Gospel Story Finder

I recall flying from San Francisco to Sydney, Australia. I noted a young man in a nearby seat reading the book Joseph Smith, an American Prophet. When opportunity presented itself, I spoke to him. I told him that I had read the book, that I had known the author, and asked him what his interest was. He said, among other things, that he had an interest in prophets and that this matter of a possible modern prophet had intrigued him. He had picked up the book at the library. We had a lengthy conversation in which I bore my witness that Joseph Smith was indeed a prophet. Not only did he speak of things to come, but more important, he was a revealer of eternal truth and a testifier of the divine mission of the Lord Jesus Christ.

My brother is a missionary in Russia. I like to draw pictures and write letters to send him. I draw my brother and his companion wearing white shirts and ties. I draw a big circle around the two elders and write “Force Field from Heaven” to show that I know they are being protected. Even though the force fields are pretend, Heavenly Father’s power is real, and I have faith that He will take care of my brother.Marci P., age 7, with help from her mom, Utah

Marion Romney indeed knew what it meant to sacrifice—and to work hard. In Mexico he helped his father produce all the family’s food. In California he stayed out of school for a year to learn carpentry and earn money for the family. When they moved to a farm in Idaho, Marion began every school year late and finished early so he could help with the harvesting and planting. When the family moved to Salt Lake City so his father could finish his degree at the University of Utah, Marion again stayed out of school a year and worked to help support the family. He worked full time throughout his college and law school years. And he always paid a full tithing, even during the winter of 1917, when the combined incomes of the families of Marion’s father and his brother Gaskell totalled less than $80.00 a month. It was young Marion’s job—a chilly task because he had no warm clothes—to take the $8 tithing to the bishop.

My daughter Jacque and I once attended a Primary daddy-daughter party together. The girls had all prepared box lunches for the meal. For dessert, each father and daughter were to decorate a cake. Because I am a dentist, Jacque and I made a giant icing tooth on our cake. Of course, after the eating, there were games and contests.
One of the games we played that night was a relay contest. The Primary leaders had placed four plastic bowling pins in a pattern on the floor of the cultural hall. Each father was to blindfold his daughter. Then he was to direct her through and around the pins, across the cultural hall, and then back to the starting point, where the next pair would begin. He was not to touch her with his hands; he could only use his voice to tell her which way to go. We were divided into two teams.
It seemed such a simple game, but it was actually quite difficult. Most of the fathers would holler, “Go right!” or, “Go left!” or, “Stop!” or “Go straight!” But with both teams cheering loudly, it was easy for a girl to confuse the voice of the opposing team’s father with her own father’s voice. Often the two girls racing each other would get the instructions mixed up. Also, some of the fathers gave their instructions hesitantly, and so lost precious time. And some of the daughters did not follow the instructions accurately. They either went too fast or moved in the wrong direction and occasionally knocked down some pins.
But there was one father and daughter who surprised us all. This father had a serious disease that interfered with his coordination. His movement and speech were slow. When it was their turn and the blindfold was in place, I heard the father say to his daughter, “Don’t worry about left or right or fast or slow. Just walk at a steady pace and listen to my voice. I’ll keep talking the whole time, and you just follow the sound of my voice.”
At the signal they began, and he gently repeated over and over, “Just follow my voice,” or, “Don’t listen to the others, just to me.” I was amazed as they steadily walked with short steps right through the course, much faster than any of the others, so fast in fact that their team won.

