Gospel Story Finder

For the past four years, Brandon R., 17, has been able to earn spending money and save for a mission all while doing something he loves: teaching piano lessons. “I love influencing others to enjoy the wonderful gift of making music,” Brandon says.
Brandon has been taking lessons himself since he was only two years old. He currently has students ranging from ages 6 to 15. He loves watching their progress as they learn to enjoy playing.
“When I started teaching one student,” Brandon says, “he would run away. But then he started liking it more and more.”
Now in his senior year, Brandon is seeking additional students so he can save money even faster for his mission.
Brandon believes that from teaching piano, his teaching techniques in other areas have improved. “I think, for example, it’s easier to teach my brother something in math or to teach somebody something in a class,” he says. “There’s no better way to improve your teaching skills than to practice.”

My beloved brothers and sisters, for several years and with the deepest feelings I have thought about what I would like to talk to you about this morning. The prophet Mormon tells us that “by the power of [the Lord’s] word did they cause prisons to tumble” (Morm. 8:24). In recent weeks, I have reread the stories of Jean Valjean in Victor Hugo’s brilliant novel Les Miserables and of Bob Merrick in the novel Magnificent Obsession by Lloyd C. Douglas. These two stories, though widely different in time, circumstances, and affluence, have touched my heart in many ways.
I have agonized as I have thought about the ordeal of Jean Valjean—the nineteen years in prison and the things done to him for the small transgression of stealing a loaf of bread to feed a starving family. He suffered so many indignities, even after he was finally released from the physical prison.
Some of the same feelings flood my mind as I reflect upon the self-inflicted sufferings of Bob Merrick. The life of a prominent surgeon was lost and the sight of another because of Bob Merrick’s wayward activities, selfishness, ego, and disdain for others. He suffered in a prison of his own making.
Yes, I realize these masterfully crafted episodes are fictional, but they cause me to think about the various types of prisons Satan leads us into building for ourselves and others, or that others build for us.
Haven’t we all been delivered from various forms of captivity? How did you feel when the doors were opened to your personal prison? How was it to feel free? How wonderful it is to be liberated from any kind of a prison.
I remember how I felt forty-one years ago when I was taken from a train in Europe at 2:00 a.m. by two soldiers of a hostile nation and held against my will. I was verbally and physically abused. I felt I would never see my family or my country again. I assure you that while I was held captive, the blood coursed through my veins like adrenaline. Though the captivity lasted less than a day, it seemed like an eternity. And when I was put on another train and sent back to safety, my gratitude to the Lord knew no bounds. I was free! As I talked to the train conductor, I learned that hundreds had not been so lucky.
I then was led to think of Him who really delivers us from various types of prisons into forgiveness, a newness of life, of spirit, of change, and of opportunity, and how the souls of men find such relief, fulfillment, and safety when this occurs. I thought of the Son of God and His greatest freewill offering to each of us, given at the expense of His own life and under excruciating pain. I thought of how our Father in Heaven loves each one of us. And though we sometimes walk into prisons of our own making, He is there with keys to unlock the doors that bind us. I thought of those who help along the way, who share in turning those keys which deliver others, and who care so deeply sometimes that they rebuild the trust of others—like the two men of God in the novels helped to free Jean Valjean and Bob Merrick from their prisons into magnificent new freedoms promised by the Lord.
As difficult as a physical captivity or prison is, there are other captivities or prisons even more devastating. They are very subtle and take various forms in life, like (1) taking advantage of another; (2) bearing false witness to get gain; (3) knowing things to be true and not defending them; (4) stealing the morality of another; (5) destroying the innocence of a little child; (6) being captive to alcohol or drugs; or (7) financially digging a pit for another, causing hardship and destroying his ability to take care of his needs and so on. There are many prisons which come from our sins or the sins of others “according to the captivity and power of the devil” (2 Ne. 2:27), who leads us away.
Let me take an example to illustrate the point of these prisons. The prophet Job counseled us not to “dig a pit for your friend” (Job 6:27). I understand that could mean a business associate, a neighbor, a member of the Church. How could this happen?
Several years ago, a great young man had a thriving business. He had worked long, hard hours for many years to develop the skills, reputation, and expertise necessary to build his business and provide for the needs of his young family. He loved his work, and every morning he anxiously began each new project with creativity and opportunity. His was a great life, filled with much hope and many projects. Then one major project was completed and finalized. Rather large payments were anticipated, but a shrewd businessman found that oral approvals, given to my friend to make many necessary alterations in the project, could easily be broken and not honored. After all, there was no written record of the changes requested. It was just “good business” to get it as cheap as possible, even after commitments were made. And so verbal commitments were not honored. The money due, which was considerable, was not paid.
At this point we have several prisons that are in place: the prison of deceit of the “shrewd” businessman, and the prison of the deceived, who could not now honor his own commitments. To this day the one deceived, through further industry and much hardship, is still trying to get out of the prison created by another. And he has lost confidence in others, and he and his family have lost opportunities and his business because of another.
