Gospel Story Finder

As a young man, I thought, “Once I receive an assignment from the Lord, I will not turn to the right or to the left.” I had some good experiences as a result. For instance, one day while I was in business training, I had to go to a Church meeting, but I had a work responsibility related to the mail. Normally this responsibility would take me and the other trainees as much as an extra hour after our regular work hours. But I had to go to Hamburg on the 5:30 p.m. train to get to my Church meeting. I told the others of my dilemma, and they said to me, “Good luck. It is not going to happen.”
I said, “Sure it will, because this is an important meeting.” They shrugged their shoulders and said sarcastically, “Yeah sure—you and your faith. You think just because you are religious that everything is going to work out. That means that we would have to finish the mail by 10 minutes to 5:00. It has never happened.” I said, “Well, whatever happens will happen. But I need to be in Hamburg on time tonight.”
Now, believe it or not, for the first and only time in three years, everything was finished that day at 10 minutes to 5:00, and I made it to the train on time. This impressed my fellow trainees and opened the door for me to have some gospel conversations with them.

Our first meeting occurred 30 years ago. I was a newly appointed secretary to the stake MIA. She was a board member from one of the wards. My job was to call the roll at our stake leadership meeting. In those days when we had a standing roll call, I remember a particular evening when I was calling out the various wards. I had no difficulty in making an accurate count of the young men in attendance; then I started on the young women’s roll. Suddenly my eyes met a charming, beautiful young woman. I completely lost my ability to count. I confess to the Church Historian today that those records that are in the archives of the Church are not accurate for that particular meeting.
Eight months later I was kneeling at an altar in the house of the Lord, holding her hand, and hearing the most glorious words ever to be uttered on earth, “For time and all eternity.” I realized that I was receiving the greatest gift of God. I was being sealed in marriage by one having the authority to act for the Lord in uniting myself and my lovely companion together for time and all eternity, if I would but live worthy of her. We had only been married a few days before I found out I had married a woman with great empathy in her heart for her fellowmen. All of those wonderful aromas which came from the air around her kitchen were not all intended for me, for when she would find someone in need, she could not rest until she had made an effort to supply a relief.

Brethren and sisters, I know that this welfare program is inspired of God. I have witnessed with my own eyes the ravages of hunger and destitution as, under the direction of the president of the Church, I spent a year in war-torn Europe at the close of World War II, without my family, distributing food, clothing, and bedding to our needy members. I have looked into the sunken eyes of Saints, in almost the last stages of starvation. I have seen faithful mothers carrying their children, three and four years of age, who were unable to walk because of malnutrition. I have seen a hungry woman turn down food for a spool of thread. I have seen grown men weep as they ran their hands through the wheat and beans sent to them from Zion—America.

Thanks be to God for a prophet, for this inspired program, and for Saints who so managed their stewardship that they could provide for their own and still share with others. What a marvelous way to become a savior on Mount Zion!

Growing up, I was the kid you didn’t have to worry about. I had been active in the Church all my life. I had been the president of my priesthood quorums and seminary classes. I went to every youth conference, temple trip, Scouting event, and Mutual night. I also had a testimony of the gospel. Yet when I became a member of my priests quorum, I struggled, though no one knew it. After all, I was the kid you didn’t have to worry about.
Those first few weeks and months in the quorum I did what I always did: I went to church, Mutual, and Scouting activities. Inwardly, however, I was battling. I didn’t feel that I was a part of the group or that the other young men wanted me there. I wanted desperately to belong.
As time went on, I had questions and doubts about whether I wanted to be a part of the quorum. But I remained active, silently suffering and hoping that something or someone would help me feel welcome.
My father and I had just finished fixing up my first car, a beautiful 1967 Ford Mustang. Brother Stay, my Young Men president, asked about it from time to time. I thought his questions showed his interest in a classic car—not in a young man.
All this changed one rainy evening after Mutual. Because of the downpour, Brother Stay drove us all home from the church, dropping me off last. When he saw my blue Mustang in the driveway, he again asked about it. I offered to let him see the engine I had spent hours and hours repairing.
Brother Stay knew little about cars, and he had a wife and young son at home waiting for him. Yet there he stood in the dark, in the rain, looking at a barely visible car engine. At that moment I realized that he wasn’t doing what he was doing to see a classic car—he was doing it because he cared about me.
Because of that minute and a half standing in the rain, I found what I needed. I finally felt welcomed. My silent prayers had been answered.
Since then I have been to the temple, served a mission, graduated from college, and tried to keep my covenants. Brother Stay may not remember that moment, but I will never forget it.

