Gospel Story Finder

Helping establish a new branch of the Church was not a new experience for Elder Russell, who grew up in the mission field. “I was born in Salt Lake City, but we moved to Columbus, Ohio, when I was five years old,” he said. “We traveled in a Paige automobile on dirt roads, and it took two and a half weeks to get there. I would keep asking where we were going, and finally I asked, ‘Dad, can’t you find Ohio?’”

After the family had settled in Columbus, Elder Russell’s father had a nervous breakdown. “To restore my father’s health, we moved to a place called Salt Creek and camped there,” Elder Russell continued. “There were four of us: Father, Mother, my two-year-old brother, and myself. It was a very good time for me because my father and I spent a lot of time fishing and just being together. And although I was young, I had more responsibilities because of my father’s condition.
“That fall I went to school in Londonderry, Ohio, in a one-room schoolhouse where three grades met together. All summer long and into the fall I went barefoot—all the boys did. When the tall grass was mowed, the stubble hurt our feet, but we got used to it.”
Elder Russell said that after his father’s health was restored, his family moved back to Columbus. “My father organized the first branch of the Church there. We held our meetings in the loft of an old building, and it was one of my duties to help clean up the loft after parties held there by nonmembers the night before.”
Throughout his life Elder Russell had other responsibilities and jobs that taught him to work hard. “When I was twelve years old, I sold newspapers on a street corner in downtown Columbus, Ohio. I learned big-city ways, such as how to get the best corner for selling. I would pick up my papers, then run to beat the other boys and claim my turf.
“If it weren’t for such a strong family background in the Church and such good examples, I don’t know if I would have been as dedicated to the gospel. My father was a great man and an example of one who lived a life of service. He opened branches of the Church with his own money and paid the rent for meeting halls until the branches were established.
“My father taught me all the correct principles, including honesty. One time when my father and I were walking downtown, I saw a dime on the sidewalk. ‘Didn’t you see that dime?’ my father asked me.
“‘Yes,’ I said.
“‘Why didn’t you pick it up?’ he asked.
“‘Because it wasn’t mine,’ I answered.
“Because I often lived in communities where I was the only active member of the Church, I wanted to be as good an example of a righteous Latter-day Saint as I could. I tried to live in such a way that anyone watching me would be affected positively.
“As a young boy, I was very close to the missionaries. One of my most treasured possessions is a little New Testament that a missionary gave me when I was six years old. It was bound in leather and had the inscription, ‘To my friend Gardner for 100 percent attendance at Sunday School.’
“I hope that you children will have the courage to speak out about the gospel,” Elder Russell said, “and to do everything possible to be a good example so that others who see you will respect you. And talk about the Church. I’ve always made it a practice that if I’m with someone for fifteen minutes whom I’ve never met before, I will tell him something good about the Church. Out of the unnumbered times that I’ve done this, I’ve had only one poor experience. Sharing the gospel with others brings great happiness.”

To the many missionaries who may be listening this evening, I share the observation that the seeds of testimony frequently do not immediately take root and flower. Bread cast upon the water returns, at times, only after many days. But it does return.
I answered the ring of my telephone one evening to hear a voice ask, “Are you related to an Elder Monson who years ago served in the New England Mission?”
I answered that such was not the case. The caller introduced himself as a Brother Leonardo Gambardella and then mentioned that an Elder Monson and an Elder Bonner called at his home long ago and bore their testimonies to him and his wife. They had listened but had done nothing further to apply their teachings. Subsequently they moved to California, where, some 13 years later, they again found the truth and were converted and baptized. Brother Gambardella then asked if there were any way he could reach the elders who first had visited with them, that he might express his profound gratitude for their testimonies, which had remained with him and his wife.
I checked the records. I located the elders. Can you imagine their surprise when, now married with families of their own, I telephoned them and told them the good news—even the culmination of their early efforts. They instantly remembered the Gambardellas. I arranged a conference telephone call so they could personally extend their congratulations and welcome them into the Church. They did. There were tears, but they were tears of joy.