Did not the Savior teach through the prophet Moses, “If a man shall cause a field or vineyard to be eaten, and shall put in his beast, and shall feed in another man’s field; of the best of his own field, and of the best of his own vineyard, shall he make restitution”? (Ex. 22:5).
These types of prisons often cause the offended to lose faith, hope, and even the ability to care for their own, as was the case with my young friend. But these prisons should not happen. They often cause years of anguish. They cause those involved to wonder about justice and mercy. Sometimes these people find it impossible to resolve their own personal affairs honorably.
The lessons taught by the Savior differ widely from these actions. For He taught, in effect, Do unto others as ye would have them do unto you (see Matt. 7:12; 3 Ne. 14:12). He taught, “Behold it is my will that you shall pay all your debts” (D&C 104:78). Yes, even if it takes years, pay your debts.
No Christian should ever be a challenge to another Christian. Many widows, single mothers, and older couples are victimized by those who take advantage of them, who do not honor their commitments and then put them into a type of prison. Those affected find themselves pleading for someone to open their prison doors, often while babies cry for bare necessities.
When we seek to follow Christ, we take the oath of a Christian as a member of this Church; we covenant to never put another in any sort of prison, but rather to try to liberate those who are there. We become like one man who said that when he joined this Church it changed the way he thought, the way he talked, the way he believed, the way he dressed, the way he worked and honored his employer, the things he read, the movies he saw, the way he conducted his financial affairs in absolute honesty with everyone, and the way he served others. He truly believed in the liberating power of the gospel of Jesus Christ and became free because of it. As is stated in the book of John, “If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed” (John 8:36).
Years ago an acquaintance of mine was captive for over twenty years to a serious alcohol problem, which bound him every day. He would leave work, buy his alcohol, drive into the countryside, and drink until he could barely find his way home. He truly was under the captive spirit of the devil and lived in hell. A faithful home teacher loved this brother, saw him often, taught him to pray for help, and prayed for him often. One day while he was driving his pickup truck into the countryside to begin his daily alcohol ritual, he felt a powerful influence to stop his truck, walk out into a field, fall to his knees, and plead for help from his Father in Heaven. Later, he tearfully testified that as he arose from his knees, the desire to drink alcohol had completely left him. He had been delivered from a twenty-year prison. God heard his prayer, felt the desire of his heart, and opened the prison doors that bound him.
Beloved friends, it is Jesus who has unlocked and will unlock the doors of our personal prisons. It is a glorious promise to all who are captive, for whatever reasons, upon the condition of repentance.
Certainly, a Latter-day Saint will demonstrate the freedom he has received by walking in all morality and all honesty, as taught by the Lord. For his word is his bond—sacred and honored. His life becomes the testament that it is all true—every principle and every word that proceeds from the mouth of the Savior and His prophets. By living these cardinal principles, we are truly free and we become the witnesses of His word.
One of the beautiful, profound statements of the man of God to Jean Valjean was: “My brother, you belong no more to evil, but to good. It is your soul I am buying for you, and I give it to God” (Victor Hugo, Les Miserables, volume 1, book 2, chapter 12). No more prisons for others, if you will, because of my actions.
Jesus came that man might have life and have it more abundantly. He walked the path, taught the way, opened the doors to truly liberate mankind, and said, “And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free” (John 8:32). The writer, Mr. Douglas, expressed it beautifully when he said to Bob Merrick, “When you find THE WAY, you will be bound—it will become an obsession—a magnificent obsession.”
We know it works, for listen to the words which record what happened to the Saints who truly followed the Savior for two hundred years following His appearance in America:
“And as many as did come unto them, and did truly repent of their sins, were baptized in the name of Jesus; and they did also receive the Holy Ghost.
“… And there were no contentions and disputations among them, and every man did deal justly one with another.
“And they had all things common among them; therefore there were not rich and poor, bond and free, but they were all made free. …
“And surely there could not be a happier people among all the people who had been created by the hand of God” (4 Ne. 1:1–3, 16; emphasis added).
Yes, “by the power of his word did they cause prisons to tumble” (Morm. 8:24). May we live our lives so we will all be free with no prisons for ourselves or others, only a magnificent obsession filled with freedoms and blessings ahead, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

This was well illustrated in my father’s patriarchal blessing. He was told in his blessing that he would be blessed with “many beautiful daughters.” He and my mother became the parents of five sons. No daughters were born to them, but they treated the wives of their sons as daughters. Some years ago when we had a family gathering, I saw my father’s daughters-in-law, granddaughters, and great-granddaughters moving about, tending to the food and ministering to the young children and the elderly, and the realization came to me that Father’s blessing literally had been fulfilled. He has indeed many beautiful daughters. The patriarch who gave my father his blessing had spiritual vision to see beyond this life. The dividing line between time and eternity disappeared.