I learned to swim in the swift currents of Utah’s beautiful Provo River. The “old swimming hole” was in a deep portion of the river, dangerous with its depth of 16 feet, its current, which moved swiftly against a large rock, and the sucking action of the whirlpools below the rock. It was not a place for an inexperienced swimmer.
One warm summer afternoon when I was about 12, I took a large, inflated inner tube from a tractor tire, slung it over my shoulder, and walked barefoot up the railroad track which followed the course of the river. I entered the water about a mile above the swimming hole and enjoyed a leisurely float down the river. The river held no fear for me, for I knew its secrets.
That day the Greek-speaking people in Utah held a reunion at Vivian Park in Provo Canyon, as they did every year. Native food, games, and dances were the order of the day. But some left the party to try swimming in the river. When they arrived at the swimming hole, it was deserted, for afternoon shadows were beginning to envelop it.
I was about to enter the swiftest portion of the river, just at the head of the swimming hole, when I heard frantic cries, “Save her! Save her!” A young lady swimmer, accustomed to the still waters of a gymnasium swimming pool, had fallen from the rock into the treacherous whirlpools. None of the party could swim to save her. I saw the top of her head disappearing under the water for the third time, there to descend to a watery grave. I stretched forth my hand, grasped her hair, and lifted her over the side of the tube and into my arms. At the pool’s lower end, the water was slower as I paddled the tube, with my precious cargo, to her waiting relatives and friends.
They threw their arms around her and kissed her, crying, “Thank God! Thank God you are safe!” Then they hugged and kissed me. I was embarrassed and quickly returned to the tube and continued my float down to the Vivian Park bridge. The water was frigid, but I was not cold, for I was filled with a warm feeling. I realized that I had participated in the saving of a life. Heavenly Father had heard the cries, “Save her! Save her,” and permitted me, a deacon, to float by at precisely the time I was needed. That day I learned that the sweetest feeling in mortality is to realize that God, our Heavenly Father, knows each one of us and generously permits us to see and to share His divine power to save.

Boo found Daddy’s toolbox and took out a big hammer. She pounded with the hammer—Bang! Bang! Bang! But Daddy took the hammer away. “No, no, Boo,” Daddy said. “Those are my things.”
Boo is a little girl, bouncy when she walks, giggly when she talks. Boo is busy! She is busy learning about everything—where she can play and where she can’t, what she should do and what she shouldn’t.
In Big Sister’s room Boo wanted to climb up to the mirror and put colors on her face! But Big Sister scooped her off the chair. “No, no, Boo,” Big Sister said. “Those are my things.”
When Boo wanted to poke the shiny needle from Mommy’s sewing basket into the bright cloth or to cut with the sharp scissors, Mommy put the sewing basket up on a high shelf. “No, no, Boo,” Mommy said. “Those are my things.”
Boo tried to dip a paintbrush into Big Brother’s paint box so she could dab and dribble the paint. But Big Brother took the brush away before the dribble dropped. “No, no, Boo,” he said. “Those are my things.”
Boo was sad. She sat in a corner. She didn’t feel bouncy. She didn’t feel giggly. She didn’t have anything to keep her busy.
Mommy looked at Daddy. Big Sister looked at Big Brother. The next day Big Sister played ball with Boo. Then they played dolls. Big Sister read lots of stories to Boo. Boo was busy!
Boo was so busy that she didn’t hear Daddy pounding. She didn’t see Mommy sewing or Big Brother painting.
In the morning they all said, “Come with us, Boo. We’re going to the Yes-Yes Place.”
The Yes-Yes Place was a playhouse. Daddy had built it. Big Brother had painted it. Mommy had sewed the curtains and made the little furniture. And it was all for Boo.
Boo sat in the little chair and looked in the little mirror and put little-girl makeup colors on her face. She pounded with her rubber hammer. She cut bright cloth with her safe scissors. She painted with her jars of finger paint. And no one said, “No, no!”

I have a testimony of those words and what comfort they give. Four years ago, when I found myself quite suddenly a widow with the youngest of my five children leaving for a mission, I felt alone. I did a lot of walking at that time, and one day I told a neighbor I found myself thinking about youth. She said, “Really? I wonder why?” I concluded that perhaps I was trying to remember who I was before I was married. I said, “If I ever have a chance to work with young people again, I will be so much more patient, so much more gentle, and so much more loving.” And I have since added, “I will do all in my power to encourage young people to prepare for the future.”

Goals are great! Almost everyone sets goals, and everyone reaches some level of success or failure in his efforts to reach them. Some goals seem almost unattainable—like running the sub-9-second 100-yard dash, or vaulting over 18 feet. Some goals are strange—like wanting to make the longest banana split in the whole world. And some goals are just downright ridiculous—like seeing how many live gold fish you can swallow.
But two young men from Ogden, Utah, set a goal that was a learning experience, a great character builder, and a goal that, as far as we know, has never been achieved before, especially by two brothers. Since they have been Scouts, Chad and Craig Carson, ages 15 and 16, have each earned every merit badge that has been offered by the Boy Scouts of America. Each has 127 merit badges. This is actually more merit badges than are now offered because some have been discontinued since Chad and Craig earned them. Both boys are Eagle Scouts and have found the Scouting program an exciting general education in itself. Their dad has figured that they have done enough reading, research, and study to qualify as sophomores in college.
Craig and Chad didn’t start earning all those merit badges until two years ago. Chad, the younger of the two, had a little catching up to do, but once the brothers were working together, they spent some time almost every day working toward their common goal. During one summer they earned 48 merit badges. It took more than half an hour to read them all at the Court of Honor. They now have all 127, and they each need two merit badge sashes to display their awards because there is only room for 100 per sash.
When asked which merit badges had given them the most trouble, both Chad and Craig said that beekeeping was the greatest challenge. It wasn’t so much doing the work as it was finding someone who was qualified to teach them and pass them on the badge requirements. After some searching and one unsuccessful attempt to get together with a beekeeper, they finally found a man who was teaching a class in beekeeping at Weber State College, and they were able to complete the merit badge requirements with his help. By the way, Chad and Craig are still beekeepers.
Cotton farming was also a tough one. When the brothers decided to work on this, they had to send away for the book because it seems that no one really raises cotton around Ogden anymore. And after they got the book, they just couldn’t find any cotton seeds. But their mother remembered that she had been in the South some 17 years before and had picked a ball of cotton as a memento. And there are seeds in a real cotton ball. Chad and Craig took the seeds that were in that 17-year-old cotton ball and grew four cotton plants.
Craig and Chad say that the physical skill merit badges have been the most fun to earn. They have learned how to ski, swim, shoot, water ski, and do many other things that they otherwise might not have had the opportunity to do.
When asked if they thought they had missed out on anything because they had spent so much time working on all those merit badges, Chad said, “No, sir! We’ve been able to do more ourselves and as a family because we have set goals. When we were going to get our skiing merit badge, Dad had to drive us up to take lessons, and he decided that instead of just waiting around, he might as well take lessons with us. Now we all ski. It has been great for the whole family.”
Craig said, “It’s not really hard to earn the merit badges if you put your mind to it. Scouts could earn a lot more merit badges if they tried, and if they did, they would be glad they put forth the effort.”
So, on September 21, 1974, Chad and Craig Carson received the last of the merit badges they could earn. Both brothers give a great deal of credit to their mother and father. Chad said that his mom was always saying, “Come on! You can do it!” She would help them schedule appointments and drive them wherever they had to go. At the beginning of the summer, she would help map out a plan for which merit badges they could earn. Both boys also had high praises for their Scout leaders. The leaders challenged them and helped in every way possible.
Now Chad and Craig think there should be a merit badge given to help Scouts like themselves figure out where they can keep all the projects, models and charts that it takes to earn all those badges.