I was privileged last month to be assigned to attend a seminar with the mission presidents from the North America West Area. Among the mission presidents in attendance was my son, Lee. He had been called to serve before I had completed my yearlong assignment in the Europe Central Area Presidency. It had been three years since I had spent any time with my son, other than a few short visits while passing through his area on other assignments.
After a get-acquainted dinner with all of the mission presidents and their wives, Lee and I, with our wives, went to my hotel room for a visit. Our conversation, of course, centered on missionary work. Lee explained what had happened to his missionaries since President Hinckley asked us to raise the bar on qualifications for missionary service. He reported a decided improvement in the preparation of the missionaries arriving in the mission field. The conversation led us to recall an experience Lee and I had while he was attending high school.
Lee was a member of his high school track team—he both sprinted and high-jumped. During the 1968 Summer Olympic Games held in Mexico City, the world became enamored with a little-known high jumper named Dick Fosbury. He had experimented with a new high-jumping technique that involved sprinting diagonally toward the bar, then curving and leaping backward over the bar. It came to be called the Fosbury flop.
Like many others, Lee was intrigued by this new technique, but until the new school year started, he didn’t have a place to practice it. I came home one evening to find him practicing the Fosbury flop in our basement. He had set up two makeshift standards by stacking chairs, and he was jumping over a broomstick set on the chairs, using a sofa to cushion his landing. It was very clear to me that the sofa would not hold up under such treatment, so I called a halt to his indoor high-jumping. Instead, I invited him to go with me to a sporting-goods store, where we purchased some foam padding to use for landing and high-jumping standards so he could move the activity out of doors.
After experimenting with the Fosbury flop, Lee decided to return to the western-roll technique that he had used previously. Still, through the end of the summer into the fall, he practiced high-jumping for many hours in our backyard.
One evening as I returned home from work, I found Lee practicing his jumping. I asked, “How high is the bar?”
He said, “Five feet, eight inches.”
“Why that height?”
He answered, “You must clear that height to qualify for the state track meet.”
“How are you doing?” I asked.
“I can clear it every time. I haven’t missed.”
My reply: “Let’s raise the bar and see how well you do then.”
He replied, “Then I might miss.”
I queried, “If you don’t raise the bar, how will you ever know your potential?”
So we started moving the bar up to five feet, ten inches; then to six feet; and so on, as he sought to improve. Lee became a better high jumper because he was not content with just clearing the minimum standard. He learned that even if it meant missing, he wanted to keep raising the bar to become the best high jumper he was capable of becoming.
Remembering this experience with my son brought to mind the message Elder M. Russell Ballard gave at the priesthood session of the October 2002 general conference, in which he challenged the young men of the Church to become the greatest generation of missionaries. He announced that the bar for the minimum standard of missionary service had been raised. He instructed the young men of the Aaronic Priesthood to prepare themselves more vigorously to reach this new and higher minimum standard. He also gave instructions to fathers, bishops, and stake presidents about helping young men prepare to serve full-time missions. (See “The Greatest Generation of Missionaries,” Liahona and Ensign, Nov. 2002, 46–49.)
In his concluding remarks at that same priesthood session, President Hinckley commented on Elder Ballard’s talk. He said: “Elder Ballard has spoken to you concerning missionaries. I wish to endorse what he said. I hope that our young men, and our young women, will rise to the challenge he has set forth. We must raise the bar on the worthiness and qualifications of those who go into the world as ambassadors of the Lord Jesus Christ” (“To Men of the Priesthood,” Liahona and Ensign, Nov. 2002, 57).
Soon afterward, in a letter dated December 11, 2002, the First Presidency instructed Church leaders about the principles of eligibility for full-time missionary service. The instructions stated: “Full-time missionary service is a privilege for those who are called through inspiration by the President of the Church. Bishops and stake presidents have the serious responsibility to identify worthy, qualified members who are spiritually, physically, and emotionally prepared for this sacred service and who can be recommended without reservation. Those individuals not able to meet the physical, mental, and emotional demands of full-time missionary work are honorably excused and should not be recommended. They may be called to serve in other rewarding capacities.”
The bar was raised by the leaders of the Church, and now the minimum standard for participating in missionary work is absolute moral worthiness; physical health and strength; intellectual, social, and emotional development. In every high-jumping competition there is a minimum height at which the competition starts. The high jumper cannot ask to start at a lower height. In the same way, you should not expect the standards to be lowered to allow you to serve a mission. If you want to be a missionary, you must be able to clear the minimum standards.
But once you reach those minimum standards, shouldn’t you try to keep raising the bar? I ask you the same question I asked my son many years ago: “If you don’t raise the bar, how will you ever know your potential?” My challenge to you is to recognize that a minimum standard exists—and you must reach it to serve as a full-time missionary—but don’t stop there. The greatest generation of missionaries will not reach its full potential unless it keeps raising the bar.
Let me offer a few suggestions about what each of you can do to raise the bar even higher as you prepare for missionary service.
The minimum physical standard for full-time missionary service refers to a potential missionary’s physical health and strength. For example, one of the questions on the missionary recommendation forms asks if you “can work 12 to 15 hours per day, walk 6 to 8 miles per day, ride a bicycle 10 to 15 miles per day, and climb stairs daily.” Missionary work is hard, and full-time missionaries must be in good physical condition to serve. Raising the bar to a higher physical standard could involve further physical conditioning.
It also could include improving your physical appearance. A missionary is expected to dress a certain way, projecting a clean-cut appearance that includes an appropriate haircut; being clean shaven; wearing a clean white shirt, a tie, and a well-pressed suit—all the way down to a good shoe shine. Start now to prepare for a full-time mission by adopting the appearance of a full-time missionary.
Raise the bar higher in your intellectual preparation. Take your schooling seriously. It is important to be able to read, speak, and write with intelligence. Expand your knowledge of the world around you by reading good books. Learn how to study. Then apply your improved study habits to learning the gospel of Jesus Christ. Consistently and regularly read from the Book of Mormon.
Don’t neglect the opportunity of attending seminary and institute classes. Participate and gain all you can from the scriptures taught in these great religious-education settings. They will prepare you to present the message of the restored gospel to those you have opportunity to meet. Study from Preach My Gospel, emphasizing the basic doctrines taught in chapter 3. Each time you are asked to speak in church or to teach a family home evening lesson, focus on these basic doctrines.
In Doctrine and Covenants 11:21, the Lord tells us, “Seek not to declare my word, but first seek to obtain my word, and then shall your tongue be loosed; then, if you desire, you shall have my Spirit and my word, yea, the power of God unto the convincing of men.” The pre-missionary age is an ideal time to set the bar higher as you prepare your mind by acquiring the light and truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
You must recognize that missionary service is emotionally demanding. Your support system is going to be withdrawn from you as you leave home and go out into the world. Many of the ways you use now to cope with emotional stress—like hanging out with friends, going off by yourself, playing video games, or listening to music—are not allowed by the rules of missionary conduct. There will be days of rejection and disappointment. Learn now about your emotional limits, and learn how to control your emotions under the circumstances you will face as a missionary. By doing this, you raise the bar to greater heights and, in effect, fortify yourself against emotional challenges during your missionary service.
While President Hinckley did not mention this, prospective missionaries also must be prepared with the social skills needed to serve a mission. More and more, young people are isolating themselves from others by playing video games; wearing headphones; and interacting through cell phones, e-mail, text messaging, and so on instead of in person. Much of missionary work involves relating face-to-face with people, and unless you set the bar higher in the development of your social skills, you will find yourself underprepared. Let me offer a simple suggestion: get a job that involves interacting with people. As an increased motivation, set a goal to earn enough money from your part- or full-time work to pay for at least a significant part of your mission. I promise great blessings—social, physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual blessings—to every young man who pays for a significant part of his mission.
Personal worthiness is the minimum spiritual standard for serving a mission. This means that you are worthy in every way to make and to keep sacred temple covenants. Do not disqualify yourself from the blessings bestowed on those who serve in this very special calling by committing acts of transgression which will make you ineligible to serve.
Please recognize that while your teaching as a missionary may be persuasive, only the Spirit converts. Preach My Gospel gives a good description of what missionary work is all about. It states, “As an authorized representative of Jesus Christ, you can teach people with power and authority that ‘redemption cometh in and through the Holy Messiah,’ and that no one ‘can dwell in the presence of God, save it be through the merits, and mercy, and grace of the Holy Messiah’ (2 Nephi 2:6, 8)” ([2004], 2).
We remind you that where much is given, much is required. We issue the call again for all spiritually, physically, and emotionally qualified young men to come forth prepared to become missionaries in the Church of Jesus Christ. Be certain that you easily clear the minimum standards for service as a missionary and that you are continually raising the bar. Prepare yourself to be more effective in this great calling.
May God bless you that this will be your desire as you leave this priesthood session of general conference and start now to prepare yourself for the glorious service which is ahead of you as a missionary of the Lord Jesus Christ. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