One day I was sitting on the sofa listening to a CD. When the hymn “Teach Me to Walk in the Light” (Hymns, no. 304) came on, I thought about Jesus Christ’s sacrifice for each of us. I remembered His love, humility, and compassion, and I felt my heart fill with gratitude. The Lord’s Spirit testified to me that the Savior loves us.
My two-year-old son was sitting beside me, looking at pictures of Jesus Christ. He must have felt something as well because he looked up at me and said, “Mommy, Jesus loves you!”
Jesus Christ is a part of my and my family’s lives. He is in my thoughts and heart. His gospel has changed my life.

Michele grew up physically in a comfortable upper middle-class environment in upstate New York. It was not until after having left that world, when she found herself “on the streets” in New York City, that she really began to mature spiritually. Like many of this generation she came to earth with a spirit capable of giving and loving equal to the challenge of today’s world. But it is one thing to love and another to learn how to effectively give. In seeking to fulfill herself, Michele sought many avenues for giving. Before coming to know the gospel, she saw how many ways people suffer in this life. For a time she lived in an apartment leased by the county to two heroin addicts and their three children. The parents were always on the streets in pursuit of drugs or the money to purchase drugs. What care the children got, Michele gave. Simultaneously she worked at fund raising for and as a volunteer in a hospital for children with cerebral palsy and also spent up to six hours a night on the telephones at a crisis center. Michele spent more hours working for others than one body can really stand—she kept going by taking speed. It is amazing that she kept going as long as she did.
When Michele found the Church, she had been involved in so many of the snares Satan has set for this generation that she knew she had to break cleanly with the past. She moved to another town and set about rebuilding her life according to the gospel plan. When I first met her, she was still struggling to overcome many of the temptations from her past and through repentance be reborn in Christ. As she trusted me, we talked out many of her problems and often cried together, sharing the sorrow and joy that can only come through regaining the Lord’s Spirit. Some problems I could only ask her to work out with her bishop, and after great struggles, she did. Other problems she brought to me because she felt I could understand, having known the world she knew. Late one night she revealed what seemed her greatest problem. She felt a continuing desperate urge to return to using speed. It was not the craving of an addict that drove her, however. As she learned more of the gospel of Christ and our responsibility to serve our fellowmen, she again became involved in many avenues of service to others. But this time it was not so easy. She tired quickly and could not do as much as she had previously. She felt her capacity to serve was lessened. Wouldn’t it be justified, she asked, to use speed to enable her to do more? If the drug took some toll on her body, was that so wrong, considering why she was doing it?
I knew that when she spoke of doing things for others, it was no simple rationalization. Michele really wanted to help others. It took more than a few moments of silent prayer before I was able to answer. Finally, I said, “All right, you want to give, but what do you want to give? What, for instance, did you give those three children? Can you tell me?” Though she knew I had heard the story, she repeated how she had washed clothes, fixed meals, dried tears, and tucked the children in at night. To that I responded, “Yes, but what did you give them?” This puzzled her. She started to repeat herself and then, realizing that I was asking something else, remained silent. Finally I talked for a moment about the unbelievable advances made by technology—we are on the verge of making machines that can do almost anything—and asked her what she had done for those children an existing machine or some machine that might be invented soon couldn’t have done. What, I asked, had she really given; what could she really give to anyone? She started to answer that she had given them love, but I stopped her. “Michele, tell me about speed. What does it mean when you crash?” The change took her back. Slowly she answered, reciting how methamphetamines can keep you up for only so long and then you come down physically, whether you want to or not. We talked about why it’s nice to be able to fall asleep as soon as you crash, and how if you don’t, problems start. She remembered how emotions, real and deep emotions, would well up from where the drug had suppressed them, suppressed them for as long as she had been high, and the wave of depression that followed those emotions. We talked about how being “wired” was a way to operate physically while ignoring the real-life, day-to-day sufferings that go on around you. One could do countless tasks without really feeling anything. And then I asked her again, “Michele, what did you really give those children? Even when you cuddled the little boy and bandaged up his knee, did you really feel his hurt and cry with him, feel and share his pain as we have cried together? What did you really give them?” She fell silent. “Michele,” I finally asked, “what can any human being give that is worth giving?” Gradually we began to talk again. We made a distinction between presents, things people buy, and gifts. I reminded her of how Christ contrasted the gift of the widow’s mite, a gift based on sacrifice, with the offerings made from the rich man’s surplus. We saw how every real gift involves a sacrifice on the part of the giver, a willingness to suffer for the good of others if need be. And as we talked, Michele gradually began to understand that she had been tempted to return to speed because the kinds of social commitments she knew she should make weren’t so much physically tiring as they were emotionally draining. She admitted that in trying to do the things she had once done so easily she found herself suffering with the people she wanted to help, and she recognized that it was bearing other people’s burdens, crying with them and praying for them, that left her tired, not the physical effort. It became apparent that she could not do as much physically as she once had, but by resisting the temptation to take speed, she was placing herself in a position where she could give much more. Only by keeping spiritually in tune and open to sharing could she truly give a gift worth giving, a gift no machine could duplicate. For real gifts involve the love and sacrifice of the giver; they can never simply be bought or sold. When Christ set us the example of the Good Samaritan as an ideal, the epitome of the Christian life, it seems obvious that he had in mind more than giving ambulance service to the wounded Jew. We must ask ourselves whether the Samaritan simply bore the Jew’s physical burdens, taking him to the inn and paying his lodging and care, or if he sought to comfort the Jew, offering him love and concern and fasting and praying for him. Did the Good Samaritan seek to bear the Jew’s emotional burdens; did he seek to love him? The answer seems obvious. And so we both learned a lesson about Christ-like service.

