Gospel Story Finder

On the first day of kindergarten, Benjamin giggled while drinking his milk during snack time and ended up with milk all over his shirt. When the other children laughed at him, he didn’t feel like giggling anymore.
He broke his yellow crayon while he was drawing a picture of the sun.
He made a dragon out of modeling clay, and everybody thought it was a pig.
On the second day of kindergarten, Benjamin accidentally let Hamlet, the class hamster, out of its cage.
His blue paint spilled and made a messy puddle on the floor.
When he threw the big red ball to Susie, it hit her in the face and made her cry.
After school, Benjamin sat at the kitchen table, eating lunch. “I’m not going back to school,” he announced. “I already know the things I want to know. I can make all the letters in my name, I know the days of the week, and I can count to twenty-three.”
“You do know a lot of things,” said Mommy, looking up from the letter she was writing to Aunt Agnes.
Benjamin looked at her paper. “Those are funny-looking letters.” He pointed to the curly writing on the page.
“They are different from the ones you make,” agreed Mommy.
“Hmmm,” Benjamin said.
Later that afternoon, when his sister, Karen, came home from school, Benjamin told her, “I’m not going back to school. I already know the things I want to know. I can make all the letters in my name, I know the days of the week, and I can count to twenty-three.”
“Then you won’t get to do the exciting things I’m doing in the second grade,” she told him. “We’re taking a trip to the zoo in October.”
“What’s October?” asked Benjamin. “A kind of school bus?”
Karen gave him her big-sister-who-knows-practically-everything look. “For your information, October is one of the months of the year.”
“Does it come after Saturday?”
Karen just laughed.
Benjamin looked thoughtful.
When Daddy came home, Benjamin met him at the door. “I’m not going back to school,” he said. “I already know the things I want to know. I can make all the letters in my name, I know the days of the week, and I can count to twenty-three.”
Daddy grinned. “Is that so?”
Benjamin followed Daddy out to the garage, where Daddy wrote down some measurements for a set of shelves he was going to build.
“What are those numbers on top of each other?” Benjamin asked, pointing at Daddy’s notes.
“Those two-story numbers are called fractions, Benjamin,” Daddy answered. “They’re pretty important numbers.”
Benjamin scratched his head.
That night in bed, he stared at the dark ceiling.
He wondered about Mommy’s curling letters. What did they mean, anyway?
He wondered how many months there were in a year. Did they all have funny names like October?
And he wondered a lot about Daddy’s two-story numbers.
The next morning, Benjamin made an announcement to everyone. “I already know a lot of the things I want to know. I can make all the letters in my name, I know the days of the week, and I can count to twenty-three. But I’ve decided to go back to school and learn about curly letters and October and two-story numbers.”
Mommy smiled. “Those are pretty important.”
“I’ll probably need to go at least until second grade,” he went on. “Maybe even longer.”
“I expect you will,” Daddy agreed. He looked at his watch. “It’s time to go. All aboard for school!”
“All aboard for school!” Benjamin repeated cheerfully, following Daddy and Karen to the car.