During this season, the hearts of those who are confined reach out and yearn for a Christmas visit. One Christmas while visiting a care center, I sat and talked with five elderly ladies, the oldest of whom was 101. She was blind, yet she recognized my voice.

“Bishop, you are a little late this year!” she said. “I thought you would never come.”

We had a wonderful time together. One patient, however, looked longingly out the window and repeated over and over, “I know my boy will come to see me today.” I wondered if he would, for there had been other Christmas seasons when he had never called.

There is yet time this year to extend the helping hand, the loving heart, and the willing spirit—in other words, to follow the example set by our Savior and to serve as He would have us serve. As we serve Him, we will not forfeit our opportunity, as did the innkeeper of old,7 to make time for Him in our lives and room for Him in our hearts.

The Holy Ghost also warns us against the dangers and evils in this life. Dorothea Speth, now wife of Spencer J. Condie, records an unforgettable experience that occurred on February 13, 1945, in Dresden, Germany. This was the night that Dresden was firebombed, and Sister Condie’s parent’s home was hit. As the firestorm was raging through the streets, her parents decided to take the four daughters and head for the Elbe River, which was down a wide street about four blocks from their home. She says:

For safety, we did not all walk together. My father took one of my older sisters and my twin sister and began to lead the way. My mother, my oldest sister, and I were to follow as closely as possible. As my father started walking, he headed towards a narrow side street instead of choosing the wide street which led directly to our goal, to the river. Mother stopped, not wanting to follow down the narrow, burning street and began calling Dad to try to persuade him to turn around and take the more direct route along our street, which seemed so much safer and quicker. But due to the firestorm, Dad could not hear her plea, and he continued walking along the narrow side street.
With each passing second, the distance between us increased, but Mom was still not willing to abandon her plan. Then I heard my older sister plead with her, “Mom, let’s follow Dad; he holds the Priesthood!” With this reminder, we started to move quickly, trying to catch up with Dad, who led us safely in a roundabout way down to the river.

After they reached safety, a neighbor lady came to tell them that she and her husband had taken the wide street to the river.
Her husband, tall and slender, walked very quickly leading the way, but she, somewhat short and heavy, could not follow so quickly, and lagged behind. Suddenly she saw her husband burnt alive in front of her eyes. Unknown to anyone, liquid phosphorous from one of the bombs had covered the street. It could not be seen but was immediately ignited whenever anyone stepped on it. There was nothing she could do to save her husband, she could only turn around and save herself. [Dorothea Speth Condie, “Let’s Follow Dad—He Holds the Priesthood,” in Behind the Iron Curtain: Recollections of Latter-day Saints in East Germany, 1945–1989, coll. and trans. Garold N. Davis and Norma S. Davis (Provo: BYU Studies, 1996), 33–34]

As a holder of the priesthood, Sister Condie’s father had listened to the Holy Ghost and had saved his family from a fiery death.

About a hundred years ago, Sarah Young Vance qualified as a midwife. Before she began serving the women of Arizona, a priesthood leader blessed her that she would “always do only what was right and what was best for the welfare of her patients.” Over a period of 45 years, Sarah delivered approximately 1,500 babies without the loss of a single mother or child. “Whenever I came up against a difficult problem,” she recalled, “something always seemed to inspire me and somehow I would know what was the right thing to do.”3

