Gospel Story Finder

Last year, I had the idea to start a book club with a few of my friends who also enjoy reading. We took turns choosing a book for everyone in the club to read, and then we would get together and have fun talking about our book. One day, my mom suggested that my friends and I start a Book of Mormon club! She thought that it would be a fun idea to read the Book of Mormon together. My friends love the Book of Mormon too, so they also liked the idea. Now we all read one book in the Book of Mormon at a time, and then we get together and talk about what we are learning after each book. Sometimes we play fun games, do a craft, or have treats.
The Book of Mormon is sometimes challenging to read, but I feel happy that I am choosing to read the scriptures along with my other books. I love learning about the gospel with my friends!

When Bonnie and I arrived at the University of Southern California to pursue a doctoral degree, we had four children, little money, a fellowship, and lots of hope. We knew there were difficult and demanding years ahead.

My adviser was a fine faculty member who was also a member of the Church. He was well respected on the campus by both faculty and students. I sought his counsel regarding my program and how best to secure the desired degree.

He encouraged me with assurance that we would be able to meet the academic, time, and financial demands. He also reminded me that such a course would require careful attention to priorities. Pursuit of the degree would have to be the number one objective for both Bonnie and me. Of course, we would have to take time with our children and with each other. He advised me to inform our bishop that I would not be available for Church service except on a limited basis on Sunday.

Now, Bonnie and I had determined early in our lives that we would serve wherever and whenever the Lord should call and had done so from the time we were married. During my freshman year at BYU I had also determined that I would not study my schoolwork on the Sabbath day.

Not long after that the stake president extended a call for me to serve as one of the presidents of the seventies quorum of the stake and as a stake missionary. The call was accepted. The doctoral degree was completed. That experience in service was as important as the educational period that accompanied it.

Maddie R., 13, in Virginia, has a “Dad’s box,” where she keeps her father’s letters and pictures. She e-mails him regularly so he doesn’t feel left out. “My dad used to ask me to go on bike rides with him, but I usually said no and didn’t think much about it. But now I would give almost anything to spend time with him,” she says. “I just want people to not take their parents for granted. You never know what will happen. Sometimes my dad is gone for a short time, sometimes he’s gone for a long time, and sometime,” she pauses for a moment, thinking, “it might just be for the rest of my life.”

Pastel-colored tissue paper cluttered tabletops as young women from a ward in Utah, USA, working with their leaders, cut circle after circle, then threaded the circles together to form flowers, and then attached them to head bands. As they fashioned flower after paper flower, laughter and conversation filled the air—as well as anticipation. The flowers were to be worn at a dinner where, after months of anonymous service, the young women would finally meet their “secret grandmothers.”
From February to September, the young women had worked both alone and in groups—delivering treats, washing windows, plastering paper hearts all over doors—anything they could think of to brighten the day of the senior sisters in their ward.
And now it was finally time for the grandmothers to find out which young women had been serving them.
The evening for the dinner soon arrived. It didn’t take long before young women and “secret grandmothers,” all of them with paper flowers in their hair, were laughing and joking, saying, “So, you’re the one!” and “Thank you so much!”
Once everyone was a little better acquainted, and after sharing a delicious meal, the real fun of the evening began. The “grandmothers” had responded to questionnaires. As their answers were read aloud, the young women had to guess who was being introduced.
Answers revealed information such as favorite childhood activities, best advice received from parents, life-changing moments, family rules and chores when they were teens, favorite foods, embarrassing experiences, awkward dates, nicknames, their mother’s recipes, family heirlooms and traditions, favorite teachers, and much more.
There were some tender moments. One young woman, Charlotte R., 18, who lost her mother when she was eight, found out that two of the senior sisters had been through the same experience.
“That strengthened me a lot,” Charlotte said. “Here are women I admire, who do so much and help so many, and I never knew that they lost their mothers, too.”
Sister Shields, for example, was 16 when her mother died. Charlotte said, “When she said her mother’s faith stayed strong and that she heard her mother’s testimony many times, that really touched me, because that’s how my mother was.”
Sister Shields showed two prized possessions to the young women—a baptismal dress her mother sewed, and a coat her mother made for her just before she passed away.
Serenity M., 15, said that “seeing what Sister Shields’s mother did for her made me think about what my mother has given to me.” It also made her glad that she had made something nice for Sister Shields: “a hot chocolate mug with a smiley face inside, so that when she’s done drinking cocoa she has an extra reason to smile.”
Another young woman, Michaela M., 15, said she had often seen Sister Heyward at church before the months of service began. “I never actually knew her personally,” Michaela said, “but doing service for her made me feel closer to her, even though until tonight she didn’t know who was doing it.”
At the dinner, however, Michaela gained additional perspective. “Tonight, when the ‘grandmothers’ answered questions about growing up, going on dates, what they learned in seminary, and all of that, I thought, those are the same things I’m going through. I got the feeling that we’re all sisters, even though we’re different ages.”
Emma F., 13, agreed. “Sometimes it’s fun to be with people who are a little older because you get to see how much alike we are.”
Emily M., 15, said that an added benefit of the service and the dinner was that it made her feel eager to attend Relief Society. “If they’re all nice like these ladies,” she said, “then I’m excited.”
“It brought us together as sisters in Zion,” said Chloe F., 17. “It wasn’t scary or intimidating to be with these ladies; it was easy and natural because we all had things in common. It strengthened my testimony of how we truly are sisters, and I was impressed with their faith and how it has guided them.” It was, she said, “perfect preparation for when I go into Relief Society this fall.”
And Amanda L., 17, said, “The day after the dinner, Sister Coke left me some flowers and a note that said she was happy to get to know me. I’ve made a friend and it won’t taper off. I’m going to keep visiting her every once in a while to see how she’s doing, to let her know we still care.”
That is, after all, the sort of thing that sisters do.