I well remember when I was seven years old, baptism seemed to be far away, as though it would never be my turn. I watched with a fever of excitement as several members of my Sunday School class were baptized and confirmed. They somehow seemed different to me after baptism, and very important.
At last summer came, and Sister Nielsen, our teacher, reminded the class that I was next. I could hardly believe the time had come. I was to be baptized on my birthday, the 24th of July—Pioneer Day among the Latter-day Saints. At the water’s edge I was confirmed and promised that I could have the Holy Ghost as a constant companion. A feeling of happiness and contentment filled me.
But as the days melted into months, I began to feel with some disappointment that, for a constant companion, the Holy Ghost had been uncomfortably silent. At times I wondered if somehow I had failed to live up to my special promise and confirmation.
Then came the second summer after my baptism. I was ten, and large for my age. I could quickly complete my assigned tasks at home and escape to my grandmother’s house on her farm some distance away. My feet seemed to have wings, and I flew the distance, anxious to be with the dearest person I knew.
It was haying time, and the men on the hay crew were already in the field as I hurried along my way. At grandmother’s there would be long tables burdened under the weight of wonderful food: produce from the garden, fresh-baked bread, and berry pies.
The day seemed to fly by, as did all the special summer days spent with my grandmother. It was with great reluctance that I said good-bye and took my departure. As always, I hated to leave the happy warmth of my grandmother’s pleasant kitchen, but I had seen the shadows lengthening over the trees and down the hill beyond her house. I knew if I delayed much longer it would grow dark before I reached home—an uneasy thought, even though I would be able to see the lighted windows of my home beckoning in the distance in the river valley below.
I sat a few moments on the step, savoring the sweet scent of the ripening fruit in the orchard and the roses trailing up and over the back porch. “Why does it have to get dark?” I thought.
With a sigh of resignation, I moved down the walk and through the garden gate. As I crossed the yard beyond and went through the gate on the hill, I realized suddenly that night had fallen. Even the shadows had disappeared. I kicked some rocks as I made my way down the steep hill. I could hear them bounce all the way to the bottom. Usually it was fun to kick rocks down the hill, but tonight the sound they made seemed ominous as they disappeared into the night.
On reaching the bottom of the hill, I remembered that there were big ruts filled with water where many wagons had crossed during the day. I had jumped from rock to rock to cross when I came, but the darkness made that impossible now. “Oh well,” I thought, “it’s warm and my shoes are old anyway.” I plunged across, slipping and sliding on the rocks and oozing mud.
The frogs that had been intoning with stentorious sound now grew silent, causing my fear to grow like a dark specter. “I’ll sing,” I told myself, and began singing a song that I felt was designed especially for those who, like myself, grew faint of heart: “Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to war!”
The words were hardly out of my mouth when a voice in my mind said, “Be still, and listen.”
For a moment I was startled, but then I thought it was foolishness and began to sing with more vigor still, “With the cross of Jesus marching on before,” and marched to build my flagging courage.
This time my head filled with the command, “Be still, and listen!”
I stopped short, and my heartbeat seemed louder than the thud of my marching, squishy-wet shoes just moments before. Resolutely drawing a long breath, I began again, “Onward—” But before the words would come, more demanding than ever I heard, “Be still!”
I stopped. The last shred of courage disappeared as if it were a leaf caught in a whirlwind. What should I do? Terror gripped me from all sides, and I began to pray in my heart, “Heavenly Father, please bless me!” I couldn’t even think what it was that I should ask for. Just over and over the prayer, “Heavenly Father, please bless me,” until the flood of terror subsided and a sweet reassurance filled my being. Then I heard the words, “Get off the road!”
This time I obeyed at once, and as silently as I had been loud before, I walked, sensing rather than seeing my way. I covered a half-mile in the field adjacent to the road, swallowed up in a void of blackness. My breathing seemed suspended, and I was intent on the night sounds around me, some easily identified and others strange and labored.
The creek crossing was just ahead, and I thought at once of the gate nearby, and whether I should crawl over it or through the fence. Almost before the thought came the answer, “Don’t cross at the gate.”
Where should I cross, then? I paused again, this time to contemplate the thought of the creek and the boggy swamp with cattails and brush that followed its sides. It would be difficult enough in the daylight, but at night? …
Then I smelled an odor borne on the night air that brought terror and instant knowledge: the smell of tobacco smoke, acrid and penetrating! There was someone near the gate assuredly, and every strained nerve assured me that this presence was menacing.
How I crossed the swampy creek and gained the ground on the other side has long since passed from my memory. What is plain and very vivid in my mind is my arrival home and my explanation for the torn and disheveled condition I was in, and the circumstances surrounding it.
My father believed my words without question. He put on his boots, took down his shotgun, and set off in the darkness across the fields. He returned many hours later with no explanation but with the comforting assurance that I had most certainly done the right thing.
Although that marked the end of my long and pleasant evenings walking home in the dusk, I felt a happiness and gratitude for the knowledge that came to me that I indeed had the companionship of the Holy Ghost. How grateful I am for this knowledge, for it has served me well. I trust it will to the end of my life. Has not the Savior promised, “And, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.” (Matt. 28:20)