Ann:
“I love medicine so much, I’d practice it even if I didn’t get paid,” says Dr. Ann Osborn, a four-year convert who graduated Phi Beta Kappa from Stanford School of Medicine in California. She has a list of many accomplishments, including the fact that she was the Most Outstanding Woman in her 1970 graduation class, completing her studies one year ahead of the rest of the students. She graduated in psychology from Harvard, earned her M.D., and served her internship at the LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City. She recently returned to Stanford, where she’s a resident in diagnostic radiology and is fulfilling a National Institute of Health traineeship.
Ann tells of her conversion with gratitude, joy, and the warmest smile:
“Four years ago I was in medical school. I had a Latter-day Saint professor whom I admired very much. He won the teaching award, which was presented by the student body, year after year. At that time I was very disappointed with what I saw in the religious world. I was a Methodist and saw that religion itself had very little effect on people’s lives. One day I asked this professor, who was also my aquatic school instructor, why he was so happy. He told me it was because of his religion, and then he began to tell me the Joseph Smith story. I discredited the golden plates, not knowing what they were, but knew that there had to be something beneath a religion that influenced a Mormon’s life. He promised me that if I’d go to a Latter-day Saint service, I’d find a faith with wonderful depth. I did go and found a beautiful spirit there. I was moved in a way I couldn’t understand, and I lost my control. Feeling tears in my eyes made me angry because I didn’t have a handkerchief, but most of all, I didn’t want to feel that way. I walked out of the meeting, but something told me to go back. I was baptized two weeks later, after having the discussions. In eight months, my sister Lucy was also baptized, and my brother and his wife joined in February 1971. Incidentally, before my brother knew anything about the Church, he asked a Mormon bishop to officiate at his garden wedding because he respected him so much.
“I found myself studying Church history more than medicine. I felt like an infant with so much to learn. For what other reason do we learn as much as we can if not to help the Lord with his work? We need humility about our knowledge to admit that we really need him and can call on him.
“I enjoyed my internship at the LDS hospital very much. I was thrilled to work with physicians who were elders. They work in the intensive care unit with a bottle of consecrated oil. It creates such a different doctor-patient relationship. I chose radiology as my field because it’s an eight-to-five job; there’s very little weekend work, and it leaves plenty of time for family and Church. I look forward to a temple marriage and a family of my own someday.”

As I think of the relief Stan must be feeling now, I recall a story allegedly told by a former BYU president. When someone asked him if he missed his job at BYU, he answered with this analogy:

At a certain stake conference, the stake president was being released after serving faithfully for ten years, preceded by ten more years in a bishopric.
Just before the Sunday morning session in which the stake presidency would be changed, the visiting General Authority became uneasy watching from the stand as the crowd filled the hall. He leaned over to the devoted but tired stake president and asked, “Are there enough chairs for all those people coming in the back doors?”
The stake president whispered back to the ­visitor, “Who cares?”

Do you remember the neighbor in Ohio I mentioned who influenced me to attend Ricks College, Wayne Marler? He spent nearly four decades of his career in the Church Educational System. In January, I attended his funeral in Franklin, Idaho, where he and his wife retired. Franklin has a population of about 1,000 people. His daughter shared a story about him at the funeral. With the approval of his family, I would like to share this story with you today.

Wayne was battling cancer, and his daughter shared that she never recalled her parents missing church until his health began to rapidly decline this past Thanksgiving. With Christmas coming up (as it was on a Sunday), Wayne started to brainstorm how he could get to church since he was now in a wheelchair. He called up his son-in-law who lived nearby and asked him, “Do you have any kind of vehicle or something we could use to get me to church? Hey, don’t you have an enclosed snowmobile trailer?” His son-in-law responded that he had purchased one a few weeks earlier. And Wayne responded with a creative, problem-solving attitude, “Can’t you guys push me up that ramp into the back of that trailer so I can get to church?” And his son-in-law said that they could make that happen for him.

Several members of his family were required in the trailer to help stabilize his wheelchair as they made their way. It was only a short distance from his home to the church. And he was able to attend his final sacrament meeting with members of his ward and family before departing this mortal existence a little over two weeks after Christmas.

Wayne loved being with the Saints. He devoted his life to the Church and to his family. He missed the warmth and strength of worshiping Christ together with his family, neighbors, and friends. He missed the personal interactions of the members of his ward, even though it had only been a few weeks he wasn’t able to attend.