I saw a man do that once. It changed my life. A member of the General Authorities came to speak to a conference where I was sitting on the stand. I was in the local priesthood presidency. I knew personally the struggles of the local families and the members. He, the General Authority, had just flown in from a long assignment in Europe. He was obviously tired. He stood to speak in the meeting. It seemed to me that he rambled from one subject to another. At first I felt sorry for him. I thought he was failing to give a polished sermon of the kind I knew he had delivered many times.

After a while I was thrilled to recognize that as he moved from one apparently unrelated topic to another, he was touching the need of every poor struggling member and family we were trying to help. He did not know them and their needs. But God did.

How grateful I am that his motive was not to give a great sermon or to be seen as a powerful prophet. He must have done what I hope you and I will always do. He must have prayed something like this: “Father, I need Thy help. I am tired. Please guide me with the Holy Ghost. Bless these people. I love them. I ask only that I can do Thy will to help them.”

The Holy Ghost came that night. And the Lord’s will was done. The General Authority had spent a lifetime feeding himself and others on the good word of God. He had served the Master faithfully. He was a special witness of Jesus Christ because he had paid the price to be one. All of that came from keeping his motives as closely tied as he could to what the Lord wanted. That made it possible for the Lord to send the whisperings of the Holy Ghost to His servant and so bless the people.

My brethren and sisters, last Sunday as I sat in my study thinking of what I might say on this occasion, I received a phone call telling me that Staff Sergeant James W. Cawley of the U.S. Marines had been killed somewhere in Iraq. He was 41 years of age, leaving behind a wife and two small children.
Twenty years ago Elder Cawley was a missionary of the Church in Japan. Like so many others, he had grown up in the Church, had played as a schoolboy, had passed the sacrament as a deacon, and had been found worthy to serve a mission to teach the gospel of peace to the people of Japan. He returned home, served in the Marines, married, became a policeman, and was then recalled to active military duty, to which he responded without hesitation.
His life, his mission, his military service, his death seem to represent the contradictions of the peace of the gospel and the tides of war.

As I went into surgery a few years ago, I was still conscious when the doctors and nurses were standing around me waiting. I said to the specialist, “There are numerous people full of faith who are praying for you this morning.” He quietly replied, “I’ll need their prayers.” It is my firm conviction that the numerous prayers were heard, that his hand was steadied and guided, that his judgment increased, and that as a result of the blessings of the Lord, healing followed and voice returned to a satisfactory extent. The skeptic might have other answers.