Since I know something of the anxiety the pressure of time creates in your life, I would like to share what I have learned about how to handle that feeling of hurry. It’s important to be sure we agree on the nature of the problem. Time passes at a fixed rate and we can’t store it. You can just decide what to do with it—or not to do with it. Even a moment’s reflection will help you see that the problem of using your time well is not a problem of the mind but of the heart. It will only yield to a change in the very way we feel about time. The value of time must change for us. And then the way we think about it will change, naturally and wisely.
That change in feeling and in thinking is combined in the words of a prophet of God in this dispensation. It was Brigham Young, and the year was 1877. “The property which we inherit from our Heavenly Father is our time, and the power to choose in the disposition of the same. This is the real capital that is bequeathed unto us by our Heavenly Father; all the rest is what he may be pleased to add unto us” (Journal of Discourses, 18:354).
Time is the property which we inherit from God, along with the power to choose what we will do with it. President Young calls the gift of life, which is time and the power to dispose of it, so great an inheritance that we should feel that it is our capital. The early Yankee families in America taught their children and grandchildren some rules about an inheritance. They were always to invest the capital they inherited and to live only on part of the earnings. One rule was “Never spend your capital.” The hope was that inherited wealth would be felt a trust so important that no descendant would put pleasure ahead of obligation to those who would follow.
There is more than one way to spend time foolishly, as you know. You may sleep it away or play it away. But the bankruptcy that will cheat all those who come after you, comes after the idleness and the thoughtless seeking for thrills.
When you choose to see or hear filth portrayed, for instance, you may at first feel you have just spent some time. But if you persist, you will find that beyond time wasted you have allowed Satan to draw you toward sin and then into it. And then you will have incurred debts that will burden and diminish every minute of existence that follows, unless and until you find the healing balm of the atonement of Jesus Christ through repentance, which takes pain, and time. Oh, what Brigham Young would want for you, and what I pray you may have, is a heart that wants to invest your inheritance, time.
It’s worth doing, not only because you have life ahead but because you have eternity ahead, as well. Here is one report that suggests your reward for investing your inheritance well here will be to get to do it forever. President Wilford Woodruff gave this report in general conference in 1896.
“Joseph Smith continued visiting myself and others up to a certain time, and then it stopped. The last time I saw him was in heaven. In the night vision I saw him at the door of the temple in heaven. He came to me and spoke to me. He said he could not stop to talk with me because he was in a hurry. The next man I met was Father Smith; he could not talk with me because he was in a hurry. I met half a dozen brethren who had held high positions on earth, and none of them could stop to talk with me because they were in a hurry. I was much astonished. By and by I saw the Prophet again and I got the privilege of asking him a question.
“‘Now,’ said I, ‘I want to know why you are in a hurry? I have been in a hurry all my life; but I expected my hurry would be over when I got into the kingdom of heaven, if I ever did.’
“Joseph said: ‘I will tell you, Brother Woodruff. Every dispensation that has had the priesthood on the earth and has gone into the celestial kingdom has had a certain amount of work to do to prepare to go to the earth with the Savior when he goes to reign on the earth. Each dispensation has had ample time to do this work. We have not. We are the last dispensation, and so much work has to be done, and we need to be in a hurry in order to accomplish it.’
“Of course, that was satisfactory, but it was new doctrine to me” (Discourses of Wilford Woodruff, sel. G. Homer Durham, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1946, pp. 288–89).
Can you see and feel the truth in these familiar words of President Benson? “You have been born at this time for a sacred and glorious purpose. It is not by chance that you have been reserved to come to earth in this last dispensation of the fulness of times. Your birth at this particular time was foreordained in the eternities. You are to be the royal army of the Lord in the last days. You are ‘youth of the noble birthright’” (Ensign, May 1986, p. 43).
When I heard those words I thought of a boy with a noble birthright, but lacking what many of you have. He was born on November 22. Thirteen days later his father was buried. He was named and blessed by the bishop of his ward, Edwin Woolley. The name he was given by the bishop was Heber Jeddy Ivins Grant. “I was only an instrument in the hands of his dead father … in blessing him,” Bishop Woolley later remarked. Heber Grant “is entitled to be one of the Apostles, and I know it” (The Presidents of the Church, ed. Leonard J. Arrington, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1986, p. 212).
People then and since have called Heber J. Grant a “child of promise.” He was. But his departed father didn’t make the promises to the child. His Heavenly Father did. Your Heavenly Father did—the same Father who chose you to come into this time and place to hold, honor, and to nurture those who hold his power. You have a right to become like your Heavenly Father. You are a royal child of God, a child of promise, chosen from among many to be here and to have your royal inheritance, time in the fulness of times.
One young man changed forever my feelings about the value of that gift, and what it means to be a child of promise. Bob Allen was an undergraduate at Stanford University when I was his bishop. He left his schooling to serve a mission in Japan. He came back to school, took up his studies, and lived in a world of too many demands and too little time.
One day I was sitting at my desk in the graduate school of business at Stanford. I looked up and saw two people. I remember that their faces seemed to shine. Suddenly, Bob Allen stepped between them and, smiling as broadly as they were, said, “These are two new bishops from Japan.” They could speak little English, but I could tell they loved Bob Allen and, because of something he must have told them, they loved me. I thought then, as I have many times since, how remarkable it was that he had found time to spend days with those young men from Japan.
I spoke in a sacrament meeting in Tokyo ten years later. The person who had introduced me mentioned that I had been at Stanford. Two young people, a couple, rushed to me after the meeting and said, “Did you know Bob Allen? We love him.”
Later I was in Tokyo again. Of all the excellent presentations made to me, one seemed most remarkable. I asked to see the man who had made it. He was introduced and then said, “We have met before, at Stanford University.” He was the young man, now older, who had stood with his fellow bishop in my office door. He told me about his life, and the life of the other man, now a great leader in Japan. In that moment, I learned again, in my heart as well as my head, what it means to have a royal inheritance of time, and how a child of promise, who believes the promises, can invest it to produce returns for eternity.
Because of that moment I’ve come to understand something that happened to me in my early teens. I was in a hurry when I felt, not heard, a voice, an impression, which I knew then was from God. It was close to these words: “Someday, when you know who you really are, you will be sorry that you didn’t use your time better.” I thought then that the impression was odd, since I thought I was using my time pretty well and I thought I knew who I was. Now, years later, I am beginning to know who I am—and who you are—and why we will be so sorry if we do not invest our time well.
You will develop your ability to invest your precious time well by gaining three confidences. First, you must gain confidence that God keeps his promises. Second, you must gain God’s confidence that you will always keep the promises, not that you choose to make, but that he asks you to make. And third, you must help others gain confidence that God keeps his promises.