Recently I had the opportunity of riding a pleasure boat up Germany’s Rhine River. The three-hour trip only covered a few miles because we had to go against the current. The bus that took us to that boat sped on ahead to our destination, affording the driver a long nap while he waited for our vessel to churn against the river before catching up to him. As we sunned on the deck, looking at the medieval castles jutting out among the vineyard-covered hills paralleling the famous river, we saw many similar boats pass us from the opposite direction traveling at several times our speed.
Perhaps you have experienced such a boat ride or tried to swim or row against the current. You might have wished then that it was your option, like our oncoming craft, to ride easily in the opposite direction—allowing the force of the current to sustain you instead of the exertion of muscles. There is an obvious parallel in our secular society: it is easy, fun, fashionable, acceptable, even legal to move with the sensual current in entertainment, in courtship, in reading materials, but it leads into a secular atmosphere that you do not control. There is, however, another life-style that could be called “swimming upstream.”
For example, there was a young soldier on sentry duty one day. His foul-mouthed sergeant, whom he generally avoided, approached him. The recruit steeled himself for the customary barrage of profanity that he would later have to scour from his mind. Instead his sergeant said, “You’re a Mormon, aren’t you?” The recruit nodded in the affirmative, with some surprise, only to be stunned by the next observation: “I could tell because you don’t swear.” The private gulped inwardly as he took quick inventory. The sergeant continued: “You know what gets me about you guys? You are good when you don’t have to be!”
Another time in the military a whole delegation of LDS college men went through summer training. As they moved from one field demonstration to another, each hour they endured the military instructors who began each session with a dirty joke. One NCO unintentionally prefaced the inevitable lewd story by asking, “Anyone object to a joke?” There was a split second of intense silence while the opportunity ran through the group. Then quickly from the back came a solitary but solid, “Yes.” The cadreman looked up in shocked surprise, immediately becoming defensive. Intending to intimidate such an upstart, he fired back, “Well, leave if you don’t like it.” Again a second of silence—followed by a decision. Then three-fourths of the group voted with their feet.
The military experience is like other forays into secularism that LDS youth are facing today. They are away from home with carnal options on every hand—gambling, profanity, pornography, immorality, and bug-out-ism. Such crass enticements successfully ensnare the uncommitted, but thousands of others choose to swim against the current. One young priest, during his first week away from home, confronted some returned missionaries in his barracks who appeared more sophisticated. Why weren’t they saying their prayers, he queried. His challenge encouraged them all to overcome their smoothly disguised fears of censure. They joined after lights out for a family prayer each night. Soon they discovered that their Mormon compatriots throughout the post were doing the same in small scattered groups; they even included their fellow nonmember squad members. The result was a brotherhood—blessing when sick, counseling when troubled, and bolstering each other during competition—instead of the harassing, cutting, and undermining that are so common in basic training. This higher life occurs without leaders or instructions; it emerges from being “anxiously engaged in a good cause,” from conviction, from feeling the power of God within. All over the globe, many Mormon youth seek out each other. Their spiritual adventures are legion. They often reach out to friends who have followed the carnal path into deprivation. Their example, caring, and persistence have supported many through a transformation that has led them into the Melchizedek Priesthood, the temple, sometimes mission calls—in other words, into their eternal potential.
These modern youth discover the spiritual adventure, not appreciated by many today, that is symbolized by the legendary friendship of David and Jonathan in ancient Israel. Here were two young men who should have been rivals because David was anointed to be the successor to Jonathan’s father, King Saul. Instead, their commitment to virtue bound them, as the scripture says, so “that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.” (1 Sam. 18:1.)
The contemporary Davids and Jonathans in high schools and colleges, in the mission fields or army, on the job or the playing field, experience these rare friendships. They have no need to long for that relationship between David and Jonathan. It is available right now.
How can that be?
It is because there are many young Latter-day Saints, worldwide, who have caught the vision. They have discovered that by adhering to the Word of Wisdom, attending church, paying tithing, and performing other essential requirements, they are prepared to move on to a higher law—one that happens only in the soul, one that causes a burning in the bosom, a resolve in the mind, and a love in the heart. Once this happens, these youth discover a whole new vista about the gospel. They realize that being able to proudly answer to a bishop that they have refrained from sin is an exciting achievement and will help one enter the temple. But there is also a virtue built upon that restraint; it consists of positive acts that one has initiated. These are possible for young men and women who master their natural tendencies and then continue to grow by adding personal initiatives—magnifying the priesthood and radiating virtue.