Bodyboarding has been my greatest passion since I discovered it. It is my outlet, my decompression. From the outset, I always wanted to excel in it.
To get to the highest level, I practiced tirelessly, surfing all day whenever possible. I focused on my goal to become the best drop-knee rider in Tahiti. I won the title two or three times in that category at the Tahiti Taapuna Master surfing tournament as well as at other tournaments.
When I started, the competitions gave me a thrill, and I wanted to show everyone how good I was. Soon, I started getting offers from local and overseas sponsors.
Tournament finals are always held on Sunday, and I often had arguments with my wife about competing on the Lord’s day. She was right. Surfing was taking over too much of my life, but I didn’t want to lose my sponsors. Sponsors allowed me access to top-end, professional surfing equipment, which is expensive. I had to make a choice.
My wife and children motivate me to be an example of faith. They help me determine what I want to become. And of course, my personal faith, the upbringing I received from my parents and leaders, the example of others who have made sacrifices to honor the Sabbath, and the impressions I received from the Spirit also helped me to make my decision. I decided to give priority to my responsibilities as a husband, father, and member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
When I decided to devote myself entirely to the Lord on Sunday, I explained to my sponsors why I no longer surf in the finals on Sunday. I told them that my spiritual and family life takes precedence.
They supported me in my choice. In return, out of respect for Sunday, they asked me to do photo shoots and surf videos on other days of the week. My friends in the circuit also know and respect my religious beliefs and often ask me to pray for them.
I’ve qualified for the finals of the Taapuna Master every year since I turned pro, but I stopped competing on Sunday after winning the title in 2006. I still compete, but now, when they call my name for the finals on Sunday, everyone knows I won’t be there.

I needed an answer. And not just any answer—I needed to know whether my boyfriend was the man I should marry.
To be clear, I wasn’t looking for a soulmate, or that one perfect person who was destined to be with me. As my boyfriend and I dated, we had become good partners through love, patience, forgiveness, and sacrifice. So, I believed that we could create a happy and successful marriage together. But at 33 years old, I was afraid of making such a significant change—I had worked hard to build a life that I loved, and I wanted to be sure that I was making the right choice.
As we continued to date and started talking seriously about marriage, I had received positive impressions about moving forward with my boyfriend. I tried to trust in those feelings since “all things which are good cometh of God” (Moroni 7:12). However, the biggest feeling I had was that God was letting me make this decision on my own and that He’d support me either way.
This wasn’t exactly surprising—when I have big choices to make, I think God is sometimes intentionally quiet. I consider this to be His way of saying that He trusts me to use my agency. But this was marriage; this could impact me and my boyfriend not only now but into eternity. And so I wondered why I hadn’t received a more obvious confirmation from Him—and if I should be concerned that I hadn’t.
As time progressed, I felt more and more positive about getting married, although the steps I was taking in that direction were still relatively small.
And then one day, I came across a quote that had profound impact on me. It was from a September 2001 devotional by Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. He said: “Many of us typically assume we will receive an answer or a prompting to our earnest prayers and pleadings. And we also frequently expect that such an answer or a prompting will come immediately and all at once. Thus, we tend to believe the Lord will give us a big answer quickly and all at one time. However, the pattern repeatedly described in the scriptures suggests we receive ‘line upon line, precept upon precept’ [2 Nephi 28:30], or in other words, many small answers over a period of time.”
I had heard the phrase “line upon line, precept upon precept” many times. But in the past, I had interpreted it to mean that God gives us part of an answer here or there until we finally obtain the answer we need. The idea of Him giving me many small answers was different because to me it meant that when I had a positive feeling or impression, I wasn’t just getting a piece of knowledge—each answer was complete in and of itself. They were just small, subtle answers rather than one large, obvious one.
Those small answers came in a number of ways: a feeling of peace after a special fast, a moment of contentment with my boyfriend in the temple, or some needed advice from a friend or family member at just the right time. In isolation, these experiences might not look like much. But together, they became proof of revelation—a big answer that had formed over a period of time.
Even though my many small answers amounted to one big answer, my fear of change remained. This was confusing. I had thought that revelation would erase my fears. So why were they still there?
This story reminds me of my own experience in seeking revelation about marriage. It wasn’t quick or easy. My fears and trials didn’t just disappear because I had an answer. But revelation gave me the strength and courage to move forward in spite of my worries because I knew that the Lord would light our way. And with His help and continued guidance, I could trust that He would lead us safely to shore.
If there were one thing I could tell my past self, it would be not to stress so much about the process of revelation. Yes, marriage is a big decision, and it’s important to seek God’s guidance when choosing whom to marry. But it doesn’t have to be overly complicated.
Elder Bednar taught: “If you are honoring your covenants, repenting, and pressing forward with faith in the Savior, then you are living in revelation. It does not just come once in a while. You continually are being influenced by the power of the Holy Ghost.”
So I would tell my past self to keep looking for that influence. Because gradually, as you press forward with faith, it will become clear how the Lord is guiding you—one small answer at a time.
Editors’ note: As of summer 2025, the author and her boyfriend were working toward marriage.

