would be safe, happy, and well taken care of, which they were. I was able to be with my husband, who was seriously ill by the time I arrived at the hospital. But after a few days, he was well enough to return home.

I am grateful for a good friend who responded—far beyond what I would have asked of her—and ministered to us in a time of need.

Kelly Parks, Pennsylvania, USA

A Mia Maid from Utah wrote: “This past year I had some personal challenges. I lost track of the Spirit, and then something incredible happened. I went to my bishop. I can’t remember ever feeling so scared. But the Lord was with me in that room, holding my trembling hand. I knew I could be forgiven. It’s been a hard road—humbling, repenting, and learning to pray all over again. But He was there. He never left me for a minute. I’ve been on both sides, and the light side is definitely the place to be” (letter in possession of Young Women office).

When Thelma was 16, she was called to be the Primary president. Our bishop had been trying to find someone to handle the many challenges the Primary organization was facing. The ward covered a large area, and it was difficult and expensive for many families with small children to travel by bus to the church both on Saturdays for Primary and on Sundays. Many of those children were not attending Primary, and no solution had been found. The bishop had been prompted to call Thelma but could not bring himself to do it because she was so young. The prompting continued, and after receiving approval from the stake president, the bishop extended the call to my sister.

This proved to be an inspired decision, and it blessed many children—including me. Thelma magnified her calling by following inspiration, using common sense, and implementing innovative ideas to develop training programs to bring the gospel to the children. She asked her counselors and teachers to hold Primary meetings at several places closer to their homes, and she provided ongoing training for those teachers. This solution allowed members to save time and money and enabled children who were previously not attending Primary to receive the blessings of this wonderful organization.

Angie Miller is on the volleyball and softball teams. She can encourage the younger students to keep trying even though it can get discouraging. “When I started playing volleyball, I wasn’t very good. I sat on the bench a lot. Then things started clicking. I wouldn’t have the good friends I have now if I had quit. I used to be so shy. People in church helped me a lot. I’m not so self-conscious about what everyone thinks of me now.”