“Brother Hunk,” the stake leader said, “the youth conference you planned and supervised was the most impressive activity I’ve seen. As the youth representative you single-handedly organized and carried off a wholesome activity that will be recorded in this stake’s history. Every house has been painted, disaster plans and emergency supplies are present in every household, wickedness is banished, corruption and litter are gone. And the youth say they’ve never had so much fun. You are magnificent!”
The youth surrounding the stake leader cheered the Hunk.
“Dexter! Dexter!”
The voice of his priesthood adviser, brother Magnuson, broke through.
“Dexter, will you help set up tables for the youth conference next month?” asked brother Magnuson.
Dexter looked up, realized he was at a ward youth meeting, and replied, “I dunno.”
There’s no glory in that, thought Dexter. I want to be chairman or nothing. Fat chance of being chairman so I’ll be nothing. He sat silent for the rest of the meeting.
Afterwards Julie hurried to catch him as he started to climb into the family car.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “You’ve been so distracted and distant lately, like you’re in a different world. You always used to help out with youth conferences. What’s bothering you?”
“It’s nothing,” said Dexter. “It’s just that I’m tired of being ordinary—just average, with no honor or recognition. Look at us Julie. We’re the average kids. No one notices us. We are never head of anything, never applauded, just the average ones who are always there. If the school paper did an article about us do you know what it would say?”
Dexter picked up a school book, cleared his throat, and in a deep voice intoned, “Dexter and Julie are two average students at Riverview High. They have never been president of any organization. They did not win a scholarship. They haven’t won a race or a trophy. They have not won honors for any talent. They are average.”
“Now,” said Dexter, putting down the book. “Do you see what I mean?”
“But we try.”
“Name one thing you do really well Julie.”
“I like to paint.”
“Have you won any awards?”
“Well, no.”
“Don’t you see what I mean. You’re an average painter. So why paint?”
“Maybe I’m not a Michelangelo or even a Grandma Moses. But painting makes me so aware of the world. How many colors do you see in that tree?”
“One—it’s green. Trees are all the same. All green.”
“But I see maybe ten shades and colors—some darker with touches of brown, other parts lighter with splashes of yellow.”
“They’re still trees in an average painting. For me it’s going to be the top or nothing. I want to be a winner. I want recognition!”
His voice had gotten louder and classmates turned to stare.
“You’re getting recognition,” giggled Julie.
He lowered his voice. “I want to be the best, the greatest.”
“Well,” replied Julie, “it wasn’t some famous person that touched our family when we were investigating the Church. It was my three-year-old niece singing ‘I Am a Child of God.’ Sometimes the common can achieve the uncommon.”
“Not for me. I want to be the greatest. I want recognition. I want honors.”
Dexter climbed into the car and drove off.
Member Missionary Hunk was assigned to coordinate the open house for the public at the newly completed temple. He planned on being stationed in the celestial room, where he would quietly nod acknowledgments to community dignitaries. Afterwards there would be cookies and punch with guest speakers at the stake center to honor him. Honors to the Hunk.
“Dexter, you’ll be serving here. You’ll help put booties on the shoes of the visitors before they enter the temple for the tour,” the tour leader said.
Filled with disappointment, Dexter sat on the ground and assisted visitors with shoe coverings. No honor in this he thought. In fact it was uncomfortable and embarrassing. But there was something familiar about it. What was it?
He looked up at the temple spires and remembered the words carved on the side: “Holiness to the Lord.”
Holiness to the Lord. Again there was that nagging feeling of familiarity.
Suddenly, a scene came to his mind of a painting that hung at home. He who was greatest was washing the feet of the disciples.
Across the walkway of the temple two visitors were conversing.
“Say, who’s that kid with the glasses, the one who is putting on foot coverings. Is he someone special?”
“No, that’s just Dexter. He’s a nice, average kid.”
“But look at the way he’s treating visitors. It’s as though each person he helps is the most important person he’ll meet.”
On Saturday Dexter wrote a letter to his great-aunt requesting information on his grandfather’s birthplace. He gathered food, took it by an immigrant family’s home, and told them he’d be back the next day with two young men and a special book written in their own language. Later he wrapped up a clean Scout shirt and Scout handbook and quietly laid it on the doorstep of a widow’s home whose son hadn’t much money. He knocked and ran. The widow and son found the bag along with a note: From your friend.
Brother Magnuson was surprised that Saturday to get a call from Dexter. He volunteered to set up tables for the youth conference and offered to help with cleanup also.
Then Dexter called Julie and invited her to walk down to the park with him. She’d paint trees while he took photographs of the ducks.