“What?” I said incredulously. “I’m doing what? Dad, how could you?”
My dad just shook his head and waved me off, “Well, I thought you’d like to go on a rafting trip. You weren’t here to say, so I said yes.”
I stomped off angrily. My dad had accepted an invitation from the bishop for me to go on a weeklong rafting trip down the Colorado River with a bunch of kids from church. I had just spent over two weeks waterskiing with some of my real friends. I never expected to come home to the news that I was leaving the very next day to go rafting with the “church people.”
We had gone to church when I was younger, and I was baptized when I was eight. But shortly after that we moved from our old neighborhood to a new development. We slipped into inactivity, and no one seemed to notice. Now I was 16 and thought I was happy with my life. Even though my parents still raised me with high moral expectations like other Mormon kids, I still avoided people from church.
The next morning my parents dropped me at the Scoutmaster’s house. I recognized a few of the faces. I had gone to church with some of these guys when I was a kid. Some of them even went to my school.
As we started the long drive to the starting point of the trip, I was nervous about how things would be with the other boys. But everyone was cool. No one treated me like the “less-active kid.” It didn’t take long to feel like I was just part of the group.
I ended up having a great time. I liked these people. I listened to these boys and their leaders pray, and I felt something. Another boy, Todd, and I had become good friends. One day as we were waiting for dinner, we went for a walk. We found a set of train tracks and started walking along them.
We were goofing off and tossing rocks around when Todd suddenly said, “You know, you should come to church.”
I picked up another rock. “Yeah, maybe.” He didn’t say anything else about church then, but I remembered his invitation.
The whole experience was so different from the two weeks I had spent waterskiing. The adults on the skiing trip were always drunk, swearing at each other, and saying inappropriate things. The adults on the rafting trip were respectful toward us and one another. I was impressed, and I respected them for it.
After I returned home, the next Sunday I got up and got dressed for church. I knew enough to know that I should wear my best. As I came downstairs my mom and sisters were doing the dishes. “Hey, Gary, where are you going?” Mom asked.
“Uh,” I paused. “Church.” My mother seemed surprised (as did my sisters), but she just nodded. I went to church and sat in the back. For several weeks I went by myself.
Then one Saturday night my sister Patti said that she would go to church with me. Even though we liked the kids at church, we realized that going to church wasn’t about fitting in or having friends—church was about how we felt when we were there.
One day Patti and I were getting ready for church when we heard a call from downstairs, “Patti! Gary! We’re going to be late.” I went jogging down the stairs and saw my parents dressed and standing by the door. Our family was beginning to change.
I believe my bishop was inspired to invite me on that trip, and I believe my father was inspired to accept for me. The scriptures say, “Now ye may suppose that this is foolishness in me; but behold I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6).
One small invitation led a family back to church. I earned my Eagle Scout Award and went on a mission. Patti and I each got married in the temple to returned missionaries. We’re now raising our own families in the gospel.
If you invite a less-active person to an activity, it may or may not impact their lives. But if you don’t invite them, it definitely won’t.