I am grateful to be with you in this great priesthood meeting. All of us are members of a quorum in the priesthood. That may not seem remarkable to you, but it does to me. I was ordained a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood in a tiny branch of the Church. There was only one family in the branch. We had no chapel. We met in our house. I was the only deacon and my brother the only teacher.
So I know what it is like to exercise the priesthood alone, without serving with others in a quorum. I was content in that small branch without a quorum. I had no way to know what I was missing. And then my family moved across a continent to where there were many priesthood holders and strong quorums.
I have learned over the years that the strength in a quorum doesn’t come from the number of priesthood holders in it. Nor does it come automatically from the age and maturity of the members. Rather, the strength of a quorum comes in large measure from how completely its members are united in righteousness. That unity in a strong quorum of the priesthood is not like anything I have experienced in an athletic team or club or any other organization in the world.
The words of Alma, recorded in the book of Mosiah, come closest to describing the unity I have felt in the strongest priesthood quorums:
“And he commanded them that there should be no contention one with another, but that they should look forward with one eye, having one faith and one baptism, having their hearts knit together in unity and in love one towards another.”
Alma even told his people how to qualify for that unity. He told them that they should preach nothing save it were repentance and faith on the Lord, who had redeemed his people.
What Alma was teaching, and what is true in any unified priesthood quorum I have seen, is that the members’ hearts are being changed through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. That is how their hearts become knit together.
You can see then why the Lord charges the presidents of quorums to lead in the way that He does. In the 107th section of the Doctrine and Covenants, He uses almost the same words describing the duties of the president in each quorum. The deacons quorum president is to teach the quorum members their duty “as it is given according to the covenants.” The president of the teachers quorum is to teach its members their duties as “given in the covenants.” The president of the priests quorum, who is the bishop, is commanded “to preside over forty-eight priests, and sit in council with them, to teach them the duties of their office, as is given in the covenants.”
The elders quorum president is charged this way:
“Again, the duty of the president over the office of elders is to preside over ninety-six elders, and to sit in council with them, and to teach them according to the covenants.”
It is easy to understand why God wants His quorums taught “according to the covenants.” Covenants are solemn promises. Heavenly Father has promised us all eternal life if we will make and keep covenants. For instance, we receive the priesthood with a covenant to be faithful in helping Him in His work. The people we baptize into His Church promise to have faith in Jesus Christ and to repent and to keep His commandments. Every covenant requires faith in Jesus Christ and obedience to His commandments to qualify for the forgiveness and purified hearts necessary to inherit eternal life, the greatest of all the gifts of God.
You might ask, “Does that mean that every lesson in the quorum must only be about faith and repentance?” Of course not. But it does mean that the teacher and those who participate must always desire to bring the Spirit of the Lord into the hearts of the members in the room to produce faith and a determination to repent and to be clean.
And that desire goes beyond the walls of the room where the quorum meets. In a truly united quorum, that desire extends to the members wherever they are.
I saw that a few years ago in a deacons quorum where I had been called to teach the lessons. A few of the deacons failed to come to the quorum meetings from time to time. I knew that the teaching in that quorum—and in every quorum—was the charge of the president, who had keys. He was to sit in council with all of them. And so I have made a habit of seeking the counsel of the one with the charge from God by asking him, “What do you think I should teach? What should I try to accomplish?”
I learned to follow his counsel because I knew God had given him responsibility for the teaching of his quorum members. I knew one Sunday that God had honored the charge to a young quorum president. I was teaching the deacons. I noticed an empty chair. There was a recording device sitting on the chair, and I could see that it was running. After the class, a boy sitting next to the empty chair picked up the recorder. As he started to leave the room, I asked him why he had recorded our discussion. He smiled and said that another deacon had told him that he wouldn’t be in the quorum that day. He was taking the recorder to his friend at home so that he could listen to our lesson.
I had trusted in the responsibility given to a young quorum president, so help from heaven came. The Spirit came to touch the members in that room and sent one of them to a friend to try to strengthen his faith and lead him to repentance. The deacon carrying the recorder had learned according to the covenants, and he reached out to help his friend and fellow member in the quorum.
Priesthood quorum members are taught in more ways than by lessons in a class. The quorum is a service unit, and the members learn in their service. A quorum can give greater service than the members could give alone. And that power is multiplied by more than their numbers. Every quorum has a leader with authority and responsibility to direct priesthood service. I have seen the power that comes when quorums are called to move out to help in times of disaster. Time and again I have had people outside the Church express surprise and admiration for the effectiveness of the Church in organizing to give help. It seems to them like a miracle. In all priesthood service the miracle of power comes because leaders and members honor the authority of those who direct the service in priesthood quorums across the earth.
Miracles of power can come as quorums reach out to serve others. They come as well when the priesthood service is to members within the quorum. A deacons quorum president met early one Sunday, before the quorum meeting, with his counselors and with the quorum secretary. After prayerful consideration in council, he felt inspired to call a deacon to invite to the next quorum meeting another deacon who had never attended. He knew that the deacon who had never attended had a father who was not a member of the Church and that his mother had little interest in the Church.
The designated deacon accepted the call from his president to contact the boy. He went. I watched him go. He went a little reluctantly, as if it might be a hard task. The boy he invited to come with him to quorum came only a few times before his family moved away. Many years later I was in a stake conference thousands of miles away from where that deacons quorum had met. Between conference meetings, a man I did not know came up to me and asked if I knew someone. He gave me a name. It was the boy who was called by his deacons quorum president to go after and care for one lost sheep. The man said to me, “Will you thank him for me? I am the grandfather of the boy he invited to a deacons quorum years ago. He is grown now. But he still talks with me about the deacon who invited him to go with him to church.”
He had tears in his eyes, and so did I. A young quorum president had been inspired to reach out to a lost member of his quorum. He was inspired to send a boy on the errand to serve. That president had done what the Master would have done. And in the process a young president trained a new priesthood holder in his duty to serve others according to the covenants. Hearts were knit which were still connected after more than 20 years and across thousands of miles. Quorum unity lasts when it is forged in the Lord’s service and in the Lord’s way.
One of the hallmarks of a strong quorum is the feeling of fellowship among its members. They care for each other. They help each other. Quorum presidents can build that fellowship best if they remember the Lord’s purpose for unity in the quorum. It is of course so that they will help each other. But it is more, much more. It is so that they will lift and encourage each other to serve in righteousness with the Master in His work to offer eternal life to Heavenly Father’s children.
Understanding that will change the way we try to build fellowship in the quorum. For instance, it might even change the way a teachers quorum plays basketball. The members might hope to build fellowship, more than just to win a game. They could choose to invite a boy who is always left out because he doesn’t play very well. If he accepts and comes, the members of the quorum are likely to pass the ball a little more, looking for the open man, especially the boy who isn’t likely to score. Twenty years later they may not remember whether they won that night, but they will always remember how they played together and why—and whose team it was. It was the Lord who said, “If ye are not one ye are not mine.”

Pocatello, Idaho—She’s a senior at Idaho State University and the reigning Miss Pocatello—but she’s also a young Latter-day Saint deeply committed to the gospel, especially in helping others. During the summer Claire Rich worked nine weeks on the ISU campus helping disadvantaged youth in the U.S. Federal Upward-Bound program, and now continues that same help in the Follow-up Program:
“Since I study physical education, in the Upward-Bound program I taught all sports and modern dancing, my real love. My students were generally high school sophomores, juniors, and seniors. They were Indians, blacks, Mexicans, Greeks, and Anglos. Our job was to build confidence in them so they could believe in themselves. I never knew before that some people have lost hope even in themselves. They might come from a family that has never had a high school graduate—all brothers and sisters have dropped out—and they think there is no reason for them to continue in school.”
How do people gain confidence?
“You give them growth opportunities, leadership opportunities; as a group let them set their own rules—such as requiring them to sign out after 6:00 P.M. and to be in by 10:30 P.M.—and they discipline themselves through their own committees.”
Could you see growth and change for the better?
“Definitely. Some of the students now know how to study and that they can do the same things others do, academically.
“Some people think the government shouldn’t be helping these transient youth. Even some Latter-day Saints look down on these programs. I wish they could have seen and experienced what we did. I learned a lot about races, too. I learned that respect and trust and cooperation together can really happen.”
What about being Miss Pocatello?
“It’s fun to ride in parades, judge other contests, attend banquets, cut ribbons; but the most important part is being a good spokesman for today’s youth, to encourage youth to take pride in our city and to help make it better. That is one reason I love the Church. It really encourages us to share our true understanding with others.”