My friends and I take turns inviting a friend of ours to church. She really likes going to Primary. I thought it would be neat if my friend could be in the Primary sacrament meeting program. My mom talked with a counselor in the Primary presidency, and the presidency wrote a part for my friend. She worked hard to memorize her part, and her parents came to see her in the program. It was so neat to share this with her and see her family at church. Maybe one day I can go on a mission and share the gospel with lots of people.
Bailey S., age 10, Arizona

“Several years ago, Sister Pearson and I were called to preside over the Washington Tacoma Mission. The call was a complete surprise. With some trepidation I met with the chairman and the CEO of the company where I was employed and informed them of my mission call. They were visibly upset with my decision to leave the firm. ‘When did you make this decision, and why didn’t you discuss it with us earlier?’ they demanded.
“In a moment of clarity, a profound answer came into my mind. I said, ‘I made this decision as a 19-year-old boy, when I made sacred covenants with God in the temple to follow the Savior. I’ve built my entire life on those covenants, and I fully intend to keep them now.’”
Elder Kevin W. Pearson of the Seventy

An example of this concept comes from F. Enzio Busche. He was working with a young man in the Young Men's program in post World-War II Europe. This seventeen-year-old boy was working in a foundry where hot iron was poured into molds. One of the older workers regularly picked on the boy, stealing his tools, teasing him, and occasionally beating him up. One day, he again stole his tools. The boy went to the restroom, knelt down, and prayed. He suddenly felt a great peace come into his soul. Calmly he went back to the man and apologized to him, saying, "I have accused you of things, for which I am sorry. I do not want to accuse you. I have so many reasons to be grateful that I am permitted to work with you. You are a good man, and I look up to you as an example, because I need to have an example in my life." These words were sincere, because the Lord had shown him the goodness hidden in that man.

The man broke down in tears. "I am not a good man. I am not a good example." He admitted to stealing the boy's tools and then said, "I am not worthy to be an example to you, but from now on, I will try." That was the beginning of a solid friendship.

When triplet brothers Ryan S., Trent, and Nathan all received their mission calls on the same day, they could barely contain their excitement. And then things really got exciting.
All three brothers were called to serve in the same city—Mexico City, Mexico—albeit in three different missions there. Their friendships with one another have only deepened now that they’re in the mission field. “We continue to be a strength to each other,” says Ryan.
The brothers had a chance to meet up when their missions came together for a special meeting with Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. “We’re progressing together stronger than ever before,” says Ryan.

Let me recall for you the story of Mary Ann Baker. Her beloved and only brother suffered from the same respiratory disease that had taken their parents’ lives, and he left their home in Chicago to find a warmer climate in the southern part of the United States.
For a time he seemed to be improving, but then a sudden turn in his health came and he died almost immediately. Mary Ann and her sister were heartbroken. It only added to their deep grief that neither their own health nor their personal finances allowed them to claim their brother’s body or to finance its return to Chicago for burial.
The Baker family had been raised as faithful Christians, but Mary’s trust in a loving God broke under the strain of her brother’s death and her own diminished circumstances. “God does not care for me or mine,” said Mary Ann. “This particular manifestation of what they call ‘divine providence’ is unworthy of a God of love.” Does that sound at all familiar?
“I have always tried to believe on Christ and give the Master a consecrated life,” she said, “but this is more than I can bear. What have I done to deserve this? What have I left undone that God should wreak His vengeance upon me in this way?” (Ernest K. Emurian, Living Stories of Famous Hymns, Boston: W. A Widdle Co., 1955, pp. 83–85.)
I suppose we have all had occasion, individually or collectively, to cry out on some stormy sea, “Master, carest thou not that we perish?” And so cried Mary Ann Baker.
But as the days and the weeks went by, the God of life and love began to calm the winds and the waves of what this sweet young woman called “her unsanctified heart.” Her faith not only returned but it flourished, and like Job of old, she learned new things, things “too wonderful” to have known before her despair. On the Sea of Galilee, the stirring of the disciples’ faith was ultimately more important than the stilling of the sea, and so it was with her.
Later, as something of a personal testimonial and caring very much for the faith of others who would be tried by personal despair, she wrote the words of the hymn we have all sung, “Master, the Tempest Is Raging.” May I share it with you?
Master, the tempest is raging!
The billows are tossing high!
The sky is o’ershadowed with blackness.
No shelter or help is nigh.
Carest thou not that we perish?
How canst thou lie asleep
When each moment so madly is threatening
A grave in the angry deep?
Master, with anguish of spirit
I bow in my grief today.
The depths of my sad heart are troubled.
Oh, waken and save, I pray!
Torrents of sin and of anguish
Sweep o’er my sinking soul,
And I perish! I perish! dear Master.
Oh, hasten and take control!
Then this beautiful, moving refrain:
The winds and the waves shall obey my will;
Peace, be still! Peace, be still!
Whether the wrath of the storm-tossed sea
Or demons or men or whatever it be,
No waters can swallow the ship where lies
The Master of ocean and earth and skies.
They all shall sweetly obey my will.
Peace, be still! Peace, be still!
They all shall sweetly obey my will.
Peace, peace, be still!
Too often, I fear, both in the living of life and in the singing of this hymn, we fail to emphasize the sweet peace of this concluding verse:
Master, the terror is over.
The elements sweetly rest.
Earth’s sun in the calm lake is mirrored,
And heaven’s within my breast.
Linger, Oh, blessed Redeemer!
Leave me alone no more,
And with joy I shall make the blest harbor
And rest on the blissful shore.
(Hymns, no. 106.)