On Tuesdays, we visit our Rest Home Grandma. She has no family of her own—no children and no husband. Mama says we are her family now. She’s so tiny she seems lost in her wheelchair when we push it outside. Then she grasps the arms of the chair, sits forward, and leans into the wind, “Faster! Go faster!” she chirps in a high-pitched voice. Her silky white hair flows out behind her as Mama jogs and pushes until we run out of breath. “Whee! Do it again!” Grandma chortles.

We jog and stroll and jog some more. “I wish I could ride all day,” she tells us. But before we get back to the rest home, she is fast asleep. We love our Rest Home Grandma.

One of these intrepid souls was Emma Batchelor, a young English girl traveling without family. She started out with the Willie Handcart Company, but by the time they reached Fort Laramie, they were ordered to lighten their loads. Emma was directed to leave the copper kettle in which she carried her belongings. She refused to do this and set it by the side of the road and sat down on it, knowing that the Martin Company was only a few days behind. When the Martin Company caught up, she joined the Paul Gourley family. A young son wrote many years later: “Here we were joined by Sister Emma Batchelor. We were glad to have her because she was young and strong and meant more flour for our mess.” At this time, Sister Gourley gave birth to a child, and Emma acted as the midwife and for two days loaded the mother and the child into the cart, which Emma helped pull.
Those who died traveling with the Martin Company were mercifully relieved of suffering from frozen feet, ears, noses, or fingers, which maimed others for the rest of their lives. Emma, age 21, however, was a fortunate one—she came through the ordeal whole.
When a year later she met President Brigham Young, who was surprised that she was not maimed, she told him: “Brother Brigham I had no one to care for me or to look out for me, so I decided I must look out for myself. I was the one who called out when Brother Savage warned us [not to go]. I was at fault in that, but I tried to make up for it. I pulled my full share at the cart every day. When we came to a stream, I stopped and took off my shoes and stockings and outer skirt and put them on top of the cart. Then, after I got the cart across, I came back and carried little Paul over on my back. Then I sat down and scrubbed my feet hard with my woollen neckerchief and put on dry shoes and stockings.”

President Thomas S. Monson, today First Counselor in the First Presidency, visited the communist-controlled German Democratic Republic (GDR) for the first time in 1968. Meeting with a group of Latter-day Saints in the city of Görlitz, President Monson grieved as he realized these members could not fully enjoy many of the blessings of the gospel: they had no patriarch, no wards or stakes—only branches, and they could not attend the temple. “I stood at the pulpit,” he said, “and with tear-filled eyes and a voice choked with emotion, I made a promise to the people: ‘If you will remain true and faithful to the commandments of God, every blessing any member of the Church enjoys in any other country will be yours’” (“Thanks Be to God,” Ensign, May 1989, 51).
Seven years later, President Monson returned to the GDR, and on 27 April 1975, he offered a prayer rededicating the land for the advancement of the gospel. This plea was among his appeals for divine help in establishing peace and opening missionary work: “Heavenly Father, wilt Thou open up the way that the faithful may be accorded the privilege of going to Thy holy temple” (Thomas S. Monson, Faith Rewarded [1996], 36).
The fulfillment of these blessings could not be imagined at the time they were given. Manfred Heller, first counselor in the Dresden Ward bishopric, explains that before 1985 very few had the possibility of receiving temple blessings. Permission had to be obtained from government authorities to travel out of the country. In exceptional cases, people who were retired sometimes received permission and traveled to Switzerland for their endowment.
After years of exploring every possibility, the answer came. President Monson said: “Through the fasting and the prayers of many members, and in a most natural manner, government leaders proposed: Rather than having your people go to Switzerland to visit a temple, why don’t you build a temple here in the German Democratic Republic? The proposal was accepted, a choice parcel of property obtained in Freiberg, and ground broken for a beautiful temple of God” (Ensign, May 1989, 51).
Four years before the Berlin Wall fell, the Freiberg Germany Temple was dedicated on 29 June 1985. During the two-week public open house that preceded the dedication, approximately 90,000 people toured the temple; thousands stood as long as five hours in the rain to see the new temple. And now thousands of faithful Latter-day Saints have received their temple blessings in this holy house.
“I remember when President Monson came and dedicated the land,” says Winfried Batzke, president of the Berlin Germany Stake. “And I have seen how, piece by piece, his promises have been fulfilled.”