This is what bound David and Jonathan; it was pure joy to love one who also loved virtue. Jonathan added selflessness and sacrifice to his basic self-mastery; David added total dedication. Their love for one another was magnified because they were committed to common principles. Their lives had purpose well beyond desire to rule an earthly kingdom over which they could easily have parted. Instead theirs was a consecration to build a kingdom of God. This vision throbbed in their beings and gave meaning to their lives.
For them and countless of your generation, it is not only a matter of filling requirements and doing what is expected in the structured environment of the Church. Instead, while holding to that rod, you go beyond to total dedication on your own initiative. It is the adventure of virtue when you are away from observation. That is where you find spiritual excitement—when you are on your own.
The result is electric.
In countless student apartments prayer permeates college life without destroying fun. On campus, as well as on the job, friendships grow beyond the joys of adolescent idealism when Mormon youth out on their own discover the adventure that awaits those who achieve self-mastery. In one apartment, for example, four freshmen lay awake late into the nights discussing the profundities of a universe governed by eternal progression. In another circle several young men regularly drove to the mountainside where they could view the heavens and discuss truths learned. There they extended the evening’s worship, pondering the galaxies. The power of prayer bound two other youthful companions, who were linked by friendship and by assignment as local missionaries. Because of the draft and a war, they were not called as full-time elders, but they did not let that rob them of the power others had to go to distant lands to discover. They found it on their own through mighty prayer, as have many others. There are home evening groups on many campuses that love roommates into the gospel—often guiding them through the substantial trials that conversion can inflict. These examples are not unusual; they are but a selection from a whole vista of LDS youth who are developing their own lifestyle, one not depicted in movies and records but one with a higher adventure.
Among them are some youth with real spiritual courage who contact a bishop to confess. These are the genuine heros who internalize the gospel. Instead of living behind a facade of acceptability, they choose to bare their soul to a judge in Israel. Anyone who has occupied that judgment seat is awed by the courage and integrity of those young Church members who take the scriptural admonition literally: “By this you may know if a man repenteth of his sins—behold, he will confess them and forsake them.” (D&C 58:43.)
In that vista of virtue, there are many who choose to develop their own courtship style instead of adopting the romanticized recreation that is loudly flaunted by the male-conquest approach. One such elder confided: “At first she was afraid, but when she discovered I would not take advantage of her, she developed a trust in me. What scares me is that now she trusts me too much. I could damage that sacred trust, so my challenge is to protect her from me. That is why I have to be the one who is in control instead of depending on her to resist.”
These are only a sample of the youth on several continents. You have undoubtedly felt their spirit too—in different places and with different actions. Not all achieve this level of internal growth, nor do even the best maintain such spirituality at all times. But this possibility of self-mastery plus positive virtue is achievable. It is often found powerfully in those under 18. You can strive for it without apology.
You must realize that such spiritual achievement does not immunize one from difficulties or doubt. Nor will it endow you with unearned talent. But it brings you an eternal perspective for our times. It will help you perceive the essence of the gospel life-style for a new era. Instead of despairing about the norms of society that are deteriorating and the laws that are legalizing what used to be forbidden, you will find a way to utilize the new freedom instead of allowing it to destroy the gospel environment. Whereas many of the youth of certain past centuries were controlled so they would avoid sin, you will know the heady feeling of voluntary choice; you can internalize moral restraints that will emerge more from conviction. This will be harder to sustain than the puritanical system of the past, but it will also bring more adventure to those who catch the vision.
Many will not be able to stand such freedom; they will be enticed by situation ethics, relativism, and even overt temptations. They will jump on the old-fashioned bandwagon that will be dressed in new apparel without recognizing that the arguments are crass. “Everyone is doing it,” “It’s your own life, so live it,” “It’s all right for consenting adults,” “There is a new morality that has outgrown conformity”—these are not new insights, merely new wrappings for sensualism. They will not lead to enduring the sublime joy. They will not qualify as spiritual adventure. Instead, it is positive virtue that leads to the celestial—even to knowing some of its joy right now.
There is more spiritual adventure to come than has yet passed—for those who swim upstream.