I had the blessing of growing up in a small branch. Because our numbers were few, the youth were called upon to actively participate in all aspects of the branch. I was very busy and loved feeling useful. On Sundays I officiated at the sacrament table, served in my priesthood quorum, and functioned in various other callings. During the week I often accompanied my father and other adult priesthood holders as we home taught members, comforted the sick and afflicted, and helped those in need. No one seemed to think I was too young to serve or even to lead. For me, it all seemed normal and natural.
The service I rendered during those teenage years helped me build my testimony and anchor my life in the gospel. I was surrounded by good and compassionate men who were committed to using their priesthood to bless the lives of others. I wanted to be like them. In serving with them, much more than I realized at the time, I learned to be a leader in the Church and also in the world.

One family, with children of many different ages, tried studying during and after dinner, before bedtime, and on weekends—all without much success. They finally found their answer by having a family breakfast an hour before anyone leaves for work or school. This allows them to have a nutritious meal together and to study gospel principles each day. “We are a happier family now,” says the grateful wife and mother. “We have more time to talk together in a meaningful way, and our family gospel study has helped each of us understand and live the gospel better.”

In Farmington, Utah, there lived a good man named Bob Hasenyager, who was not yet a member of the Church. His wife, Marlene, was devoted to the gospel. She honored her covenants quietly and patiently, never pressuring—only loving. Bob was serving and helping in the local ward. One day the stake president asked Bob, “Are you aware that your wife longs to attend the temple but still waits, not wanting to hurt you?”
Bob wept when he was told this. Then he gave his full support. Marlene received her endowment and began attending the temple regularly. Bob noticed something different: not pressure, not argument, but peace. Then one day a young missionary simply suggested Bob be baptized on a specific date. In Bob’s words: “I felt the Holy Ghost. I felt warmth and joy and peace. I finally had my answer.” Bob was baptized. He was later diagnosed with terminal cancer. He and Marlene were sealed four months before he passed away.

First Presidency devotional. One of my favorite Christmas experiences took place when I had been a member of the Church for a year and a half. I listened to the First Presidency Christmas devotional. It’s always great to hear from the prophet, but during the Christmas season it was especially fantastic.
As we sat in the chapel and listened to the prophet’s words, we felt the Spirit very strongly. His words were meaningful, and I was able to better understand the true spirit of Christmas and the importance of loving our neighbors and rendering service. Even more important, my testimony of Jesus Christ grew stronger that day.
When I was a child, I always got the gifts I wanted on Christmas, but I have never received a better gift than hearing from a prophet that Jesus Christ lives and that this is His true Church.Alvaro M., Uruguay

Second, your mission president is the Lord’s representative. Do not criticize or demean him, privately or publicly. If you will respect his authority, be obedient, humble, teachable, and follow the mission rules, you will be a successful missionary. For instance, one of the hardest rules to follow is to get up in the morning when your mission president directs. Many young men think the best time to sleep is in the morning. I’m grateful to my obedient senior companion, Elder William Grant Bangerter, who would set the alarm clock to get up early. When the alarm went off, it would jangle my nerves. In the winter it was dark, damp, and cold, and we never had any hot water for bathing or showering. He would cheerfully shower in that cold water; I would start to shiver as soon as he got out of the shower. I could not do anything but follow his example, but I have to confess that I was not quite as cheerful because my teeth were chattering.

Sometimes we create contention in the Church by being insensitive to other people’s feelings. While serving as a missionary I was called to work in the mission home. Each morning it was my duty to teach a class in theology to all the missionaries there. One morning an elderly sister, just arrived in the mission, joined us for the class. During the discussion she objected to a concept I was teaching and even wanted to argue about her point. I was able to quickly prove her wrong. Then the Spirit of the Lord touched my soul and I noticed the hurt expression on her face. A question rushed through my mind: “What right did I have to be a missionary when I was so insensitive and unthoughtful to one of my sisters?”
At the end of the class I hurried to the mission library. For 1 1/2 hours I searched to find something to agree with what this sister had said. Finally I found a statement that supported her view. Delighted with my find, I now faced the challenge of my life. I had embarrassed her in front of all the missionaries; I now needed to repent in front of all the missionaries.
As we knelt at the breakfast table I asked President Banker if I could take a few minutes before prayer was offered. I then turned to this dear sister, apologized for what I had just learned a great lesson; if we let pride stop us from doing what is right, we can miss some of life’s greatest joys.
That morning the prayer seemed to be more pure. Life was exciting, and I was extremely happy. After breakfast this sister came to me and thanked me again. Repentance had followed contention, and peace of mind was the result.