Three-year-old Elizabeth watched as her mother arranged the ceramic nativity set on the low table in front of the sofa. Her mother had made the set many years earlier. Each year she told the children that she had painted each figure. Then she reminded everyone to be very careful because the figures could be easily broken.
Elizabeth loved to look at the figures, especially that of the baby Jesus. One day, she picked it up and held it reverently.
Mother walked into the living room at that moment. “Elizabeth, those pieces are breakable,” she gently reminded her.
Elizabeth carefully replaced the figure. “I know, Mommy.”
Each day, Elizabeth was drawn to the nativity set. She frowned when she noticed that the camel couldn’t see the Christ child. She moved the camel closer to the manger. Then she saw that the Wise Men, shepherds, and other animals couldn’t see Jesus either. She set the manger in the center of the table with all the others surrounding it.
She smiled. That looked much better.
When Mother saw what Elizabeth had done, she explained again how special the nativity set was and then replaced the figures in their original places.
The next day, Elizabeth stared at the nativity set. Once again, she set the baby Jesus in the center with Mary, Joseph, the shepherds, Wise Men, and animals looking on.
When Mother walked into the room and saw the nativity set, she wasn’t happy. “Elizabeth, I told you—”
“Don’t you see, Mommy?” Elizabeth asked. “Everyone wants to see the baby Jesus.”
Tears rolled down Mother’s cheeks. “I see, Elizabeth. I finally understand.” She kissed the top of Elizabeth’s head. “We’ll leave it just as it is.”
In the years that followed, the nativity set was always grouped as Elizabeth had arranged it. Jesus was in the center, where everyone could see Him.

I want to do something really nice for Halloween, Mary Kathleen,” Samantha said to her doll as she laid her on the bed. “It’s only Saturday. We ought to be able to think of something to do by Monday that would surprise everyone.” Samantha thought and thought as Mary Kathleen seemed to stare at her with big blue eyes. “It’s harder to think of nice tricks to play on Halloween than bad ones,” Samantha moaned.
Samantha wandered down to the kitchen, where her mother was baking cookies. “Mmmm, they smell good, Mom. Can I help?”
“Sure, honey. I’ve rolled out the dough. Will you cut out the cookies?” As Samantha placed them on the cookie sheet, they reminded her of faces. Suddenly she smiled brightly and held up a big round cookie. “Mom, can I make some witch cookies and take them to all our neighbors on Monday? It could be a Halloween family home evening treat for them.”
“I thought that you wanted to go trick-or-treating,” Mom said.
“I can do that, too, if I have time. But I want to do something nice for our neighbors first.”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” said Mom. “Let’s get started. I’ll make an extra batch of cookie dough.”
While the extra cookies were baking, Samantha made white icing for the witches’ faces, red for their eyes and noses, and chocolate for their hats. Then she started decorating the faces. She had to work as fast as she could to be finished by bedtime.
Monday after school, Samantha took a stack of paper lunch sacks, wrote “Happy Halloween” on each sack, and placed ten cookies in each one. Then she put on her witch costume and made up her face to look like her cookies. Mom laughed. “I don’t know which looks scarier,” she said, “you or your cookies.”
It looked like a storm was on its way, so Samantha quickly put her sacks into a small laundry basket and started down the street. First she went to the Porters’. They answered the door so fast that all she could think to say was, “Happy Halloween.” She giggled and waved as she left. Samantha decided to go to the fire station next. Brother Sanchez, her Primary teacher, worked there. I’ll really surprise him, she thought as she headed for the station. On the way Samantha saw a group of her friends from school.
“Hi, Sam,” one of them yelled. “What do you have in your basket?”
“Witch cookies to give out for Halloween.”
“You must be kidding! You’re supposed to get treats on Halloween, not give them away. Think of all the fun and goodies that you’re going to miss.”
“I’ll go trick-or-treating as soon as I get these delivered,” Samantha explained. But as the other girls headed for the new subdivision, Samantha thought, Maybe I will miss out on a lot.
Just then Samantha felt a big drop of rain. Then another and another. Suddenly the rain was pouring down. Samantha looked for a place to get out of the downpour. The nearest building was a shelter for the homeless. Samantha ran through the front door.
“Look what the storm blew in,” a kind-looking man said. “A real live witch with a basket full of tricks.” Samantha looked around. The room was small but warm. Several people, including children, were sitting around a long table, eating crackers and hot soup. Some of them were shy, but most smiled at her. “Would you like a bowl of soup to warm you?” the man asked.
Samantha was cold and starting to get hungry. “Could I call my mom first to let her know where I am and ask her if it’s all right?” she asked.
“Sure. There’s a phone over there.”
Samantha called her mom, who said she could stay. “I’ll come and pick you up in a half hour. Then you might still have time to go trick-or-treating before family home evening.”
Everyone teased Samantha about her laundry basket of tricks as they ate their soup. The more they teased, the more she smiled, because she knew what she was going to do. When they had all finished eating, Samantha felt warm and comfortable. Everyone else there seemed to enjoy having a Halloween witch with them. She got up and picked up her basket.
“Before I go, I want to show you what’s in my basket. Instead of tricks, I have treats for you.” She passed out the cookies until everyone had some.
“Oh, look—witch cookies! Real witch cookies, just for us!” exclaimed a little five-year-old girl as she smiled at Samantha. Everyone thanked Samantha, and she felt happy about what she had done.
When her mom came to pick her up, it was still raining hard, and Samantha knew that she would be doing no trick-or-treating that night. But it didn’t matter to Samantha—it had still been the best Halloween ever!