I want to confirm the honesty and the quality of the students at Brigham Young University. The story is told around the Church Office Building that a student from Brigham Young University came up for a mission interview. The general authority asked him a number of very searching questions. Finally he looked at him very intently and said, “Young man, do you smoke?”
The young man answered, “No, thank you.”

But it’s not only in public ways that the gospel helps the youth in Alice Springs. For Ivan Munn, 18, the gospel has brought the reassurance that he can turn to the Lord for help.
“I’ve learned some things the hard way,” Ivan says. “I fell away from the Church, but now I’m back. I’ve stopped doing the bad things, and I’m working to show my love for the Lord. Repentance is a hard job, but it’s worth it.”
Ivan says Church friends have made a difference. “The youth here, the missionaries, the branch president, the mission president—they’ve all helped me sort things out,” he says. “But faith in the Savior and in Heavenly Father is what keeps you going. In the Book of Mormon it talks about the servant and the master in the fruit fields. [See Jacob 5:3–77.] It talks about cutting out the bad fruit so that good fruit can come forth. I think that symbolizes my life. With the Lord’s help, I’ve cut away the bad fruit. I believe the good fruit is starting to come forth.”

I read with interest “His Life Was in My Hands” and the accounts of heroism that our brethren have displayed. I had to think back to two years ago, to an incident that occurred in our ward, the San Antonio First Ward of the San Antonio Texas East Stake.
On a sunny June morning our building custodian Agustin Garcia and his family were caring for the chapel and grounds. His 13-year-old son Johnny was riding the lawn-mowing machine, with 12-year-old Michael at his side. At one point both boys got off the mower to clear away some debris, Their younger sister, Judy, came up from behind and tried to get on the mower. She accidently knocked the machine into gear and it knocked her down and felt on top of her.
Michael saw and immediately ran to her. He tried to lift the mower off her and lost the center of his left foot in the blades. Johnny ran over, turned off the machines, removed his brother and sister, tore his clothing and made pressure bandages to stop their bleeding, and stayed with them, doing what he could, until emergency help arrived. He is credited with saving the life of his sister by applying the first aid principles learned in Scouting.
Not only did he remain calm through the entire incident, but Johnny then called me, his bishop, to start the ward in action to help the family. We in the ward are proud of these two young men and their actions to help their sister. The scars remain on Judy and Michael, but their lives are normal now.
I felt that others ought to know of the unsung heros we have here in San Antonio. I feel the true rewards are those awaiting these brethren in heaven for their selfless actions.

On the eve of his martyrdom, the Prophet turned to Dr. Willard Richards and said:
“If we go into the cell, will you go in with us?” The doctor answered, “Brother Joseph you did not ask me to cross the river with you—you did not ask me to come to Carthage—you did not ask me to come to jail with you—and do you think I would forsake you now? But I will tell you what I will do; if you are condemned to be hung for treason, I will be hung in your stead, and you shall go free.” Joseph said, “You cannot.” The doctor replied, “I will.”
How does one explain the depths of this love and loyalty? Joseph’s friends loved him because they knew the extent of his love for them. Nothing in Joseph’s life was more important than friendship.