One day while I was having a heated online discussion about politics, my opinions were mocked because of the type of education I had received in college.
I enjoy a good debate, but the personal attack was unwarranted. The comments hurt because they appeared to call into question my personal worth. What made it worse was that the person who made the remarks was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
On reflection, however, I began to see that I too had made cheap personal comments in order to win an argument. I realized that this type of behavior was common in the society around me.
I came to learn that failing to recognize dignity in others can cause serious damage, especially in the Church. The prophet Alma preached powerfully against “envyings, and strife, and malice, and persecutions, and pride” in the Church (Alma 4:9). He saw that such behavior was “a great stumbling-block” to the progress of the Church (see Alma 4:10).
The encounter made me reflect on my worth in God’s eyes. Studying further, I found a quote by Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. He taught that Heavenly Father “loves us because He is filled with an infinite measure of holy, pure, and indescribable love. We are important to God not because of our résumé but because we are His children.”1
I learned that God’s love for us does not depend on our schooling, employment, or ability to win a debate. God loves us purely, infinitely, and freely because He is our Father and we are His children.
Feeling God’s immense love dissolved my enmity. I realized that while it is OK to disagree with others, simply arguing with one another accomplishes nothing but hurt and damage.
If Jesus Christ was willing to lay down His life, I know that we can learn to lay down our pride, look past the vanity of the world, and value each other as God does. In His eyes, the way we treat each other says more about us than whether we win an online debate.

My first retirement decision was to visit my three sons and their families in Utah for six months. My wife would join me later as she was still employed. In October 2019, while in Utah, I attended my first general conference. It was the most beautiful spiritual experience I had ever had in a Church meeting. Everything I saw, heard, and felt at the Conference Center filled me with gratitude and love for the gospel and for all that I had learned in the Church since my baptism in 1977.
I wept as I sang the congregational hymns. I marveled at the sight of the 15 living prophets and apostles all seated together on the stand amidst other general authorities and the angelic Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square. The congregation’s singing seemed to rise towards heaven, and I wanted my voice to be heard amongst the 23,000 others in attendance. It was truly a majestic experience.

“Ro-sie!” called Mama. “It is time for you and Heman to take Papa his dinner.”
We needed no second call, for this was one errand we delighted in doing. Mama filled a plate with hot food, covered it with a soup dish to keep in the warmth, wrapped it carefully in a large napkin, and placed it in a basket. Then she handed the basket to us with final instructions: “Carry it carefully, don’t play on the way, and hurry home after Papa has eaten.”
It was ten blocks from our home on East Third South to Salt Lake Temple Block where Papa worked as a stonecutter. But it didn’t seem that long to us as we talked of the fun we’d have while Papa ate his dinner. It was interesting to watch the huge granite blocks being brought in from the canyon quarry by ox-drawn wagons. While the wagons were unloaded, the oxen stood patiently switching at flies with their tails. After the rough blocks were cut and smoothed to the required shape and size, they were tilted and placed in rows like dominoes, leaving the sharp edges protruding like saw teeth. We enjoyed running back and forth on top of these stone dominoes in our bare feet. Shoes were saved for Sunday and for school.
Sometimes we would watch as skilled workmen cut sun, moon, and star designs into certain stones. Each held a small iron chisel in his left hand and a hard wooden mallet in his right, tapping gently so as not to chip out too much rock and spoil the pattern.
Today Papa had a special surprise for us. He said, “The men who are making the circular staircase (there was one in each corner of the building) say you may go up as far as it is completed, but you must be very quiet, because this is the Lord’s house.”
I took Heman’s hand, and together we climbed the huge stone steps—up, up, up until we were out of breath. It was easier going down. Then Papa took us into the carpenter shop where wood for the building was sawed. On the floor was a heap of clean sawdust and Papa told us that the foreman said it would be all right for us to take some home so Mama could show us how to make a pincushion. “Someday it will be a fine thing,” Papa said, “to have a pincushion made with temple sawdust.”
Eagerly we filled the basket with fragrant sawdust and hurried home. But Mama had no time right then to help with a pincushion. She was trying to finish the washing and ironing for Sister Young, who lived next door, and the baby was cross. I rocked the baby to sleep, then helped Mama prepare supper.
In the evening, after the dishes were washed and put away, Mama found a piece of sturdy brown cloth on which she drew a large fig leaf. She showed me how to embroider green lines for veins and outline the edge with a blanket stitch. A matching piece for the back was sewed to the front, leaving a hole near the top to pour in the temple sawdust until the leaf would hold no more. Then we sewed the hole shut so none of the precious sawdust would be lost. When the pincushion was finished I proudly showed it to Papa for his approval, then placed it on top of Mama’s bureau with my other special treasures.