All of Samuel’s creative planning paid off when he had some of his stories published. He turned in a writing assignment to a teacher, and she asked him for more of his stories. The teacher worked to have Samuel’s stories published as a book. They named it The Adventure Collection, and it was given out at a teachers’ conference. The teachers who attended the conference received a copy of the book to take back to their schools. Samuel even got to speak at the conference and autograph his books. Samuel says he was really happy. “I said to my dad on the way home that I didn’t want the day to end!”

A few days ago I was looking through my money when I noticed a hole in my tithing envelope. I opened it to make sure all of what I owed was still there, and I found that I was missing a quarter. I had two choices: I could put another quarter in, or I could pretend there never was one in it. I chose to put another quarter in. I knew I had made the right choice because I had a happy feeling the rest of the day.

I’m an average 16-year-old high school junior. I’m on the pom squad, I work in the mall, and I am on the Bishopric Youth Committee. I keep the Word of Wisdom, attend church regularly, and have a strong testimony. But there are some things I’ve never put a whole lot of emphasis on—like not swearing. I was always careful never to use the Lord’s name in vain, and I didn’t by any means swear as a regular course of conversation. But if I occasionally said a “bad” word, I never really stressed over it.
That was until this past summer when I became close friends with someone who was very careful never to swear. By just spending so much time with her I got in the habit of not swearing, which presented an interesting problem when school started again. My drama teacher gave a friend and me dialogue to learn for a forensics competition, dialogue that contained some profanity. So whenever my friend and I ran through it together, I modified my lines to avoid having to swear.
A few weeks later, we had to perform this dialogue in a school assembly. When we did, I modified my lines as I always had, and my friend delivered hers as they were printed. I didn’t think twice about it until I was talking to another nonmember friend later that day who told me something very interesting. After about the third word I had obviously changed, this person commented about how my church must mean a lot to me if I was going to go out of my way not to use profanity.
When she told me that, I was taken by surprise. I know everyone knows I’m LDS, and I know they watch to see how I live my life. But I didn’t think something like altering a few lines to eliminate bad language could have so much importance. My friend said what I had done really made an impression.
It also taught me that everything counts. Each commandment has a purpose and is important. I’d hate to think that someone’s connection or indirect introduction to the gospel of Jesus Christ was a negative one because of something I did. I now know more than ever that leading by example is a great way to share the precious truths I’ve been given.

Some of my friends have gone into Young Women, leaving me and another one of my friends behind. After the other girl turns 12, and when she leaves, I won’t have any of my friends in Primary with me. It makes me feel kind of sad and lonely.
I read the Friend from January 2017. On one page, it had mazes and pictures of people feeling different emotions like confusion and being afraid, with scriptures in the middle of each. I looked them up, and I prayed. Before I saw this, my heart was hurting a bit. But afterward, I felt peace and love from Heavenly Father. I have underlined those four verses, and I keep them with me in my heart.
Thank you for printing that. It made me feel loved and peaceful and that everything was going to be OK. I’m sure that the feeling has happened to others as well.
Robyn G., age 11, Utah, USA

Covenants include promises, “even of life eternal.” All things will work together for our good if we remember our covenants. They must be made and kept to fully receive the promises they provide. Love for the Savior and remembering our covenants will help us keep them. Partaking of the sacrament is one way to remember them. Another way is to attend the temple often. I remember a young married couple in South America who wanted to separate because they could not get along. A priesthood leader counseled them to attend the temple and pay specific attention to the words and promises of the covenants made there. They did so and their marriage was saved. The power of our covenants is greater than any challenge we face or we may face.