Sarah Tunnell was worried about how she’d fit in. Her family had just moved from Texas to Snohomish, Washington. Now Sarah would have to start all over again. New school. New ward. New friends—she hoped.
“We came to church that first week,” Sarah remembers. “It was the Sunday before school started, and in Mia Maids Tresa Brown was saying the closing prayer.”
At the end of the prayer Tresa said, “And please help Sarah to make friends and to feel at home here.”
“That made me feel really good,” Sarah says. “It was, ‘Wow, I’m new and they’re already praying for me! They remembered my name!’ I felt like everyone accepted me. That week I was walking down the hall at school, and everyone from the ward said hi. Becky Gale went out of her way to help me check my class schedule.”
The example of friendliness wasn’t wasted on Sarah. Visit the Snohomish Second Ward today, and she’s one of the many young women eager to welcome you. These “homies,” as people from Snohomish call themselves, have learned that it’s a simple thing to help everyone feel included.
Consider some additional examples:
—“When I came into Beehives for the first time,” Angela Gilbert says, “they had ‘Welcome, Angie!’ written on the board. They announced that I was new and made me feel comfortable.”
—“I got chicken pox and had to stay home from youth conference,” Traci Brown says. “But when they got back they came and told me how it was, and brought me stuff so I could see what they’d done. It was almost like having been there myself.”
—“Most of the LDS kids sit together at lunch,” says Anne Broadbent. Whether it’s at Snohomish High or at Centennial Middle School, these “Mormon Circles” have so much fun and use such clean language that others, LDS or not, ask to join in.
And the examples go on and on. Thirteen-year-old Bonnie Jarvis remembers being greeted at the door with a sincere, “Yea! Bonnie’s here!” Leann Gustafson heard that a less-active friend had a sore throat and stopped by to bring her some cough drops. Aja Elmer learned not to be afraid to sing solos in Young Women, because she knows they’re all her friends. Others have learned not to be afraid to bear their testimonies before the whole group, for the same reason.
“There are no outsiders,” Tracie Graafstra explains. “Everybody belongs.”
It’s a concept that’s not only strengthened members but also played a part in seven conversions in the last few years.
“It was the people who first interested me in the Church,” says Kristy Shackelford. “They were genuine. They like you for yourself.”
“Bonnie Skinner, the bishop’s daughter, was in one of my classes at school,” Tracie says. “She kept inviting me to church dances. One night I finally went. I stayed overnight at her house, and the next day her family invited me to church. I felt the Spirit there, and I felt loved. The people here are really friendly, and that helped a lot. I met the missionaries and started the discussions. I knew I should pray about what they were teaching me. When I did, a peace came over me. I knew I needed to be baptized.”
“I went to church with Neoma Huston; then I went to girls’ camp, and I always felt like I was accepted,” says Jula Jefferson. “The more I learned about the Church, the more I liked it. And everybody was always right there to help me.”
