Gospel Story Finder

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I was serving as Relief Society president and running for reelection to our city council. My husband had lost his job, and we were hit with many other serious trials during this time. My counselors took to heart “bearing one another’s burdens” and helped spread the load I was carrying. My bishop took on some of my responsibilities. My husband took over many duties of cooking and homemaking. It was truly humbling to see that my burdens were not taken away but instead were shared by many, many people who exercised the healer’s art.

Thanksgiving wouldn’t have been Thanksgiving without a turkey in the oven. But a 14-pound (6-kg) turkey would be too much for me, so I invited several students who were from other countries and faraway states to join me. I wanted to share a traditional American Thanksgiving dinner, but I invited them to contribute. I asked each to bring a favorite dish from home. Our Thanksgiving dinner turned out to be a delightful and memorable meal—egg rolls and all.

You will be proud of me because I am going to memorize all the Articles of Faith before you come home. Mom is helping me. I already know the first two. I told Mom that I want to do the hardest one next, so we picked number thirteen. Every day she tells me part of it, and I repeat it until I have it memorized.
But maybe you can tell me something, Reed. Why do we believe in being chased by an elephant? Last night when Ben, Natalie’s date, came to get her for a movie, I told him that we believe in being chased by an elephant. Natalie told me not to be silly. But I was serious.
I think that I’ve figured out the mystery of being “chased by an elephant.” Sometimes things sound different from what they really are. What sounded to you like “chased by an elephant” is really “chaste, benevolent.” Those are big words, and they’re not easy to understand. Chaste means to be pure and clean in the things that we think and do. Benevolent means to be kind and loving in everything that we think and in our treatment of people and all other living things. Keep up the good work in your memorizing. I’m proud of you.

1. Did you notice how focused this is? When you’re telling a story, just cut to the chase! Your listeners will appreciate it, and you’ll help them know what to look for as they hear the story.
2. Check out how this sentence sets the stage for the entire story without giving away the ending. That’s classy storytelling.
3. Now that’s a great balance of details-enough to explain the situation but not so many as to distract the listeners from the main point of the story.
“There are many ways bishops and quorum members can help to relieve the suffering and anxiety of the unemployed. 1Phil’s Auto of Centerville, Utah, is a testament of what priesthood leadership and a quorum can accomplish.2 Phil was a member of an elders quorum and worked as a mechanic at a local automobile repair shop. Unfortunately, the repair shop where Phil worked experienced economic trouble and had to let Phil go from his job. He was devastated by this turn of events.3
4. In just a couple of sentences, Bishop Edgley captures the essence of brotherhood in a priesthood quorum.
5. By showing how members of the quorum became actively involved, he helps listeners understand that the priesthood is a principle of action. He also gives ideas for how others can help in their quorums.
“On hearing about Phil’s job loss, his bishop, Leon Olson, and his elders quorum presidency prayerfully considered ways they could help Phil get back on his feet. After all, he was a fellow quorum member, a brother, and he needed help.4They concluded that Phil had the skills to run his own business. One of the quorum members offered that he had an old barn that perhaps could be used as a repair shop. Other quorum members could help gather needed tools and supplies to equip the new shop. Almost everyone in the quorum could at least help clean the old barn.5
6. See how he points out the blessings that came through the priesthood. There’s not dramatic fanfare or extra detail, but this story shares a powerful message.
7. Bishop Edgley’s closing ties the whole story together and reminds us of the main point of the experience.
“They shared their ideas with Phil; then they shared their plan with the members of their quorum. The barn was cleaned and renovated, the tools gathered, and all was put in order. Phil’s Auto was a success and eventually moved to better and more permanent quarters—all because his quorum brothers offered help in a time of crisis.6 Priesthood quorums can and must make a difference.”7
Bishop Richard C. Edgley, former First Counselor in the Presiding Bishopric, “This Is Your Phone Call,” Ensign, May 2009, 54.

Grandmother Jo reached in and pulled out a small velvet box. She opened it to reveal a medal. “This is the Purple Heart medal awarded to your Grandfather Thomas, who fought in World War II,” she explained. “He was wounded on D-Day.”
Christopher proudly held the medal in his hands. Grandfather must have been very brave, he thought. Grandmother Jo took a picture from the chest and showed it to Christopher. It was Grandfather Thomas. He looked handsome and brave dressed in his soldier uniform.