When I was five years old, my father and his brother were killed in a tragic plane crash in Alberta, Canada, leaving my mother to raise nine children on her own. I remember being told at the time that God had called my dad on a mission to the spirit world and that’s why his plane crashed. God caused my Dad’s plane to crash? While I’m sure the intent behind saying something like that was good, it made no sense to me, and I have learned for myself that this is not true. God’s foreknowledge of things is not the same as His causing all things to happen. We don’t need to attribute cause to ascribe meaning. Did God cause it? No. But was He keenly aware of my family’s circumstance? Yes. Was there great meaning in the trial of our lives? Yes.
I testify, like Lehi, that “all things have been done in the wisdom of him who knoweth all things,” which is not the same as causeth all things. Somehow the Lord helped turn the tragedy of my father’s death into a blessing for my family. I grew up knowing absolutely that my family was covered by the power of the priesthood and temple covenants. It felt like a current blessing, not a future one, to me. I learned many more lessons because I grew up an orphan—all of which I count as great blessings in retrospect.

Here I recall an event described by a man I met at a stake conference in the Midwest more than a decade ago. The setting was a beautiful campus in central Illinois. My informant, a participant in a summer workshop, saw a crowd of young students seated on the grass in a large semicircle about 20 feet from one of the large hardwood trees that are so common and so beautiful there. They were watching something at the base of the tree. He turned aside from his walk to see what it was.

There was a handsome tree squirrel with a large, bushy tail playing around the base of the tree—now on the ground, now up and down and around the trunk. But why would that beautiful but familiar sight attract a crowd of students?

Stretched out prone on the grass nearby was an Irish setter. He was the object of the students’ interest, and, though he pretended otherwise, the squirrel was the object of his. Each time the squirrel was momentarily out of sight circling the tree or looking in another direction, the setter would quickly creep forward a few inches and then resume his apparent indifferent posture. Each minute or two he crept closer to the squirrel, and the squirrel apparently did not notice. This was the scene that held the students’ interest. They were silent and immobile, attention riveted on the drama—the probable outcome of which was becoming increasingly obvious.

Finally the setter was close enough to bound at the squirrel and catch it in his mouth. A gasp of horror arose, and the crowd of students surged forward and wrested the beautiful little animal away from the hound, but it was too late. The squirrel was dead.

Anyone in that crowd of students could have warned the squirrel at any time by waving their arms or crying out, but none had done so. They just watched while the inevitable consequence got closer and closer. No one asked “Where will this lead?” and no one wished to interfere. When the predicable outcome occurred, they rushed to the defense, but it was too late. Tearful and regretful expressions were all they could offer.

That true story is a parable of sorts. It has a lesson for things we see in our own lives, in the lives of those around us, and in the events occurring in our cities, states, and nations. In all these areas we can see threats creeping up on things we love, and we cannot afford to be indifferent or quiet. We must be ever vigilant to ask “Where will it lead?” and to sound appropriate warnings or join appropriate preventive efforts while there is still time. Often we cannot prevent the outcome, but we can remove ourselves from the crowd who, by failing to try to intervene, has complicity in the outcome.