My turn in the line came, and the official-looking woman asked for my name. She looked at her list and said, “So you’re the young man from Utah.”
“You mean I’m the only one?” I asked.
“Yes, you’re our only student here from Utah.” She then handed me my nametag with a bold “Utah” printed below my name. As I clipped it on, I felt like I was being branded.
I walked to the hotel elevators with my luggage. Five other high school students with nametags like mine crowded into the elevator. “Hey, you’re from Utah. Are you a Mormon?” said a tall guy.
I felt out of place with all of these student leaders from all over the country. “Yes,” I hesitantly admitted.
“Yeah, my minister told me all about you. You’re the guys who believe in John Smith and his golden glasses, right?”
“I think you mean Joseph Smith,” I responded.
“Yeah, that’s right. He’s the one who said he saw all those angels and stuff. You don’t actually believe any of that, do you?”
I didn’t even know what to say. The other students in the elevator were all staring right at me. I had just arrived, and already everyone thought I was different. I became a little defensive and spoke up.
“I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God.”
Where had that come from? I wondered. I didn’t know I had it in me. But the words felt true as they left my mouth.
“Yeah, my minister told me that you were all just a bunch of religious nuts,” he said.
With that, there was an uncomfortable pause as the elevator door opened to our floor. As we gathered our luggage, the tall student walked down the hall laughing to himself. I felt a little humiliated.
Right then, a voice from behind me asked, “Hey, don’t Mormons have some sort of another Bible?”
Oh no. Here we go again, I thought. I turned to see one of the students who had been in the elevator with me, a very tan guy named Christopher from California.
“It’s called the Book of Mormon,” I said, half wanting to drop the subject. I picked up my bags and started walking down the hall.
“Is that the book that Joseph Smith translated?” Christopher asked.
“Yeah, it is,” I answered. I kept on walking, not wanting to embarrass myself any more.
“Well, do you know how I could get one?”
A phrase from a scripture that had been taught to me by my ninth-grade seminary teacher suddenly came to my mind. “I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ” (Rom. 1:16). As this thought entered my mind, I felt ashamed that I had been so embarrassed.
For the rest of my week with all of the student leaders, that same scripture wouldn’t leave my mind. I was asked all sorts of questions about the Church, and I made many friends. As I answered the questions that I could, I discovered I was proud of my religion. I think I learned as much about myself as they did.
I gave Christopher a Book of Mormon, and he later wrote to me, telling me he had invited the missionaries to his home.
I learned that I don’t have to be embarrassed by my beliefs. I know this is the true gospel of Christ, and I am not ashamed of it.

Socks. They seem such a trivial thing that most of us don’t think about them—unless we run out before wash day! For people who are homeless, however, a clean pair of socks can provide badly needed warmth and protection.
Youth and leaders from the Hewwood Ward in the Bennion Utah East Stake, needed a service project. Their local homeless shelter needed socks. So the youth got to work soliciting donations of new and gently used socks.
“I was surprised how many people helped us,” says Laurel president Christie Ballard. “It was really neat to see the face of the lady at the homeless shelter when we presented our donation.
All together, the group donated 1,122 pairs of socks. Whew!
Administrators at the shelter were shocked and overwhelmed at the work performed by the youth.
“We’ve never received a gift of this size or quality before,” said one administrator.

Nadene Thomas, who leads the mission with her husband, shared one such experience. Two sister missionaries invited her to meet with Susi, because, like her own son, Susi’s son was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.

Sister Thomas said, “I believe Susi moved her feet closer to God because of the heavy burden that she was now feeling daily, keeping her son alive. Susi knew when I looked into her eyes that I understood the gravity of her new caregiver responsibility. Diabetes never sleeps. We FaceTimed Zack who was diagnosed at age three and has grown into a strong and healthy young man. As he spoke of his zest for life and talked of future goals, Susi felt hope for the future.”

Sister Thomas continued, “We opened the Book of Mormon and I shared some of my favourite scriptures that carried me through the hardest years of my life. We cried together, we laughed together, and we felt the Spirit together. The words filled us because they are the Saviour’s words and we rejoiced that we are not alone.”

In my gym class, we had to run the mile every Monday. We called them “Mile Mondays.” Everyone dreaded them because they were exhausting. Each Monday, one classmate was always picked on because he was a little overweight and always finished the mile a few minutes after everyone else. I felt bad for him and wanted to help him out, but I wasn’t sure how.
One day I had an idea. After I finished running the mile, I went back and ran with him until he was done. I was a little nervous because I wasn’t sure what everyone would think, but I decided that what other people think shouldn’t matter that much. I was surprised when more people joined me the next week. Every week, more people joined until eventually everyone in the class joined in! As we ran, we encouraged him by saying things like, “You can do it!” and “Only one more lap!” He began to smile while running, and people didn’t pick on him anymore. Each week he finished the mile in less time, and we cheered him on every time he beat his personal best.
I’m glad we could boost his spirit and help him do his best. It really brought our class closer together, and we were all a little nicer to one another. This experience helped me remember that we are all God’s children and of great worth, and everyone needs to be treated that way. I’m glad I decided to run a little extra, and I know that Heavenly Father gave us all added strength to help His children feel loved.