A few years ago Sister Packer and I were returning from New Zealand. We left Auckland at midnight and landed in Papeete in Tahiti. We waited there for a connecting flight. Just before dawn, a plane landed. It was not the one we were to board. We did not know its route; it was just an airliner landing on that small island in the South Pacific in the wee hours of a Monday morning.
I told my wife, “I will know someone on that plane.” I stood near the gate and as the passengers disembarked, four people, none of whom I had met before, approached me. “Are you Brother Packer?” And near the end of the line was one man I knew.
The point is this. It is manifestly impossible, in Huacuyo, Bolivia, or Tierra del Fuego, Argentina, in Kemi, Finland, or Vava’U in Tonga or anywhere else on earth, for an imposter to present himself as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and not be detected by the members as one who has not been regularly ordained by the leaders of the Church.

When my grandmother left her home in England as a young immigrant, she left everything behind because someone taught her of the gospel of Jesus Christ. She joined the Saints in America and eventually moved to Canada. For fear of being persuaded to remain in England, she did not tell her family of her conversion to the Church or of her plans to leave. That first letter she received from her mother reads in part:
“My dearest daughter … whatever on earth has caused you to go out of your own country and away from all your friends, I cannot imagine. You say, ‘Don’t fret.’ How do you think I can help it when such a blow as that come to struck me all up in a heap? You say you are happy, but I can’t think it, for I am sure I could not have been happy to have gone into a foreign country and left you behind. You say you will come again, but I don’t think you will hesitate your life over the deep waters again. When I think about it, I feel wretched. You had a good place and a good home to come to whenever you liked. And I must say that I loved the very ground you walked upon, and now I am left to fret in this world. But still, all the same for that, I wish you good luck and hope the Lord will prosper you in every way. I remain, your loving Mother.”
They never saw each other again in this earth life. And none of my grandmother’s family joined the Church. However, their temple work has been done for them.

Recently my magnificent 92-year-old mother passed away. She left this mortal existence as she had lived—quietly. Her life was not what she had planned. Her husband, my father, passed away when he was 45, leaving her with three children—me and my two brothers. She lived 47 years as a widow. She supported our family by teaching school during the day and teaching piano lessons at night. She cared for her aging father, my grandfather, who lived next door. She made sure that each of us received a college education. In fact, she insisted on it so that we could be “contributors.” And she never complained. She kept her covenants, and because she did, she called down the powers of heaven to bless our home and to send miracles. She relied on the power of prayer, priesthood, and covenant promises. She was faithful in her service to the Lord. Her steadfast devotion steadied us, her children. She often repeated the scripture: “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise.”4 That was her motto, and she knew it was true. She understood what it meant to be a covenant keeper. She was never recognized by the world. She didn’t want that. She understood who she was and whose she was—a daughter of God. Indeed, it can be said of our mother that she acted well her part.

I never seemed to quit gossiping. I didn’t think of how it affected other people but instead thought only of what I would gain from it. I thought I could become more popular by knowing everything about others.
One day I received an invitation to a friend’s party. When I arrived at the party, I met a girl I disliked. While she was in another room watching TV, the rest of us formed a circle. We began to talk about how mean the girl was and how we hated her.
One of my nonmember friends stood up, looked at everyone, and said, “We shouldn’t talk behind someone’s back, no matter how mean they are. It’s not right.” She then left the circle.
Everyone disagreed with her but me. I was speechless. I stood up and left the circle too. I thought to myself: “You knew better. Your example hasn’t been the right one.” I began to cry.
I realized that I had been hurting others. My friend had shown great courage; I had been too scared to think of standing for truth and righteousness. That night I repented. I promised Heavenly Father that I would try to do the right thing and be a good example to others no matter what situation I’m in.