That type of support makes it easier to open up. “We’re not afraid to share the gospel, because it’s fun, it’s easy, and we know it’s true,” Angela says. “You want to do missionary work because you know people will be happier.”
“It doesn’t have to be hard,” says Aja. “Just say, ‘Hi, hello, how are you doing?’ People appreciate that more than you think.”
So what generates all this goodwill and sisterhood? Some of it comes from spending time together: at church, at school, at youth conference, on service projects even when it rains. Some of it comes from taking a genuine interest in people, little things like remembering birthdays and making them special. And some of it comes from receiving kindness and passing it along.
“The Laurels were nice to me when I was a Beehive,” says Tresa Brown, “so now that I’m a Laurel, I try to be nice to the Beehives, too.”
But it’s Traci who gives the most accurate answer. “It’s how the Savior would treat people, isn’t it?” she asks. “His example shows us that he loves everyone. We’re trying to act like he would—to be kind and loving to everyone.
“Oh,” she adds, “and hugs work, too.”
“You can feel the Spirit,” Tracie says. “That love draws people in. When you’re going through a hard time, you know these people are always here for you. And since they have the Spirit with them, it just overwhelms you with love.”
That’s why everybody belongs here. It’s why in every ward or branch, every young woman should belong.
Is there a newcomer in your ward who may feel like nobody cares? You can help him or her overcome that feeling. Here are some suggestions from the Snohomish Second Ward Young Women. By the way, these ideas work just as well for long-time members, too:
“Be open-minded and really cheerful. You don’t know what they’re feeling, and you don’t know if they’ve had a really crummy day. So if you say hi and cheer them, it’s going to boost up their day and they’re going to remember it for a long time.”
Nicole Broadbent, 15
“Remember birthdays. When I turned 14, the Beehives made a big sign, brought balloons, taped candy to the porch, and gave me a journal as a present. I thought, ‘They’re doing all this for me!’ I felt so loved.”
Courtney Davis, 14
“Be genuine. Treat each other the same at school as you do at church. Treat everybody the same no matter where you are or who you are with.”
Becky Gale, 18
“With activities every Wednesday, seminary every morning, church every Sunday, and dances on Saturdays, there are plenty of things to invite your non-LDS friends to. Have your own parties, so you don’t feel the need to go to the wild parties at school.”
Kathy Cravens, 14
“Don’t be separated in spirit just because you’re in different classes. Avoid forming cliques. You’re all sisters, some older, some younger. You’ve got all these sisters in the Church.”
Becky Tunnell, 14
“For our Young Women in Excellence program, I brought two nonmembers to play music with me. They were so well accepted and felt so at home that now they want to come back and do more things with us.”
Angela Gilbert, 13
“It starts with one person. Let someone know that you love them, and they’ll go out and do it to somebody else; then they’ll do it to somebody else, and so on, and then you’ll have this great ward like ours.”
Tresa Brown, 16