In 1981, my father, two close friends, and I went on an adventure in Alaska. We were to land on a remote lake and climb to some beautiful high country. In order to reduce the load we would have to personally carry, we wrapped our supplies in boxes, covered them with foam, attached large colored streamers, and threw them out the window of our bush plane at our intended destination.
After arriving, we searched and searched, but to our dismay, we could not find any of the boxes. Eventually we found one. It contained a small gas stove, a tarp, some candy, and a couple packages of Hamburger Helper—but no hamburger. We had no way to communicate with the outside world, and our scheduled pickup was a week later.
I learned two valuable lessons from this experience: One, do not throw your food out the window. Two, sometimes we have to face hard things.
Years before, during our misadventure in Alaska, I had quickly learned that blaming our circumstances on others—the pilot launching the food out in fading light—was not a solution. However, as we experienced physical exhaustion, lack of food, sickness, and sleeping on the ground during a major storm with only a tarp to cover us, I learned that “with God nothing shall be impossible.”

They had worked for years to resolve problems in their marriage. At times things would improve, but before long the same old problems would return again … and again.
“Why should it be so hard to have a good marriage?” they asked. They had been married in the temple, were active in the Church, and had four delightful—though demanding—children. Yet recurring stresses and strains exerted a lot of pressure on their relationship. Lately their disagreements seemed more frequent and more volatile, satisfactory solutions seemed harder to find, and conflicts often lasted for days.
At one point, they had sought professional help and were instructed in the use of various techniques. They had discussed how to have clear communication, had practiced creative listening, and had worked through a number of exercises in effective problem solving. As a result, their marriage received a needed boost and things seemed to improve for a while.
But after several months, they were plagued again by the old, dividing conflicts, and although they tried to apply what they had previously learned from the marriage counselor, nothing appeared to work. As their marriage deteriorated, they became haunted by the unanswered questions: “What’s really wrong with us? How can we revitalize our relationship? Is there nothing better?”
The complexity of this particular couple’s dilemma doesn’t permit a simple solution. However, it is likely that part of the problem lies in their failure to understand fundamental laws governing human interaction—laws based in the gospel of Jesus Christ. To their credit, this husband and wife had expended considerable time and effort in trying to resolve their difficulties, but they had never uncovered the cause of their problem. I’ve found that couples who are most successful in creating a wonderful marriage are those who not only have developed valuable marital skills, but—more important—have developed an understanding of the basic gospel principles that underlie productive relationships.
The couple discussed earlier in this article had to struggle quite a bit before catching the vision of voluntary servitude. But as they quietly and conscientiously moved toward this goal, they began to realize some of what is meant by taking upon themselves the name of Christ. (See D&C 20:77.) Who but Jesus himself can better demonstrate for us the role of servant? As they grew in their desire and ability to serve, they discovered a sweetness and peace that comes only from an increased interest in the needs of others. They found that, in fact, they had truly begun to find their own lives by losing them in the service of each other. This was probably the greatest gift of all—to learn that the principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ could have no greater relevance than when applied to their own marriage.

1. “Watch out! The allosaurus is going to get you!” roared Teddy as he chased Cole’s dinosaur around the couch with his allosaurus.
“No one can stop me. I’m a tyrannosaurus rex,” Cole said, bouncing his dinosaur along the walls.
2. The boys stomped through the house like loud, hungry dinosaurs until Mom brought out a snack.
3. “Who’s that on your wall?” Teddy asked, eating his string cheese.
“Jesus, of course,” Cole said.
“Who is Jesus?” Teddy asked.
Cole didn’t know what to say. He thought everyone knew about Jesus.
“He lives in heaven. And He loves all the people,” was all he could think to answer.
“OK,” Teddy said. “Do you want to go outside?”
4. Cole was kneeling by his bed that night getting ready to say his prayers when Dad came in.
“Did you have a good time with Teddy today?” Dad asked.
“Yes. We played in the sandbox and with dinosaurs. Dad, Teddy asked me who Jesus was, and I didn’t know what to tell him.”
5. Dad pointed to a picture on the wall above Cole’s bed. It was of Jesus surrounded by children. “What do you think about when you look at this painting?” Dad asked.
6. “I think about how I want to live with Jesus and Heavenly Father someday. And how Jesus treated people kindly when He was on the earth,” Cole said.
7. “It sounds like you could tell Teddy both of those things,” Dad said.
“Maybe Teddy would like to come to church with me sometime,” Cole said. “Then he could learn lots of things about Jesus. And it is fun too.”
8. Dad kissed Cole on the top of his head.
“You’re a good boy, Cole. Heavenly Father and Jesus are both proud of you. And Teddy is lucky to have you for a friend.”