Salmon, Idaho, may have the friendliest fireplugs of any town in the U.S. As a community service project the Aaronic Priesthood youths and Young Women of the Salmon Idaho Stake volunteered to paint city fireplugs a shiny yellow with red caps. Once they got started the young people decided to add a little zest to the project, and several fireplugs wound up with “Have a Happy Day,” “Smile,” or “Howdy Do” painted on them.
Wayne Van Hoose, president of the Salmon First Ward youth committee, said the young volunteers, ages 12 to 17, divided into groups for the project, with the city furnishing the paint and the young people the brushes and the elbow grease.

I had a period in my life when I felt disconnected from Heavenly Father. Even though I was going to the temple, praying, and reading scriptures, I still felt overwhelmed. I realized I had been doing important spiritual things, but I wasn’t allowing quiet time in my life to really ponder my connection with Heavenly Father. I decided to try meditation—to take a break from the world and to deepen my sensitivity to the Spirit.
After I started setting aside quiet time to meditate and tried to connect with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, I felt a huge difference in my ability to recognize Their guidance in my life. I also felt more peace and joy in my circumstances.

One night before bed I was thinking about what to pray for when I felt prompted to pray for my uncle’s family. I prayed that they would feel the Spirit. Two days later I learned that my uncle had lost his job and that his family would have to move.
It was then I realized that what I had prayed for was a prompting from the Holy Ghost, and I felt grateful that I had listened to the still small voice. In a situation where I could not do much else to help, I felt good knowing my prayers could help. Sometimes instances like this may seem insignificant, but I know that seeking personal revelation, listening to promptings, and following them—even small ones—can increase our faith and strengthen others.

Temples are where many of these sacred ordinances occur and are also a source of peaceful refuge from the world. Those who visit temple grounds or participate in temple open houses also feel this peace. One experience preeminent in my mind is the Suva Fiji Temple open house and dedication. There had been political upheaval resulting in rebels burning and looting downtown Suva, occupying the houses of Parliament and holding legislators hostage. The country was under martial law. The Fiji military gave the Church limited permission to assemble people for the open house and a very small group for the dedication. The members as a whole were uninvited due to concerns for their safety. It was the only temple dedication since the original Nauvoo Temple that was held under very difficult circumstances.
One person invited to the open house was a lovely Hindu woman of Indian descent, a member of Parliament who was initially held hostage but was released because she was female.
In the celestial room, free from the turmoil of the world, she dissolved in tears as she expressed feelings of peace that overwhelmed her. She felt the Holy Ghost comforting and bearing witness of the sacred nature of the temple.

Several years ago, our family was excited when we learned that my wife, Terri, was expecting our fourth child. However, several months into the pregnancy, we learned that Terri had a potentially dangerous medical condition. The safest option was for her to be admitted to the hospital, where she could have constant care. She was confined to bed rest in an effort to continue the pregnancy as long as possible.
This became a dark and difficult time for our family, especially for Terri. She felt so alone. And I had the challenge of caring for three young children while working in my career and also serving as a bishop. Life seemed chaotic and difficult.
In her loneliness, Terri found solace in the words of a beautiful hymn:
I need thy presence ev’ry passing hour.
What but thy grace can foil the tempter’s pow’r?
Who, like thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Thru cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me!1
Ultimately, emergency surgery was required to deliver our son Jace. But both mother and son were safely cared for because Terri was already in the hospital. We felt the Lord’s protection in our lives.
Jace was born four weeks early and placed in the newborn intensive care unit. We came home without our baby. During the month that followed, we made daily trips to the hospital. Life seemed to cycle to a low point.
Again, however, we witnessed the hand of the Lord. Jace progressed to the point where we were able to bring him home, a high point as we united as a family.
Then we learned that Jace had sagittal synostosis, a condition where the bones in the skull prematurely fuse together. The result is that a baby’s head cannot grow. The only treatment was to surgically remove a large portion of Jace’s skull when he was just three months old. We endured this challenge through prayer and priesthood blessings. Again we saw the hand of the Lord in our lives. Prayers were answered. Blessings were fulfilled. The surgery was a success. Life reached a high point once again.
What a roller-coaster ride! But the Lord taught us many lessons through this journey. We know He was with us along the way.
When Terri and I were going through our challenges, we found comfort in this statement from a prophet of God:
“I want you to know that there have always been some difficulties in mortal life, and there always will be. But knowing what we know, and living as we are supposed to live, there really is no place, no excuse, for pessimism and despair. …
“… I hope you won’t believe all the world’s difficulties have been wedged into your decade, or that things have never been worse than they are for you personally, or that they will never get better. I reassure you that things have been worse and they will always get better. They always do—especially when we live and love the gospel of Jesus Christ and give it a chance to flourish in our lives.”3