My first experience as an institute teacher was a disaster. I had taken an entire week to prepare my lesson. But before class began, I forgot many of the things I wanted to say, and my one-hour lesson lasted only 30 minutes.
When the branch president called me to be an institute teacher in the Fatima Branch, Joinville Brazil Stake, I felt uncertain about my abilities. But I did not want to refuse the call to serve. So I prepared myself by studying the scriptures and praying to Heavenly Father for help with my new challenge. But after that first class I wondered if I was cut out to be an institute teacher.
However, despite the discouragement I felt, a voice within me insisted, “Don’t give up.” So I again immersed myself in the scriptures, fasted, and prayed for help to overcome my inadequacies.
When the hour of the second class arrived, my anxiety about teaching had not abated. I wondered why I didn’t feel the comforting influence of the Holy Ghost. I welcomed everyone, and the class sang an opening hymn. During the hymn, a battle raged within me. Would I be able to perform my duties as a teacher? Would the Lord magnify my abilities? Would the students be edified by the Spirit? At the peak of my insecurity, I cried out in my heart: O God, where art Thou? I need Thy help.
A class member offered the prayer, and I arose to begin the class. As I spoke, I felt the Spirit and immediately experienced a transformation within myself—I no longer felt nervous, my voice became calm, and the words flowed from my mouth. I was able to remember everything I had prepared.
When class ended, I felt happy with how the lesson had gone and grateful to Heavenly Father for His help. I could not stop thanking Him.
I have learned that by the Spirit all members of a class can be edified. When we accept callings and persevere in spite of difficulties, we are not alone in our efforts.

Why me? Why now? I had just gotten back from competing in a major horse show held in California and was at the height of my hunter-jumper equestrian riding abilities. I was busy with school, piano lessons, and Beehives. I was doing everything I had been taught to do, and I thought that my life was about as perfect as life can ever get. Then it changed.
I was now in a hospital bed, too sick to even open my eyes. I had been diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. My illness came just four years after my mom died from a similar cancer. I was on heavy chemotherapy to get rid of the cancer, and the doctors were saying that I would have to undergo chemotherapy for two and a half years to make sure that all the cancer was gone. I couldn’t understand why me and why now.
I soon learned that being diagnosed with cancer was not the only challenge I would face. One of the drugs used to treat leukemia is a steroid given at extremely high doses. It is very effective at killing the leukemia cells, but there is a small risk that it can result in avascular necrosis (a condition in which bones die near the joints), particularly in teenage girls. My doctors thought that, at 12 years old, I was too young for that to happen. However, within one month of my starting chemotherapy, the steroids ended up destroying most of my major joints and parts of my spine. I was living in constant pain. Four months after I was diagnosed with leukemia, I had my first hip surgery to begin trying to repair the damage done by the steroids and to lessen the pain. The surgery did not go as well as I had hoped, and my orthopedic surgeon told me that I would probably never ride a horse again. All of a sudden, the future I had planned was gone.
I was a good student, and I really enjoyed school. Now I couldn’t go to school or even out in public because the chemotherapy had destroyed my immune system. Instead, I stayed home with my stepmother. At this point I thought things were pretty bad, but they got worse.
Six months after my hip surgery, I had to have another hip surgery because the first one hadn’t worked. I was in a wheelchair because it hurt too much to walk. I was absolutely sure that I wasn’t going to ride horses again, and now I was worried if I would even be able to walk again. Living life sick, in constant pain, and confined to a wheelchair didn’t sound like a lot of fun to me.
I was praying to my Heavenly Father, and I know many other people were praying for me also. Through all of my trials, I prayed that I would be healed, that my joints would recover, and that I wouldn’t have to go through the rest of chemotherapy. I felt that my prayers weren’t being answered because I still had to go to Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City every week for more chemotherapy. I still hurt. And I was still stuck in a wheelchair. At one point, I started to think that my parents were crazy for believing in a God who wouldn’t even listen to a poor little sick girl.
Years before, I had gone through a similar trial of my faith when I prayed for my mom to get better. She was on oxygen all the time and was too weak to even walk around the house. I prayed and hoped and prayed some more that she would miraculously be healed. However, she wasn’t. After she died, I learned that we can pray for what we want all that we want to, but we need to pray for the right things—praying that the Lord’s will be done—to have our prayers answered.
Remembering this lesson, I changed my prayers from “Please heal me” to “Heavenly Father, I would really like to be done with these trials, but I will accept Thy will.” As soon as I changed my prayers, I found that I was able to handle the chemotherapy more easily, and I had a better attitude. That was just the beginning of the blessings and the answers to my prayers and questions.
My dad and grandfather gave me many priesthood blessings. Whenever I had to go in for surgery, I would ask for a blessing. The blessings helped me and my family feel calm about the procedure. One time I had a high fever, and we had to go to the hospital. I received a blessing from my dad and a neighbor before we left. By the time we pulled up at the emergency room door, my fever was gone, and I didn’t have to stay the night in the hospital. I know that priesthood power is a gift from a loving Heavenly Father.
One moment that will always stand out in my mind was the day I came home from the hospital after I was diagnosed with leukemia. The young women and Relief Society sisters had moved my stuff from the basement into a room on the main floor so I would be closer to my parents and wouldn’t have to use the stairs. They had cleaned and decorated the room to make a great place for me to live while I was sick. My family was the recipient of many other service projects. In the beginning, it was hard for me to accept service. When people would do service for me, it would make me feel like I couldn’t do anything for myself. However, I soon learned that it was OK to ask for help. When I started feeling better, I began looking for opportunities to serve other people more. Now I try to serve as much as I can. I get a good feeling when I serve other people. I have come to realize that by letting other people serve me, I allow them the same good feelings.
I have learned to think more about the future and my choices because I was so close to death. At school, I heard girls complaining about how they were having a “bad hair day.” As I was sitting there in my hot pink wheelchair with a wig on my head, I would think, “Well at least you have hair!” Girls would also complain about their feet hurting from walking around in high heels. I would think to myself, “At least you can walk.” Now I try to focus more on the big picture instead of the small things I used to worry about.
Over the past few years I have learned many other things through the blessings of having leukemia and the complications from chemotherapy. I have become closer to my Heavenly Father. My testimony has grown. And I have learned what is truly important. I have learned to appreciate all of the small things that people do for me. I am now in remission, in less pain, and gradually getting back some of the use of my joints. As I continue to heal, the blessings and learning experiences keep coming.
So why me? Why now? I don’t ask those questions anymore because I grew spiritually during my trials. I have discovered who I really am because the Lord loved me enough to let me experience adversity and the blessings that can come with it.
Note: Elizabeth is in remission and recently passed her third anniversary of being off chemotherapy. Her joints are healing, and she is no longer in a wheelchair. While there is still a risk for a relapse, Elizabeth doesn’t think about it. Instead, as a freshman in college, she is focused on studying for tests and practicing the oboe and English horn.