While serving a mission in Oklahoma I met Rick. Rick was 16 years old and was searching for the truth. Through a young woman, who was a strong member of the church, Rick began taking the missionary lessons. He believed the message and wanted to be baptized. However, he needed his parents permission, who would not agree to his embracing the gospel, and would not give their permission. He was told that if he did join the Church that he would be evicted from his home and his family would disown him. Rick had a decision to make. Others have had to make the same decision between Church and family, perhaps some of you here today. But Rick's situation was a bit different. Rick was blind, had no eyesight and was totally dependent upon his family. The young woman that had introduced him to the gospel had read the Book of Mormon to him and by exercising his faith and prayer he had gained a testimony of the truthfulness of that book. He picked up the smooth stone of faith, and made the decision to be baptized. His parents were true to their promise and Rick did loose his home and family. But through one miracle after another, Rick was blessed with another home, support and means to progress and grow in the gospel and life. Rick was able to defeat his Goliath by exercising faith.

My friend Jorge reached across the table, offering me a sip from his glass of champagne. I was surprised by his offer. He knew I was a Latter-day Saint and drinking alcohol was against my beliefs. I politely shook my head, indicating that this time, like all previous times, I would pass.
He brought his hand to his forehead and exclaimed, “¡Pero es nuestra graduación!” (But it’s graduation night!)
Yes, it was graduation night. And in Ecuador, this was our night to celebrate. The evening had begun with a formal dinner for our entire families. A bottle of champagne had been placed in the center of each table, and well-mannered waiters had served an excellent meal. After dinner, those of us who had just graduated danced a waltz with our father or mother.
Eventually all the parents left, and only the graduates and our friends remained. It was around midnight when Jorge approached me and offered me some of his drink. Jorge felt that just this once wouldn’t do me any harm, especially considering the event was a once-in-a-lifetime occasion and everyone was expected to have a drink.
I simply replied, “I know it’s graduation night. That doesn’t matter.”
All through high school, I had been invited to drink and smoke, but I had always refused, explaining that my religion taught me drinking and smoking were harmful. My friends usually did not persist after the explanation, but I never knew how they really felt about my turning them down.
To my surprise, Jorge smiled, extended his right hand, and shook mine. All he said was “I really admire this about you,” and he walked away.
Later, while reflecting on what happened that night, I remembered the counsel President Gordon B. Hinckley has given us to “stand for something” (see “True to the Faith,” Ensign, June 1996, 4). To Jorge and my other friends, I had stood for something. I realized that often we may think our efforts to do the right thing make us unpopular. While that may be true in some instances, for the most part, people take note and see Latter-day Saints as people who stand for something worthy of admiration.

That support group comes through for less dramatic problems, too. Melissa dated a nonmember for a while. Melissa says they were too serious, and she felt that it wasn’t leading her toward the temple marriage she has as a goal.
“I knew I needed to end it,” says Melissa. “It was really tough, probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I knew it was the right decision, though, and the girls really helped me through it.”

“I ran for president of my high school women’s student association and lost. I felt that losing left me out of everything, and I really wanted to be in. But instead of feeling sorry for myself, I worked with one of my teachers to plan a marvelous party for the girl who beat me.
“When you lose and you’re really hurt, you can just reach out. If someone offends you or gets the honor or the award or job that you wanted, you just say to someone, ‘What can I do for you?’ And then you try to reach out to another and away from your own hurt.”

In 1955, after my first year of college, a friend and I spent the summer working at the newly constructed Jackson Lake Lodge in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. We arrived at the lodge in time to help prepare for its grand opening. As the date of the anticipated celebration approached, we learned two important things about the grand opening. First, many dignitaries, prominent businessmen, civic leaders, and western governors would be there. Most important, however, we learned that President David O. McKay would be present. The second thing we learned was that there was going to be a gigantic cocktail party between 2:00 and 5:00 in the afternoon, where a lot of alcohol would be served.
Having already completed one year of college and thus being reasonably bright, we concluded that President McKay was going to have some free time that afternoon, and we decided we would help relieve his boredom. Having wrangled President McKay’s room number from one of the young men who worked at the front desk, we timidly made our way to his room and knocked on the door. In a few moments we were mesmerized as we stood in the presence of the tall, stately, white-haired prophet of the Lord. We were in his presence, and we felt the spirit that radiated from his very being. While we stood in awe, however, it was apparent that we had awakened him from a nap and that his dear wife was still sleeping.
In spite of our inappropriate intrusion into a very scarce moment of rest and solitude, he was ever so gracious and showed a sincere interest in us. After a few moments of conversation, he returned to his room and we began down the hallway, joyful and in awe, for we had just shaken the hand of God’s living prophet. We had only taken a few steps when his door opened again. President McKay stepped out into the hallway and called out, “Boys, remember who you are.”
Now that was not the first time I had heard the phrase “Remember who you are.” I had heard it many times from my Young Men leaders and my bishop. I heard it from my parents almost every time I went out on a date. I even heard it from my football and basketball coaches. In fact, I had heard it so often that I was beginning to become irritated with the constant reminder. But this time it was different. It was coming from a prophet of God: “Boys, remember who you are.”