Elder Didier remembered another lesson he learned as a young man: “One day while I was shooting a BB gun at some cherry trees in our garden, I heard the noise of shattering glass, and I knew that I had broken someone’s window. I hid in my room, imagining that the police would come and arrest me. Then I decided to do the honest thing. I rode my bike to the house with the broken window. When I rang the bell, a man came to the door. Trembling, I said, ‘I came to see if by any chance you have a broken window. If you have one, I’m sorry, for I am the one who did it. It was an accident.’
“The man said, ‘Well, as a matter of fact, young man, I do have a broken window.’ And to my surprise he added, ‘I admire your courage to come and tell me. Not many young men would have done that. I’m proud of you. Telling me is enough. I’ll repair the window myself.’ Then he shook my hand!
“It was an experience that I will remember forever because I learned that it’s always best to be honest, even when you’re afraid.”

Fast forward 12 years from my graduation day. I was having a moment of discouragement. Life seemed too full. Motherhood had been more challenging than I had anticipated. I sat at my easel crying, wondering if I would ever really be able to become the great artist I had dreamed of being. I felt impressed to pull my old journal off the shelf, and I turned to my entry on April 30, 2006, the day after my graduation. I had totally forgotten my remarkable experience with President Nelson! Somehow the whirlwind of life had almost eroded it from my memory. There before me were words from the current prophet, “Absolutely!” The tears turned to ones of gratitude as I looked back at all I had been able to accomplish since that time, and I also looked forward with hope.

Winfred was helping Jajja (Grandma) make dinner.
“Mmm, I love matoke,” Jajja said.
“Me too,” Winfred said. “It’s one of my favorite meals! I like the green bananas. And the peppers and tomatoes. But the best part is the sauce.”
“That’s because the sauce combines all the flavors into one,” Jajja said.
They kept cutting vegetables. Then Winfred sighed.
“Jajja,” she said, “how do you stay so happy all the time?”
“I try to,” Jajja said. “But I’m not happy all the time. Sadness is a part of life. Are you sad right now?”
Winfred nodded. “I miss Taata (Daddy), because he’s working far away. And I miss school, because we can’t go right now. And I miss my friends from church.”
“It’s OK to feel sad about those things,” Jajja said. “Life is not always easy. But when I’m sad, I try to follow my recipe for happiness.”
“Your recipe?”
“Just like I have a recipe for matoke, I have a recipe for happiness. Sometimes sadness is too big to go away right away. But often I find that my recipe is just what I needed to feel better.”
“What is your recipe?”
Jajja smiled. “Why don’t you see if you can figure out a recipe for yourself? Then you can tell me about it.”
That night when Winfred prayed, she knew Heavenly Father was listening. She realized that prayer made her happy! She got a piece of paper and wrote, Winfred’s Recipe for Happiness. 1. Pray. Then she went to sleep.
The next morning she read her Book of Mormon. Reading the scriptures made her happy too. She found her paper and wrote, 2. Read scriptures. Then she looked at the scripture she had opened to: “Believe in Christ” (2 Nephi 33:10).
Winfred added another note: 3. Have faith in Jesus Christ.
Winfred thought about how nice Jajja was to let her visit. Winfred found Jajja and said, “Thank you for letting me stay with you.”
Saying thank you made Winfred feel good. She wrote on her paper again. 4. Be grateful.
Then Winfred asked her neighbors if the younger children could come and play. She brought her little sister, Milfred, and her little brother, Alfred. When they were done playing, she invited the children to read with her. Jajja cut up a watermelon for everyone to share.
Later Winfred went to visit her friend named Happy. Together, they washed the dishes for Happy’s mother. Then they swept the floor. It was fun to help!
When evening came, Winfred helped her siblings with their homework. She studied the alphabet with Milfred. She helped Alfred with his math.
That night, Winfred talked to Jajja again.
“I feel much better today! I think I found my recipe for happiness.”
“Wonderful! Tell me,” said Jajja.
“Winfred’s Recipe for Happiness,” she read. “1. Pray. 2. Read scriptures. 3. Have faith in Jesus Christ. 4. Be grateful.”
“That is a marvelous recipe,” Jajja said. “But I think you may have forgotten something. What else made you happy today?”
Winfred thought for a minute. “Well, I had fun playing with the little children. And helping Happy and her mother. And studying with Milfred and Alfred. Wait … that’s it! Helping others is the last ingredient.”
“That’s right,” Jajja said. “Serving others is like the sauce—it combines all the other good things into one.”
“That’s a good recipe.” Winfred grinned. “I want to try it again tomorrow.”

At a certain point in my activation, I loved going to church, but I still didn’t feel perfectly comfortable there. I had to decide if I really had a testimony of what I was doing. Was I going back for my children? For my parents? Because I wanted to feel better about myself? What exactly did it mean to have a testimony of the gospel?
I listened intently to members bearing their testimonies in sacrament meeting, wondering if my testimony was real. One Sunday my Gospel Essentials teacher told us that the only thing a person needs to do to begin gaining a testimony is have faith that Jesus Christ lives and presides over the Church.
These words hit me so strongly that tears started streaming down my face. I knew that I knew that much. I knew that Jesus Christ lives, that he loves me, and that he presides over the Church. I also knew I had a testimony of disciplinary councils, prayer, the Word of Wisdom, tithing, and leaders who are called of God. I went home from church that day knowing that I had a testimony.