After our return to the hotel, I became quite ill during the night. The next morning my traveling companions came to my bedroom to see why I had not come to breakfast. I told them I was too ill to get out of bed. They said that they would eat breakfast and then go down to the airstrip and look at the plane to see that everything was all right.
They soon returned and informed me that clouds had settled down on the airstrip and on Tuxtla so heavily that we would not be able to get out. We were fogged in, and they had been informed that the airstrip would probably be fogged in for a considerable time because the rainy season was beginning. They asked me what should be done.
After thinking for a few moments I was impressed by the Holy Spirit to say, “Give me a blessing and we will fly out today.” At first they replied, “President Hunter, you are too ill to fly.” But I insisted on being blessed. President Strong anointed and his son Bert sealed the anointing and gave me a blessing. I immediately got up out of bed, went in and ate breakfast, and felt completely healed.
We took our luggage and went down to the airstrip. Shortly after, the clouds lifted sufficiently for us to fly out. We heard later from the archaeological workman that several days passed before the fog and clouds lifted again. Therefore, that particular day was our time to fly out of Tuxtla.

When missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints started teaching his family, Isaac Kojo Botwe made it clear from the beginning that he was not interested.
“I would abandon them in the sitting room, go into the boys’ room, and smoke my dirty pipe,” he says, laughing as he recalls what followed. Soon he decided that he really ought to listen to what the missionaries were saying. Not long afterward, he decided that he needed to give up that “dirty pipe” and live the Word of Wisdom.
Elder Mark Owusu, one of the missionaries who taught him, remembers that Isaac Botwe had his children gather his pipes, his tobacco, and his coffee—and then he set fire to the lot of it!
Isaac, his wife, Frances, and their children of baptismal age came into the Church together in 1987. Today, Isaac is bishop of the Takoradi Ward, Cape Coast Ghana Stake. His family has an extensive history of service to the Church. So, too, does Mark Owusu, who has served in a variety of teaching and leadership positions since his mission.

Because I live in Shanghai, China, I had the opportunity to go with a school group to Sichuan Province in southwestern China to help build houses for victims of the earthquake that devastated the area a few years ago. We worked hard laying bricks, shoveling mortar, pushing wheelbarrows full of bricks, and handing bricks down “assembly lines” of people. By the second day my back ached, and my gloves were filled with holes. However, the trip was an unforgettable experience for me and strengthened my testimony of my own and each person’s individual worth, one of the Young Women values.
As I worked hard each day, I noticed that my belief in my own worth grew. I felt good about myself because I was doing things to improve the living situation of those less fortunate than I am.
We also had the opportunity to visit a school in the area. When we arrived, a crowd of cute little children came running toward us. When I saw all these wonderful little children, I recognized their individual worth also. They are all beautiful children of God, and I felt strongly that He loves and knows each of them.
Near the end of my trip we had the chance to go to a resort, where we were going to eat lunch. When we got there, however, we found that it had been destroyed in the earthquake. It was the worst destruction I have ever seen. It made me want to cry. The ceilings and walls of the buildings were caved in, the trees nearby had fallen, and there was rubble everywhere. A huge boulder had rolled down the mountain and crashed into the side of one building, causing the ceiling and the wall to cave in. There was a single shoe lying on one of the doorsteps.
As I thought about this and the fact that people had been killed in this disaster, I struggled to understand how Heavenly Father would let this happen. Didn’t He love them? Then I thought back to what we had discussed in Young Women class and realized that yes, He did love them. He knew and loved them each individually. Those who died that day were all children of God. Initially, it made me even sadder thinking about that. But then I realized that these people were in the spirit world and they could return to Heavenly Father again. This thought comforted me and gave me a feeling of peace.
I know that I am a child of God, with great individual worth. We are all children of our Heavenly Father, who knows us personally. He loves us with a love that is deeper and stronger than any of us could ever imagine. This understanding was planted deeply in my heart as I worked with and served among the people who had suffered so terribly in the Sichuan earthquake.