Temperance Wick held a damp cloth to her mother’s feverish forehead. “I’ll fetch the doctor before it gets dark,” she murmured comfortingly. “‘Tisn’t far to ride.”
Ever since Father had died just ten days before, Mother had been ill. It was only a mile to Temperance’s sister Phoebe’s home on the road to Mendham. Phoebe’s husband, Dr. Will Leddell, would come quickly to attend to her mother on that New Year’s Day of 1781 if he possibly could.
Mrs. Wick shook her head sadly. “The roads are too icy. It isn’t safe to ride horseback alone. And there was talk of some shooting over at Jockey Hollow.”
Tempe, an excellent horsewoman, frequently cantered her horse, Captain, through the beautiful, wooded New Jersey countryside near Morristown. “I’m not afraid,” she boasted. “Besides, Washington’s soldiers are in camp at Jockey Hollow to protect us from the Redcoats.”
“Still, trouble is brewing,” insisted her mother. “The war for our independence has gone on too long. Be very careful,” she muttered weakly before drifting off to sleep.
Tempe wrapped her red homespun cloak about her and dashed to the barn. She flung her arms around the horse’s neck. “Oh, Captain,” she whispered. “We must get help for Mother.” Then Tempe quickly saddled the animal and galloped down the road.
As they sped on, Tempe became more and more apprehensive. Mother and she were all alone at the Wick farm now. Snow-covered trees hung ominously over the narrow rutted road, and a stiff wind lashed her face, stinging her tear-filled eyes.
She gave a sigh of relief when she reached her sister’s house. A welcoming door swung open. “Tempe!” Dr. Leddell, cried, surprised. “Come in by the fire. What are you doing out in such wintry weather?”
“It’s Mother,” the worried girl replied. “Can you come quickly? Her fever is worse!”
The kindly doctor assured her that he would come right away.
Tempe turned Captain around, and as she headed homeward, she began to feel more at ease. “Everything will be all right,” she murmured, “and I’ll soon be safely home.” But as she rounded a bend in the road, several soldiers stepped out of the woods. They waved for her to stop. “Halt!” shouted a tall, ragged man. Grabbing Captain’s bridle, he added, “We won’t hurt you. We’re not the British.”
“Then let go of my horse!” cried Tempe. “I must get home!”
The soldier continued to hold on to Captain. “Excellent horse,” he declared. “We can use it.”
“But he’s my horse, and I want to keep him. I need him!” objected Tempe.
The soldier laughed. “We need him more. We need all the horses that we can find.”
“But aren’t you from Washington’s army? Captain is the only horse we have left. All the others have already been taken by the troops. Why do you need him, too?” persisted Tempe.
One of the other men pointed to a soldier with bandaged feet. “Frostbitten, that’s why. He can’t walk, and we can’t leave him here.”
“Aren’t you encamped at Jockey Hollow to defend us against attack by the Redcoats?” asked the puzzled girl.
Another soldier shouted angrily. “We were at camp. Indeed we were! Nearly froze to death! And we haven’t been paid for twelve months in the bargain.”
“Get down from your horse, Miss, before you get hurt,” urged the tall soldier. “We’re men of the Pennsylvania Line on our way to Philadelphia to see the Congress and to demand our back pay.”
Tempe nodded sympathetically. She really felt sorry for the men. Just the year before, more than a hundred soldiers had died at Jockey Hollow because of sickness and a lack of food and warm shelter. But then she thought of her sick mother at home. They would be stranded at the lonely farmhouse without a horse. Surely the soldiers could carry this man to the nearby army hospital and stay to defend New Jersey.
All at once she made up her mind. She reached out her hand as if for help in dismounting. But when the soldier let go of the bridle to help her, she kicked Captain with her heels and spurred him on. Down the frozen road she galloped, musket shots ringing in her ears.
“It’s all right, Captain. They can’t catch us now,” she cried, slowing him down at last. “But they will follow us,” she told her steed. “I can’t keep you in the barn. And if I hide you in the woods, you’ll surely die from the cold.”
Past the fields and apple orchards she rode and straight through the herb garden to the farmhouse door. She sprang from the horse’s back and glanced down the road. The men were nowhere in sight. Holding tightly to Captain’s bridle, she led him quickly inside and closed the door behind him.
Gently Tempe took him through the kitchen and into her mother’s bedroom, where she explained to the amazed woman all that had happened. Then she carefully walked Captain into the spare room. The horse’s shoes clattered over the wooden floors.
“You must keep quiet,” she told him. Hurriedly she fetched some towels from the wardrobe and wrapped them around Captain’s feet. “Just in case you paw the floor,” she muttered.
Tempe stood with her horse, holding his head so that he wouldn’t whinny or snort. A few minutes passed before she heard the angry soldiers shouting in the yard: “She’s not in the barn!” “No sign of them in the woods!” Other men’s voices sounded closer to the front door: “The snow is so trampled down that we can’t see any fresh tracks.” “Must have gone past and down the road!”
Worried and thoughtful, Tempe quietly soothed Captain while the soldiers searched the grounds and outbuildings. Are they setting a trap for me and waiting until I come out of hiding? She wondered. Of course, they wouldn’t have expected me to bring a horse into a house! Nevertheless, she waited a long time, listening for their footsteps and voices, before she went to help her mother.
Just when Tempe decided that the men had given up the hunt and left, Captain whinnied when there was a soft knock on the door. Tempe went and cautiously opened it a crack. She was relieved to see that it was Dr. Leddell.
After the doctor treated her mother, Mrs. Wick began to feel better, and in a few days she was able to leave her bed.
Tempe continued to keep Captain in the darkened spare room, however. At first she was afraid to leave the house, so she fed him biscuits and lumps of sugar from the kitchen. Later she dared to sneak out to the barn for feed.
Six days later news came that the soldiers’ mutiny was over. “Now Captain can go back to the barn!” cried Mother thankfully. Tempe slowly led her horse out of the house, leaving behind hoofmarks on the wooden floor.
Word spread like wildfire about the young woman who had outfoxed the soldiers in New Jersey. Even General Washington and his men expressed their admiration for her. To this day, Tempe Wick is remembered for the daring, clever way in which she saved her horse.