The warm spring sun sparkled on the melting snow, and icicles wept as Liv and Ivar gazed out the window at the rolling white ridges. From the wooden tower they could see their lonely ski tracks winding through the fir saplings.
“I feel as though we’re the only people left in Norway,” said Ivar solemnly.
“Looking at the mountains makes it seem that way,” Liv agreed a little uneasily. “But we know it isn’t so. Papa and Mama will soon be back from their skiing tour to Hornfjell. Let’s go back now so we can be at the hut before they arrive.”
Ivar was only six, and Liv had not intended to bring him so far. But the sight of the fire-watcher’s tower in the distance had tempted them to continue just when they had been going to turn back.
“Remember, we are the only family in the area this vacation,” Mama had warned Liv before she and Papa had left that morning. “That means you have to really take care of yourself and Ivar. I think twelve is old enough to do that.”
Her stomach growled, and Liv wished she had brought some sandwiches. Papa never went anywhere on skis without food and extra clothes in his backpack. “It’s best to be prepared for emergencies,” he always said. Thinking about Papa, Liv wanted to hurry. She hated to have him see that she had gone exploring unprepared.
“We may be the only people around here, but we are not the only animals,” said Liv as she stopped to fasten her skis. “Look at all the mouse tracks.”
“Where are the mice?” Ivar asked.
“They live in tunnels under the snow,” explained Liv. “They eat moss and seeds and sleep in grass nests. In the spring they come out and enjoy the sun.”
Ivar squatted and stared at a hole in the snow.
“Is it warm down there?” he asked.
“I think so,” said Liv. “The snow is like a blanket that keeps the wind and cold away.”
As Liv pulled Ivar’s cap down over his ears, she said, “Let’s go back along the north edge of this ridge. If we stay out of the trees we can go much faster.”
The snow was hardening in the late afternoon cool, and every kick gave them a long glide as they sped along.
“Look how long my shadow is, Liv,” called Ivar. “I’m a giant—a hungry giant.”
“We’ll be home soon,” she called back.
But Liv was pushing away fear. It seemed to her that they had skied farther now than on the trip to the tower. Maybe she had been wrong to take a different trail above the trees. They could be going astray.
“Let’s climb to the top of the ridge and see if we can see the lake by our cabin,” Liv suggested as she turned to face her brother. But Ivar was not behind her. He had been skiing more and more slowly until he was far behind.
“I can’t climb that hill,” Ivar sobbed when he caught up. “I’m too tired and I’m hungry.”
“I know you’re tired, but we have to get home before dark. I have a piece of chocolate I’ll give you at the top.” Liv’s heart was pounding, but she forced her voice to sound calm.
Slowly zigzagging up the short slope and urging Ivar along, Liv willed that the summit show them the way home. But when they reached the top, all she could see was another snowy ridge, and then another.
With shaking hands, Liv took out the chocolate bar and broke it in half. Ivar gobbled his piece in two bites, but she put hers back into her pocket. They might need it later.
Liv tried to think, but her mind was racing, leaping from idea to idea: They were not going to find the lake before dark. They were lost. It had already turned cold, and the slushy snow would soon be ice. As long as they exercised, they might keep warm enough, but how much longer could Ivar go on? “Let’s get off this ridge. The wind is coming up.” Liv’s voice wavered as she fought back tears.
Branches caught at their clothes, and buried stumps tripped them as they picked their way down through the trees. When Ivar fell, he lay listlessly in the snow until Liv pulled him up by the arm and set him on his skis again.
At the bottom of the hill there was a meadow, and as the last light faded, Liv thought she could see a shed on the other side. Despair ran through her like ice water when the shed turned out to be nothing more than four posts and a roof to protect hay from rain. A few armloads of last summer’s hay lay scattered about.
Ivar was shivering. He was silent except for an occasional whimper. Like a little mouse, thought Liv sadly.
Of course! Like a little mouse! Suddenly she knew what to do. “I’m going to make a mouse house, and you can help,” she announced with all the enthusiasm she could muster.
She yanked a loose shingle from the hay shelter. Finding a sapling bent almost double by the snow, Liv began digging under it as fast as she could. The branches would provide support for the roof of a tunnel.
“Bring that hay over here, please,” she called to Ivar.
Ivar slowly gathered an armload of hay and shuffled over to Liv. When he saw how the snow was flying, he hurried for the second load. The more he hurried, the warmer he got.
When the tunnel was deep enough, Liv stuffed the old hay inside. “Now,” she said, “the ‘mice’ are going to crawl into their warm grass nest.”
Ivar chuckled, and the two of them wiggled feet first into the snow cave. Liv pulled hay over the top of them, and they curled up together. It wasn’t exactly toasty, but Liv knew that at least it wasn’t going to get any colder.
After an eternity of holding the gently snoring Ivar, Liv heard the skreek, skreek of skis on icy snow. She wriggled out of the tunnel and peered across the meadow. There, not ten meters away, was a looming figure with a bright lantern attached to its forehead.
“Papa!” cried Liv bursting out of the cave in a flurry of snow and moldy hay.
“Thank goodness! There you are at last.” Papa sounded angry, but when Liv told him what they had done to keep warm, he started to laugh and she knew everything was all right.
As they hugged each other, Ivar popped out of the hole. “Did you know mice live under the snow, Papa? Liv did.” Ivar danced with excitement.
Papa put down his heavy pack. He had brought a small tent, warm sleeping bags, plenty of gjetost (goat cheese) and kneipbrod (brown bread).
“How did you find us?” Liv asked when they were settled inside the tent.
“I followed your tracks. They froze solid before the wind could cover them. Since no one else is around here, I knew they were yours.”
Later, when Ivar was sleeping, Liv whispered, “Are you cross with me, Papa, for being so foolish?”
“No,” he said softly. “You broke the safety rules, but you saved Ivar and yourself by using your wits.”

Thinking we can’t help can have devastating results. “I can’t remember my bishop ever asking me about my son’s condition and how I am handling this situation in my life,” says a father. “This is especially strange, because I am his executive secretary. My home teachers haven’t mentioned the problem with our child, either, and my high priests group leader has avoided talking with me about it.