Illustration by Zhen Liu
Ellie and her family were going to visit their cousins who lived far away. Ellie was so excited! She hadn’t seen her cousins in a long time.
Before the trip, Ellie’s parents said they wanted to talk about something.
“When we get together with family, we always say prayers at mealtime. And sometimes we talk about church, right?” Dad asked.
“Right!” Ellie said.
“Well, things will be a little different on this trip,” Mom said. “Your aunt and uncle don’t go to church anymore. And they don’t like it when people talk to them about it.”
Ellie frowned. “Why not?”
“We don’t know all the reasons,” Dad said. “But they love us very much. I think they don’t want to argue with us or hurt our feelings. So they’ve asked us not to talk about church things with them.”
Ellie nodded.
“We can still read our scriptures and pray while we’re there. But we’ll do it in private,” Mom said.
“What about when we eat?” Ellie’s sister asked.
“Let’s wait and see,” Mom said. “If they don’t pray before we eat, we can each say a prayer in our hearts.”
“OK,” Ellie said. “I can do that!”
The next day, Ellie’s family piled into the car. They drove until late at night. When they finally got to their cousins’ house, Ellie’s aunt and uncle helped them get their bags out of the car. Then everyone went to bed.
The next morning, Ellie said a prayer before going to the kitchen for breakfast. She felt a little nervous about seeing her family. But then her aunt sat down next to her with a warm smile on her face.
“Some of us are going to your cousin’s salon later today. Want to come?” she asked Ellie.
“A hair salon?” Ellie asked.
“Yep! You and your sister can get your hair done if you want.”
Ellie smiled and nodded. That sounded fun!
After breakfast, they took a bus to the salon. Ellie loved watching her cousin work. Her fingers flew back and forth as she combed and braided. After everyone’s hair was finished, they had a pretend fashion show in front of the salon mirror and giggled at their new looks.
The next day, it was raining hard. So everyone decided to stay inside and play board games. Ellie and one of her cousins were on a team against two of the older boys. They teased each other as they raced their game pieces around the board.
“We won!” Ellie yelled as she moved her game piece to the end of the board. They all gave each other high fives—even the older cousins, who pretended to be grumpy about losing.
After only a few days, it was time to head home. As Ellie climbed in the back of her family’s car, she heard her family saying goodbye.
“We’ll miss you!”
“Come back soon!”
“We love you so much!”
Ellie smiled and waved as their car pulled away. She had had a lot of fun. Even if they believed in different things, they could still be a happy family.

Old Father Frost had a son, Little Frost, who was an impossible braggart. My father has grown so old that he can hardly do his job anymore, the youngster decided. But I’m young and strong. I can freeze people better than anyone! No one can escape my icy nip or equal the mighty force of my hoary blasts. I can conquer all!
The first thing Little Frost saw when he went down the road was a gentleman riding along in a fine sleigh pulled by a sleek, well-fed horse. The gentleman was stout, and he wore a warm fur coat. He had a thick blanket draped over his lap to keep his legs nice and toasty.
Little Frost whispered, “No matter how tightly you wrap your warm things about you, nothing will save you from my chilly fingers.” He slipped under the blanket and crawled up the sleeves of the warm fur coat. Then he curled himself under the collar and tweaked the poor fellow’s nose.
The fine gentleman ordered his servant to hurry the horse along. “Otherwise I’ll freeze!” he cried.
Little Frost’s cold became even more bitter. He wore down the rich man’s resistance, tweaked his nose even harder, turned his hands and feet icy, and made the air too cold to breathe.
The gentleman was now too cold even to shout. In fact, by the time they reached his house, he had to be carried in from the sleigh; he was barely alive.
Little Frost flew back to his father and began to brag about what he had done. “See what a fine boy I am!” he boasted. “See what an important gentleman I’ve frostbitten! Look what a warm winter coat I managed to get through!”
Old Father Frost laughed and said, “So you think you’ve done something really fantastic, eh? See that peasant over there wearing the tattered coat and leading the skinny nag? He’s on his way to cut firewood in the forest. If you can make him freeze with cold, then I’ll really believe you’re strong!”
The peasant reached the forest, took out his ax, and started to chop down the trees. My how the wood chips were flying! Little Frost grabbed him by the hands and feet and even slipped under his collar. But the harder Little Frost tried to freeze the woodcutter, the faster the peasant swung his ax. He warmed himself so well with his work that he even took his mittens off.
That was a great surprise to Little Frost, and he thought, “Well, I’ll just slip inside these mittens and fill them so full of cold that they’ll turn to ice! Then he’ll sing a different tune.” So Little Frost crouched inside the mittens while the peasant chopped away.
When the sleigh was filled with firewood, the peasant declared, “Now I can go home.” He picked up his mittens and tried to put them on, but they were frozen as hard as steel.
“Aha! What are you going to do now?” Little Frost chortled.
The peasant grabbed his ax and started beating the mittens with the back of the ax head. All the while he whacked away at the mittens, Little Frost, who was trapped inside, howled and roared with pain. Then the peasant started home with the firewood.
Little Frost limped back to his father, moaning all the while.
As soon as Old Father Frost caught sight of Little Frost, he asked, “How is it that you’re limping along so, Son? And why are you moaning so pitifully?”
“That peasant really wore me out,” answered Little Frost. “And he gave me a working-over besides.”
Old Father Frost burst out laughing and said, “Let that be a lesson to you, my son. It’s easy enough to get the best of an idle man. But you can never freeze a fellow who stays busy—he’s got his work to keep him warm!”