I would like to share an experience or two with you. When I was growing up, Heber J. Grant was the President of the Church. My father always prayed for President Grant. And he had great personal feeling for him because President Grant at one time was president of the Tooele Stake, and my father at that time was president of the Tooele Stake. President Grant became ill and passed away, and I can remember after the funeral kneeling in family prayer as a young boy and hearing my father praying with the same love and devotion and feeling for the next prophet, the next President of the Church, George Albert Smith.
As a youth, I was surprised because I had never heard anybody pray for any prophet other than Heber J. Grant. And I felt almost cheated—like my father was turning away from a good friend. But as the time went on, through that experience and other experiences, he taught me a very valuable lesson—you see, he had great love and appreciation for President Grant, and that would never change, but in his heart I realized that he had saved his greatest love and his greatest loyalty for his God, and whomever God would send he would sustain and uphold and pray for and embrace.

She thought back to the first time she had seen them—two young men, “boys” to her, who were about the same age as some of her grandsons. She had been trimming the hedge when she saw them come out of the alley and turn toward her, two well-groomed young men in suits. The sight made her lift her eyebrows in mild surprise and curiosity. It seemed different to see decent kids again, she had thought, picturing her own grandsons who had that awful long hair and were doing things that kids just shouldn’t do. “But,” she said, addressing the hedge, “they are still the best grandkids around.”

She wondered what these two young men did in their suits and on bikes at 9:45 in the morning. She wasn’t left to wonder too long. When they got to where she was working, they stopped. One called out, “Howdy, ma’am.” She stopped snipping and tilted her head way back so as to get a better view of them through her glasses, which always dangled precariously on the tip of her nose.

“Good morning,” she replied.

“Ma’am, my name is Elder Blackburn and this is my companion Elder Lyon.

“We are representatives of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, more commonly known as the Mormon church.” (With the mentioning of the word Mormon, her mind reeled with the many things she had heard. Pictures of wild-eyed religious fanatics with long, flowing beards and thousands of wives raced through her head.)

“Have you ever heard of the Mormon church?” the one called Lyon asked.

“Wha-what was that?” she stammered, as her thoughts popped like an over-occupied toy balloon.

“Have you ever heard of the Mormon church?”

“Well,” she began slowly, trying to think of a way to get out of the situation, “yes, I have, but I’ve got my own church.”

“That’s wonderful,” the one called Blackburn said, cutting her off before she had the chance to say she wasn’t interested. “We are new in the area of Rosmont, and today we are going around talking to our new neighbors. We live over on Richardson Street, behind Mrs. Garrett. Do you know Mrs. Garrett?”

“I know her quite well. I’ve lived here for 48 years.”

Lyon began again: “We are also talking with our neighbors about a visit that the Sav—” This time it was her turn to interrupt.

“Boys, I hate to be rude, but I’ve got a lot to do, and I’m really not too interested right now, but thank you for saying hello. That is very sweet. More young people need to be as nice as you. Good-day.”

“Well, it has been nice talking with you, ma’am.” It was Blackburn again, and with that they were gone to the next house.

So then she knew who they were and what they were doing. As the days went by, she would see them leave between 9:30 and 9:45. They always waved as they passed and said hello. They even stopped every once in a while to chat. In a few months a new face took Elder Blackburn’s place. He was introduced as Elder Daringjer. (Same first name again, she thought.) The one called Daringjer had been a horticulture major before coming on his “mission” as they called it. They became instantly talkative, and she showed him all of her little plants and beauties.

One Monday morning she was surprised to find them in ordinary clothes, waiting in the garden for her. Elder Daringjer explained that they would like to work with her and help if they could. Elder Lyon mowed the lawns and trimmed the walks and hedges, while she and the other cared for her little fragile babies. While they worked, she found out many things about who these boys were and why they came out on missions. She also found out that they didn’t really all have the same first names; it was only a title.