There is a boy at school who found out I don’t swear. The day he found out, he made a game out of trying to get me to say bad words. But I didn’t swear the whole day at all. Today, it’s still kind of a game—and I’m winning! He’ll say something to try to get me to swear, but I’ll say something funny back and everybody will laugh. He’s not offended, and I’m not swearing. It works for everybody.
Eden S., age 11, New South Wales, Australia

My mother was also a Relief Society teacher, and when I was in the fifth grade, she taught lessons about the United States Constitution. Mother made a chart that she took to Relief Society every time she taught. It explained the different parts of the Constitution and what it meant. I found the chart interesting and asked her all kinds of questions. In school that year, we were learning about United States history, and I asked my teacher if I could bring the chart to school and explain to the class how a bill became a law. Learning about history fascinated me. I began reading Mother’s books about government and history. Her commitment to fulfilling her Church calling blessed me in many ways. Later, when I went to college, I decided to major in history. Certainly that decision was at least partly influenced by these experiences.

Looking out over a sea of graduates in a commencement address at Brigham Young University–Hawaii in December 2005, President Boyd K. Packer, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, recounted the first time he came to Hawaii’s shores.
He was but a few years younger than most of the 250 graduates he addressed and was stationed on the island of Kauai as a bomber pilot in the midst of World War II. A number of friends and classmates had already become casualties of war, and he said that his family didn’t know where he would be going or what would become of him.
Yet when news came that the war was over, his joy was only temporary. He thought he was going home, but instead, he was assigned to Osaka as an operations officer.
“I asked the Lord why—why would He do this to me?” President Packer said. He had earned the necessary points. He was eligible to be released. He had kept his standards. But he was denied the thing he wanted most. Looking back now, he knows why.
“If I hadn’t gone to Osaka then, I wouldn’t be standing here now in this capacity,” President Packer said.
In his new post, he met and was involved with baptizing the first Japanese members of the Church after the war.
From this experience, President Packer said he learned to love his fellow man, and he learned to recognize revelation when it came to him. He learned the importance of receiving revelation again in his capacity as a seminary teacher, as a General Authority—called at age 37—and as an Apostle of the Lord.

“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”
It was one of those days when the Mia Maids of the St. George (Utah) Second Ward couldn’t come up with an interesting activity that wouldn’t cost anything. Suddenly, inspiration hit. They’d have a recycling fashion show.
They used all sorts of donated items, like large garbage bags, paper towels, balloons, colored crepe paper, ribbon, paper plates, butcher paper, and duct tape, then let their imaginations run wild. They came up with outfits for a princess bride, cheerleader, Miss America, Queen Elizabeth, flapper, prom queen, and Little Red Riding Hood, among others.
Best of all was that this little project helped create a spirit of cooperation, unity, and love among the girls. They realize that it doesn’t necessarily require money to have fun.