The Young Women of the Orem Aspen Fifth Ward, Orem Utah Aspen Stake, chose to forego their traditional Christmas party and donate the money earned at a bake sale to the general missionary fund. In conjunction with this activity, each girl wrote her testimony and placed it in a Book of Mormon to be used for distribution in the mission field. The girls felt this was an especially worthwhile project and enjoyed participating.

“I want to tell all the members of the Church that I loved my mission very much,” said Cambodian member Eng Bun Huoch, who was baptized on October 25, 1998. He served a mission in Phnom Penh two years later. “Serving a mission is not easy, but it is worth it. I can’t describe how important and profitable it was to my life. My two-year mission instilled in me leadership skills and teaching skills and showed me how to be a better friend, son, and member.”
After returning home on July 17, 2002, Elder Huoch was able to find a job that improved his quality of life. His testimony had been strengthened, and he felt better prepared to deal with the challenges of life.
“I thank the Lord that He brought the gospel to Cambodia before I was too old to serve a mission,” he says. “I would be very sad if I missed the opportunity to do this marvelous work.”

Joel Herd of Rock Springs, Wyoming, responded quickly and correctly when a fellow student began choking on something he swallowed while in the school cafeteria. Joel applied the Heimlich maneuver he learned in his Boy Scouts first aid classes. The obstruction was cleared, and the student resumed breathing. Teachers nearby were called over, but by the time they arrived, Joel had taken care of the situation.

I raced down the highway, keeping pace with the cars surrounding me. I was on my way back from watching a high school basketball tournament, and my heart still thumped from the excitement of the games.
Because of the tournament, the traffic was heavy and full of erratic teenage drivers. To my right, a car full of teenage boys sped past me trying to find space ahead of me in my lane. I put on a burst of speed, leaving no room for my opponent to slide in ahead of me.
This tactic made the boys in the car mad, and they yelled at me through the window.
I pretended to ignore them, but secretly I enjoyed goading them. I slowed down just long enough to let them almost get ahead of me, but then I sped up at the last moment to keep them from changing lanes.
As we jockeyed back and forth, pride overcame us as the battle continued. We drove aggressively only to try to upset each other.
Finally the driver of the other car darted into a small space ahead of me, cutting me off. This time it was my turn to be infuriated. I laid on the car horn for a solid 10 seconds and sped up to the point of nearly rear-ending the car.
But my honking and tailgating didn’t have a calming effect on me. My anger had built to the point where I would do anything to get back at them. I looked around in my car for something to throw out my window at the other car. I found a small green rubber ball in my cup holder. It would be the perfect thing to throw at them.
I rolled my window down, again speeding up until my bumper was close to the other car. I hurled the ball with all my might, but because I had only an elementary knowledge of kinetic motion, I didn’t understand that the ball would not have enough force to catch up to the car in front of me.
Instead the ball hit the asphalt of the road in front of me and bounced up, smacking right into my windshield. I jumped back in fright. As I regained control of my car I noticed a small chip in the windshield where the ball had hit so violently.
I pulled over to the side of the road and inspected the window. Other than the chip, everything was all right. I was not hurt, and the chip was small enough that there was no danger my windshield would crack. But I felt foolish and ashamed at what I had done. Why had I been so angry? I was the one at fault. I had put myself and others in danger just to get even with someone I had goaded into cutting me off. What was I thinking?
My anger didn’t do anything to the kids in front of me. Instead it bounced back and hit me square in the face—or windshield, in this case. In that moment I decided to try and let a cool, calm temperament rule my actions, not a hot and angry one.
Since then, I have had opportunities to have the windshield fixed. I declined each time, however, deciding to keep the chip as a reminder that being angry won’t solve my problems. Anger only bounces back.