“If my bishop, home teachers, and high priests group leader were insensitive or uncaring, I would be able to understand. But they’re all good men. As I review the situation, I realize that they are just people who do not know what to do.”

I have thought often about the priest and the Levite in the parable of the good Samaritan. When they saw the wounded man by the roadside, why did they cross over to the other side? Perhaps rather than being evil or bad people, they were simply afraid. Perhaps they didn’t know what to do. Perhaps they didn’t care enough. They allowed their ignorance, apathy, or fear to overcome the feelings of charity to which they should have responded.

It was the Samaritan, a political adversary, who, “when he saw him, … had compassion on him.” He did what he could for the man and then enlisted the support of others to give the necessary care. (See Luke 10:29–37.)

Like the Samaritan, we can help if we want to. All we really need is the awareness and the desire. Try to think of individuals with disabilities as exactly that—individuals who happen to have disabilities. They have the same needs as the rest of us; they want to be loved and recognized, to participate, to experience the same joys we experience.

It is difficult to involve people with special needs because there really aren’t that many things they can do.

There are as many ways to involve them as there are people with disabilities.

We need to remember that the Church exists for the individual—not the individual for the Church. Adapting Church programs to the needs of the individual requires sensitivity and inspiration.

I know a bishop who presides over his ward from a wheelchair, and intellectually impaired Relief Society sister who serves with great pride in the nursery, and a woman with hearing impairments who teaches Sunday School. Another young man, completely paralyzed except for his head and neck, completed a full-time mission where he had part in the conversion of more than two hundred people!

A high councilor says: “I am blind, yet I’ve had major callings in the ward and stake. People relate to me as a person—the handicap doesn’t get in the way. This wasn’t always so; it’s taken a few years for people to learn to understand.”

Whether a person with a handicap is called to serve as stake president or as the helper who turns off the lights after the meetings—he or she can feel the joy of serving in the Lord’s kingdom.

I sympathize with those who have special needs, but I honestly don’t have the time to take on any more projects.

Assisting those with special needs usually means new attitudes rather than new programs, more caring rather than more time.

Several years ago our family attended a Latter-day Saint Scout Training Camp. Our older children joined in the activities and were having a wonderful time. However, our nine-year-old autistic son, Brian, was having a difficult time. The Cub Scout events were not designed for someone with social and language impairments. I felt hurt, humiliated, and brokenhearted as I observed the intolerance and impatience directed toward my normal-appearing but handicapped son’s inappropriate behavior. He was as miserable as his peers.

So at a Relief Society meeting at the camp I took a few moments to explain Brian’s disability and share some of the challenges we were facing in rearing him. After that, the sisters began explaining the situation to their families. Within an hour the entire camp had learned about Brian.

Never have I seen such a complete reversal in attitude, nor felt such an outpouring of love and acceptance. It confirmed my belief that the Church is made up of wonderful people who will respond in a Christlike manner when they understand others’ needs. They’ll not only respond, but they’ll also be better because of it.

“Kurt is a Down syndrome Scout who also has coordination problems,” says a priesthood leader. “He went with our Scout troop on a hike of about thirty kilometers. After sixteen kilometers, he lost his walking rhythm. But with his dad in front of him and his Scoutmaster behind him, he walked every step. We waited hours for him to finish.

“When Kurt and his helpers finally appeared, a spontaneous cheer went up, and Kurt proudly ran the last part, crying, and saying, ‘I did it, I did it! They are cheering for me! They thing I’m good!’ Everyone had tears in their eyes. We will never forget that lesson.”

Jesus said: “Have ye any that are sick among you? Bring them hither. Have ye any that are lame, or blind, or halt, or maimed, or leprous, or that are withered, or that are deaf, or that are afflicted in any manner? Bring them hither … for I have compassion upon you.” (3 Ne. 17:7.)

This same merciful Savior still lives and loves each one of us, regardless of our disabilities or our weaknesses. May we walk in his footsteps and follow his example. May our desire to serve his special children increase. May we have the compassion to overcome our own fears and love them, teach them, and work beside them in the Lord’s kingdom.

With new awareness and genuine fellowship, let us invite those with special needs to come unto Christ. More often than not, we may find they are leading us to Him!

Joanne, a young Church member, married a man who everyone thought was unworthy of her. He was addicted to alcohol and reckless with money. Almost immediately, the marriage had difficulties. But Joanne seemed to possess the magic of being happy.
As the years passed, instead of becoming bitter and defensive, Joanne became even more patient. Her children were reared tenderly, and she taught them to be loving and kind with each other, with her, and with their father. Five of the eight went on missions and all were married in the temple. Miraculously, the year before her husband’s unexpected death, he accepted the gospel and was baptized.
What caused such a marvelous change?
Joanne’s sister says, “Joanne never allowed her children or anyone else to talk negatively about their father. Sometimes he would come home at two or three in the morning, and my sister would wake all the kids and say, ‘Your daddy is home! Come, kiss him, love him!’
“When the children grew older and questioned their father’s actions, she would say, ‘Honey, don’t judge your dad. He doesn’t have the gospel yet. All we can do is love him and forgive him. He is a good man, and he is head of this family.’”
But was she happy?
“To her family, to us, to everyone,” says Joanne’s sister, “she radiated happiness. But I’m sure she suffered. I also know how badly she wanted her husband to join the Church.”
Joanne talks about staying with a man many women would abandon:
“I never considered turning away from my love for and loyalty to my husband. He was a very good man, even though he did foolish things. He loved people. He helped others in need. We sometimes had a person, even whole families, live with us because my husband knew that they were out of work and needed someplace to go.
“We had great, genuine love in our family. I know that he loved me and the children and that he was proud of us. The good example of our children brought him into the Church. It was the happiest day of my life when he was baptized.” They were married twenty-eight years before that happened.