The maestro bows, raises his baton, and the music, Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite, swells out over the audience like a storm rolling over the city, swaying the trees with a cool, clean wind and flooding the streets with sweet rain.
The dancers, members of the San Francisco Ballet Company, come onto the stage. Motion flows into motion, movement into movement. They float effortlessly into the lights. The bright colors, the colors of spring and fall and Christmas, blur together. The memories of other images come, memories of a small flock of white swans locking their wings and landing at dawn on a misty, still pond; of eagles soaring in the sky until they are high enough to touch the clouds; of the red and gold leaves of autumn swirling with the wind. And with this poetry of motion and with the rising and falling of music, the dancers spin their fantasy.
The dreams of a little girl come alive. A toy soldier becomes a prince with a white horse and transports her to an enchanted kingdom. Flowers come to life, and snowflakes dance across the stage. The Nutcracker is an exhibition of the fantasy and beauty of ballet.
What is always amazing about ballet, when it’s performed well, is the emotion of it, emotion the dancers communicate with the grace and beauty of movement. Motion that, like the great paintings of the old masters, can lift the soul and change it.
Backstage, one of the flowers, Melanie Watts, 18, a member of the San Francisco Singles Ward, San Francisco California Stake, awaits the cue to go on. The effect a ballet performance has on an audience is an important part of her involvement in the art.
“It gives me great pleasure,” she says smiling, “knowing that when I’m out there on stage I’m making people happy. I consider ballet a service.”
A month before the Nutcracker performance, I talked with Melanie after one of her classes at the San Francisco School of Ballet. Melanie’s two-hour class was nearly finished when I entered the classroom. Sunlight streamed down from a skylight onto the rows of students. The teacher stood in front of the students demonstrating a series of techniques.
“Enchainement of echappé 2nd, relevé devant, and relevé avant,” she said as she moved, repeating the names of the techniques in French.
The students repeated the movements again and again and again. It is only after years of practice that the refinement good ballet requires begins to take shape. The San Francisco Ballet’s school is considered to be one of the best in the world. It demands from its students a high level of dedication and achievement.
Because of the success of its dancers, competition to get into and stay in the school’s professional program is tough. The school’s scholarship programs come from donations, and competition for scholarships is even greater. Only students who make satisfactory progress are able to continue in the program, and only students who excel are awarded scholarships.
Although Melanie has studied with the school for three summers while finishing high school and is now on a full scholarship, she doesn’t consider ballet to be the most important part of her life.
“I was first exposed to ballet when I was eight,” she said. “I fell in love with the beauty and grace of it. I’ve been studying ballet ever since then. It’s an incredible discipline. I’m taking something God gave me, and I’m perfecting it. It’s a part of my life, but it’s not all of it. Ballet isn’t everything. There’s life after ballet. More importantly, there’s life after life. I want to have a family, and I want to be with my Father in Heaven again. With the gospel we are able to see life in a bigger round. The moment I know I’m losing with the Lord or that my interest in the Church isn’t strong, that’s when it’s time to quit. One day if I’m not living the gospel and I’m a great artist, I know there will be something missing in my life and that I won’t be happy.”
The instructor stopped the class, and Melanie walked over and slumped down on the floor next to me, wiping her head with a towel. Her red hair was wet with perspiration.
“How did it go?” I asked.
“With ballet,” she said laughing, “even if it does go well it’s not good. You’re never perfect, and there’s always room for improvement. You go to class and what you get is criticism. A couple of days ago the instructor gave me a correction, and the next day I thought to myself, ‘I’m going to get this right,’ and I did. But all my teacher said was that my arms weren’t right.”
Criticism is a necessary part of ballet, Melanie explained. That’s how you become good. The more the better, but it can be devastating to your self-image. “I’m amazed at how people survive without the gospel,” she said, “and without a close family. The second I walk into class I give it 100 percent, but the minute I walk out the door I’m somewhere else. The greatest strength we can have comes from the Lord. It would be difficult to imagine doing anything without his help. One night I was depressed. I was homesick. I wanted to go home and give up. I was too upset to sleep, so I pulled out my patriarchal blessing and read. It made me feel so incredibly good to know my Father had said something to me. We can accomplish anything we want that’s right, if we put our families and the gospel first.”
Melanie’s family lives in Utah, and she boards with LDS families in San Francisco. But because she has been performing since she was nine years old she has been exposed to a lot of different lifestyles.
“I’m grateful for the opportunities I’ve had as a dancer,” she said. “But it’s also been tough. There are lots of temptations. When I was 12, I went on tour for five weeks with a ballet company. I was offered wine at Thanksgiving. No one there knew what my beliefs were. I didn’t have to refuse the wine, but I knew my parents trusted me, and I knew what they expected. Similar temptations still confront me, and I can only thank my parents because they taught me and prepared me, when I was still young, to think for myself and to make correct decisions. I know I can be the best at ballet that I can be and still live the gospel. I have to know my limitations and not put myself in situations that make the struggle too difficult. And I rely heavily on my family. My best friends are my family.
When you talk to Melanie it’s easy to see her love for her family and for the gospel by her enthusiasm for it. And as for her love of ballet, that’s also easy to see.
There is a change in the music, and dancers dressed as flowers move onto the stage as a swirl of color. There is emotion to it, emotion the dancers communicate with the grace and beauty of movement, emotion that like the great paintings of the old masters can lift and change the soul.