As a freshman at Brigham Young University in 1969, Neil Andersen was a diligent student. However, his sister Sheri notes, “as driven as he was by education, he was always planning to go on a mission. His only question was if he was really prepared to serve. I was so impressed that faith was a choice to him.”
Elder Andersen also remembers putting the question to the Lord. As he recalled recently in general conference, the feeling came, “You don’t know everything, but you know enough.”1 Armed with that assurance, Neil Andersen accepted a mission call and served faithfully in France.

Many years ago, I was hurt by someone at church. I was angry and upset, and I wanted that person to apologize, but they never did. I tried to forget what had happened, thinking that the pain and anger I felt would just go away.
But I carried those feelings of anger with me for several years. The resentment I felt toward this person refused to go away.
One day I was talking to a friend about this situation. A thought came into my heart:
Forgive.
The Spirit was prompting me to forgive this person I was harboring so much anger for. I was astounded.
How was I supposed to forgive this person? I was the one who had been hurt, so I deserved to be asked for forgiveness, didn’t I?
I struggled with this prompting for a long time. However, I pondered my Savior’s example and His teachings about forgiveness:
“For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you:
“But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses” (Matthew 6:14–15).
Even on the cross, the Savior pleaded with His Father to forgive the soldiers who crucified Him (see Luke 23:34).
I also remembered President Russell M. Nelson’s invitation to “exercise the humility, courage, and strength required both to forgive and to seek forgiveness. …
“… If forgiveness presently seems impossible, plead for power through the atoning blood of Jesus Christ to help you.”
With all of this in mind, I prayed a lot. I prayed to my Heavenly Father, saying, “If it’s Thy will that I forgive this person, open the doors and help me make it happen, because I don’t have the strength to do it myself.”
The next day at church, I found myself face-to-face with the person who had hurt me. Guided by the Spirit, I felt that I should ask them for forgiveness. I apologized for not having been a good friend at times and asked if they could forgive me. They did, and in return they asked me for forgiveness for what they had done. I forgave them.
I left that experience relieved. My hurt feelings didn’t go away all at once, but I felt better. I was free from the pain and the sorrow that had plagued me for so long. I could move on with peace.

While living briefly in California, Elder Patrick Kearon stayed with “an outstanding” Latter-day Saint family who introduced him to the gospel.
Two years later, back home in England, he met missionaries on a London street and eventually began investigating the Church. He came upon a scripture in the Book of Mormon that read, “Men are that they might have joy” (2 Nephi 2:25). The scripture resonated with him as he recalled the joy in the home of that LDS family and in the lives of the missionaries teaching him.
“That scripture rang in my ears,” Elder Kearon says. “In those I had met, I saw how our lives can be enormously enriched by following the Savior’s counsel to be of good cheer.”
Since joining the Church on December 24, 1987, Elder Kearon has brought that good cheer to numerous callings, including ward Young Men president, bishop’s counselor, branch president, stake president, and Area Seventy.

My sweet Frances had a terrible fall a few years ago. She went to the hospital. She lay in a coma for about 18 days. I sat by her side. She never moved a muscle. The children cried, the grandchildren cried, and I wept. Not a movement.

And then one day, she opened her eyes. I set a speed record in getting to her side. I gave her a kiss and a hug, and I said, “You’re back. I love you.” And she said, “I love you, too, Tom, but we’re in serious trouble.” I thought, What do you know about trouble, Frances? She said, “I forgot to mail in our fourth-quarter income tax payment.”

I said to her, “Frances, if you had said that before you extended a kiss to me and told me you love me, I might have left you here.”