DJ walked out of the church building with the other kids who had come to the Saturday activity. They’d already had a lot of fun. He couldn’t wait to see what was next.
Brother and Sister Jones led the group to the back parking lot. A bunch of plastic chairs were set up in a really weird arrangement—not in rows at all.
“So,” Brother Jones said, clapping his hands together and smiling, “who wants to try our obstacle course?”
DJ’s hand shot up. Awesome! He loved obstacle courses! This one looked kind of easy, but that was OK. It would still be cool.
Sister Jones nodded to DJ, then turned to the other kids. “You’ll all have a chance,” she said with a smile. “But I’m afraid it’s not as easy as it looks.”
She pulled a blindfold from her pocket.
DJ stared at the blindfold, then back at the chairs. This was going to be a lot harder than he’d thought.
“Don’t worry, DJ,” Brother Jones said. “You’ll have help. Who would like to be DJ’s helper?”
This time his friend Sam’s hand went up first. Sister Jones sent Sam to the other side of the obstacle course. “OK, Sam, your job is to tell DJ how to get through without running into any chairs. If he needs to go left, right, back, or forward, you tell him. Understand?”
“Yup!” Sam said.
Brother Jones placed a hand on DJ’s shoulder. “DJ, listen closely to Sam’s voice. If you bump into a chair, you’ll have to take three steps back and keep trying. Ready?”
“I think so,” DJ said. It still sounded fun, but he was starting to wish he hadn’t volunteered first. He’d probably bump into at least two or three chairs.
Brother Jones tied on the blindfold. “Good luck!”
“OK,” Sam said. “Walk forward three steps.” DJ started moving his feet. It felt so strange, walking in the dark like that.
“Now another two steps,” Sam said. “Yeah. Now one more. Good. Now turn left.”
As DJ kept dodging the chairs, he started feeling confident.
“Turn right,” Sam said a minute later. But DJ didn’t listen right away. He thought for sure he remembered a straight path right about there. He could get through faster if he kept going the way he was headed. He took a step or two without turning.
“Wait,” Sam said. “I said turn right!”
“I will in just a—” DJ bumped right into a chair. It slid across the ground. Oops …
“That’s OK,” Brother Jones said. “Just back up and try again.”
DJ felt silly. He should have listened to Sam. He carefully backed up three steps.
This time Sam talked him all the way through without another bump. The other kids clapped as DJ took off his blindfold and gave Sam a high five.
Sister Jones pointed at the chairs. “Our lives can be like this obstacle course,” she said. “It’s not always easy to see problems on our own. But we have a helper too. Can anybody tell me who that helper is?”
Shayla raised her hand. “The Holy Ghost!” she said.
Brother Jones nodded. “Exactly. He can help us avoid hidden dangers. Now who’s next?” All the other kids raised their hands at once.
DJ decided right then that he would always listen to the Holy Ghost. He knew then he would be safe from hidden dangers.

This is a great story! Kirsten Leichty, who is a Mia Maid and attends the Bitburg American High School in Germany, had the assignment to give a persuasive speech in her honors English class.
What better topic to speak on than the Book of Mormon? With the help of her family and her ward missionaries, she got enough copies of the Book of Mormon to give one to each member of her class. She then spoke about it, bore testimony of it, and challenged the class to read at least ten pages of it.
She got an “A” on her assignment because she was so persuasive. Almost everyone read it. “The buzz she sent rippling through the school was immediate,” said LDS schoolmate Joe Roller. “Not only were the students eager to ask Kirsten questions, but the other 20 or so of us LDS students had the opportunity to add our testimonies to Kirsten’s.”
With all the seeds she planted, this great story might never end.

There were twelve children in the Cullimore family—six boys and six girls—and Elder Cullimore was the seventh child. Remembering those childhood days, Elder Cullimore says, “Father owned a store in Lindon and also a farm. I think my father got the farm just to keep us all busy. During the day we’d thin and top sugar beets or cut grain. Each fall Father would divide the money from the sugar company among us boys. Sometimes after a hard day’s work the store still had so many customers that we had to help out there until it closed at nine o’clock. And there were chores at home to do as well!
“My father was the most influential person in my life. His life was exemplary. He was a bishop for twenty-six years. When I was growing up, I didn’t even know any other bishop. We had what we called ‘home nights’ every week. And on Sundays it was just expected that we’d all go to church. Whether working on the farm or in the store, our large family always felt very close to each other.”

The annual crop of sugar beets isn’t the only thing that makes Sugar City, Idaho, a sweet place to be. A small group of boys in the senior class at Salem High School in Sugar City, who are all priests in the Sugar City Idaho Stake, decided that they would make Valentine’s Day special for all the girls at their school.
The boys got a red rose for every woman and girl in the school and arranged with the principal to present them at a special Valentine’s Day assembly during the last hour of school on February 14. Not a single girl knew about the assembly ahead of time, since all the boys talked about their plans in code, calling it “Project A.”
It’s an idea that the girls fell in love with.