My mind goes back in memory to a general priesthood meeting held in 1956. At that time I was serving in the stake presidency of the Temple View Stake here in Salt Lake City. Percy K. Fetzer, John R. Burt, and I, the stake presidency, had come to the Tabernacle early, that hopefully we might find a place to sit. We were among the first to enter the Tabernacle and had almost two hours to wait before the meeting would begin.
President Fetzer related to President Burt and me an experience from his missionary days in Germany. He described how one rainy night he and his companion were to present a gospel message to a group assembled in a schoolhouse. A protester had broadcast falsehoods concerning the Church, and a number of people threatened violence against the two missionaries. At a critical moment, a woman who was a widow stepped between the elders and the angry group and said, “These young men are my guests and are coming to my home now. Please make way for us to leave.”
The crowd parted, and the missionaries walked through the rainy night with their benefactress, arriving at length at her modest home. She placed their wet coats over the kitchen chairs and invited the missionaries to sit at the table while she prepared food for them. After eating, the elders presented a message to the kind lady who had befriended them. A young son of the woman was invited to come to the table, but he refused, preferring his position of solitude and warmth directly behind the kitchen stove.
President Fetzer concluded the account with the comment, “While I don’t know if that woman ever joined the Church, I’ll forever be grateful to her for her kindness that rain-drenched night thirty-three years ago.”
The brethren sitting in front of us here in the Tabernacle had been speaking to one another also. After a while, we began listening to their conversation. One asked the friend sitting next to him, “Tell me how you came to be a member of the Church.”
The brother responded, “One rainy night in Germany, my mother brought to our house two drenched missionaries whom she had rescued from a mob. Mother fed the elders, and they presented to her a message concerning the work of the Lord. They invited me to join the discussion, but I was shy and fearful, so I remained secure in my seat behind the stove. Later, when I once more heard about the Church, I remembered the courage and faith, as well as the message, of those two humble missionaries, and this led to my conversion. I suppose I’ll never meet those two missionaries here in mortality, but I’ll be forever grateful to them. I know not where they were from. I think one was named Fetzer.”
At this point, President Burt and I looked at President Fetzer and noticed the great tears which coursed down his cheeks. Without saying a word to us, President Fetzer tapped on the shoulder of the man in front of us who had just related his conversion experience. To him he then said, “I’m Bruder Fetzer. I was one of the two missionaries whom you befriended that night. I’m grateful to meet the boy who sat behind the stove—the lad who listened and who learned.”
I do not remember the messages delivered during the priesthood meeting that night, but I shall never forget the faith-filled conversation which preceded the commencement of the meeting.

With Danielle and Michelle Hancock of the Lakeside First Ward, Show Low Arizona Stake, you might think you’re seeing double since they are identical twins, but the sisters are ace spellers trading off taking first and second in their district competition for the past three years.
In the past, Michelle won the county spelling bee and went on to win the Arizona State Spelling Bee. She represented the state in the national contest.
This year, Danielle won the county spelling bee and went on to the state competition. She took second place but only after setting a state record for spelling bee rounds. She participated in 82 rounds with the final 61 rounds just between her and the eventual state champ.
Both girls are honor students, and both were awarded All Sports Awards from their schools for making all the sports teams this past year.