Kadabe stopped in the middle of the path. “We’ve come a long way since dawn,” he said. “We’ll be in Lalibela by noon tomorrow.”
Ayalu squatted on the ground, took roasted grain from a small leather bag, and ate.
Kadabe put his bundle down and untied it. He emptied its contents onto the ground, then formed the shemma—the square of white cloth that had held his possessions—into a turban. He shoved his own bag of roasted grain into a pocket. His extra shirt became a handy carrier for the books that he was taking to his sister, Gemma.
The boys went to school almost a hundred kilometers from their mountain village in Ethiopia, and now they were walking home for the Christmas holidays. Tomorrow they would see their families for the first time since September.
“I pray that there will be many rich and generous tourists in Lalibela who will need guides this season,” said Kadabe, “and that they all speak English. I need money for books, and the seat of my pants is as thin as a butterfly wing. I must earn enough so that Uncle Gebre can make me new ones.”
Ayalu nodded. He, too, had to earn the money for his own books and clothing. “I hope to herd Uncle Asabe’s cows,” he said. “He will pay me what he can. It’s good that you’ve learned English so well. You’ll make a good guide.”
After their rest the friends walked on. By nightfall they had reached a village where Ayalu’s aunt lived. She gave them food and a place to sleep.
Early the next morning they started out again. They conquered the kilometers one by one. The sun was high overhead as they climbed the last steep path and looked down upon their village.
Kadabe shouted, “Hello! Hello!”
Gemma was jumping rope in front of the house. “Kadabe! Kadabe!” she called as she ran. “Mother said that you would be here today.”
Kadabe hurried to greet his father at his loom behind the house. He was weaving another shemma to sell at the Thursday market.
“I like school,” Kadabe told his mother later, “but I also like coming home.” He sat on the low stone bench that ran along the wall outside the house. Gemma sat down beside him.
Mother was resting lightly on her heels before the red coals. She poured injera (a kind of bread) batter onto the hot griddle so that it would be ready for the family’s dinner.
“Did you learn more English words to teach me?” Gemma asked.
“Yes, many more,” Kadabe told her, “and I’ve brought more books for you.”
Gemma jumped up. “Please let me have them now! Please! I want to look at the pictures!”
Just then Ayalu appeared, breathless from running. “Kadabe, come quickly! There are English-speaking tourists in the marketplace, and they need a guide!”
Early that afternoon Kadabe picked up the heavy cameras and bags of the tourists and led them to the first stop, Biet Giorgig, an ancient church carved in the shape of a cross from solid rock.
The Englishmen asked many questions about the village as the group went from place to place, and Kadabe was prepared with answers that he’d learned at school. He told the men about King Lalibela, who had made this village his capital during the thirteenth century.
They thanked Kadabe for his stories, and they said that he spoke English very well. When they left, they gave him five dollars. “Good!” Kadabe said. “Now Uncle Gebre can make me some pants for school.”
But when Kadabe turned toward Uncle Gebre’s, he spotted the camera. He remembered setting it on the steps while he handed the other bags to the tourists. Now the jeep that carried the Englishmen was gone, and the camera was still here!
What can I do? Kadabe asked himself.
Ayalu found Kadabe, still on the steps, his forehead lined with hard thinking.
“Look,” Ayalu said. “I have a soccer ball. Let’s go over to the grass field and start a game.”
Kadabe held up the camera. Ayalu took it and hefted it. “It is not a worthless object,” he said.
“No. Its owner was proud of it,” Kadabe answered.
“Unless the man comes back for it, it is justly yours,” said Ayalu. “Money from its sale would buy many books.”
Kadabe thought about that for a minute, then shook his head.
“But what else can you do? You don’t know where the tourists have gone, do you?”
Kadabe jumped up. “I think I do know,” he said. “I heard them say that they would go to the market at Gondar on Thursday.”
“Thursday’s tomorrow,” Ayalu said. “You’d have to walk all night to reach Gondar by tomorrow.”
Kadabe didn’t want to walk to Gondar, especially at night. There were jackals and hyenas roaming around the hills. The paths were rough and indistinct, and it would be dark. He felt cold just thinking about it.
Kadabe passed the camera strap over his head. At home he went to the back to talk to his father, but he wasn’t there.
“He’s gone to bid on some cotton,” said Mother. “I don’t think that he’ll return until late tonight.”
“Mother,” Kadabe said, “I have a camera that belongs to one of the English tourists.”
Mother nodded.
“They have gone to the Gondar market,” continued Kadabe. “I think that I should take this to him there.”
Mother nodded again.
“Do you think that I should?” Kadabe wanted to know.
“You must decide for yourself,” Mother answered.
Ayalu waited with the soccer ball.
“Then I must do it,” Kadabe decided.
“You don’t have to,” Ayalu told him. “And it’s a dangerous journey.”
When Gemma heard that her brother was leaving, she pouted. “Soon you’ll return to school,” she said. “There won’t be any time for my lessons then.”
Mother quieted Gemma and handed Kadabe a bag of roasted grain and a water gourd. “Take care,” she said.
Kadabe left Lalibela as the day’s light faded to gray. “I can do it,” he told himself as he wrapped himself in his shemma. The camera was heavy on his neck.
It grew darker. Sounds from hidden sources made Kadabe’s heart race. His throat was dry, causing him to sip often from the gourd. Sometimes he stumbled on jagged boulders, and twice he fell. But he went on. Never have I wanted to sleep as much as I want to now, he thought as the first light finally showed in the east.
Just when he had decided that he’d left the path to Gondar somewhere behind him in the dark, he saw the smoke of the town.
The next day, just in time for the evening meal, Kadabe arrived back home.
Ayalu was waiting to see his friend. “Well, did the Englishman reward you for returning the camera?”
“No,” answered Kadabe, “he had already boarded the bus to leave, and I only had time to hand him the camera through the window.”
Ayalu shook his head. “You were foolish,” he said. “You walked to Gondar and back for nothing.”
“That’s right,” Gemma agreed. “You should have stayed at home to teach me.”
Kadabe looked at his mother.
She spoke softly. “Your brother has taught you something greater than the English words you want to know, Gemma. He has shown you that if you do not do what you know is right, knowledge is empty.”
As he looked down at his tired feet, Kadabe smiled in agreement.