By noon what would have taken her days to finish had been completed. They had wanted to come over and show her a film-strip on something or other, but she had politely refused. The fact that they didn’t push things at her seemed to make her think of them with more curiosity than before. She was thinking of them almost daily.

“Why do I bother with fanatics,” she asked a row of carrots one morning after several weeks of letting the elders come and weed, trim, and talk to her. She was very amazed when they told her that both of their families had vegetable gardens back home, and that their prophet had counseled the people to raise gardens, fix yards, repair homes, and care for their farms.

As the days went by, instead of holding her breath when they turned out of the alley toward her like she had during the first few weeks she had known them, she found herself holding her breath hoping they wouldn’t turn away.

“I wonder what makes young men spend two years visiting with people about a religion that doesn’t even have a professional clergy to give sermons? It sounds rather hastily set up. Some day I’ll just have to ask them inside to talk a little more.”

By 9:00 her morning work was done, and she was kneeling in her chrysanthemums, acting very busy with weeding, looking for any evil little bug that would bring harm to her small, delicate beings. Her thoughts kept wandering to the events that had happened just last week.

Her morning had started as usual, but at 7:30 her phone rang and it was bad news from her daughter. Her grandson, one of those with the long hair and bad habits, had been involved in what started as a stay-out-of-Africa rally and ended in a blood bath between students with rocks, signs, and knives and a local garrison of guardsmen with their clubs, shields, and guns. The rally ended with one dead national guard member and five dead students, of which her grandson had been one.

The shock lingered long after the telephone call. She sat staring at the kitchen wall for an hour, and finally she had dragged herself down to her flowers. There she sat, trying to forget. It was then she looked up, and instead of seeing two young men in suitcoats and on bikes turn out of the alley, only one was coming. His white shirt was missing its usual tie, and his bike and coat were gone. With head down and hands jammed hard in his pockets, clenched in fists of frustration, he was kicking rocks and old cans as he stomped toward her. She could see that he was talking to himself, and as the distance narrowed, she caught snatches of the angry words he was saying.

She sat and listened as he began having a mental battle with himself. First he’d mumble a scripture on patience, or brotherly love, or humility, then a quick comeback on patience being gone, and brotherly love destroyed by this or that, and humility nonexistent. The more he talked, the more the scriptures began to win until he was murmuring only pieces of scriptures and phrases of hymns that she had never heard before.

There had been a disagreement of some sorts; that was obvious. By the time he had reached the spot where she sat staring in the chrysanthemums, he had slowed and stopped. He stood looking at his scuffed shoes, totally unaware of her presence, his mind frantically searching for what to do. Pride said go, but love said stop. The hardness of his brow softened, the firmness around his mouth that had kept his gritted teeth solidly in place weakened, and she could see his eyes fill with tears. She became very conscious of her position and wished she were one of her beautiful little flowers blowing in the breeze.

Then from the alley a voice boomed: “Elder, wait! I—I’m sorry!” The young man near her slowly turned and looked where his partner was standing in his stocking feet.

For what seemed enough time to plant and harvest a section of wheat, the air remained empty of human sounds or movement. Then Elder Scuffed Shoes looked at her and, in a rather husky voice, asked if he could please have a flower. “A flower of forgiveness,” he had muttered. Mutely she clipped one for him and watched as he retraced his steps until he stood in front of the other. They were too far off for her to hear what was said, but she saw the flower exchange hands and watched as they walked back to their apartment in the alley, each with an arm around the other’s shoulder.

She had sat there in the flowers trying to figure out how one young man could know so much about love and have such an abundance of it, while another lay lifeless on a mortician’s table because of his gross lack of it. Both had been searching for what life really was. One had found it; the other hadn’t. Why? She couldn’t answer her own question. Finally she got up and left to prepare for a funeral many miles away. Even as she left, she knew she had to find the answer to “Why?” when she returned.

She was kneeling in the chrysanthemums when she saw them coming.

“Turn up!” she whispered. “Turn up!” They looked right and left, they both saw her and waved, and then together they turned away. Her heart sank like a rock in a lake. She felt as if a building was falling on her, making her hands and mind feel heavy. She watched silently as they rode a little way and then stopped. They were talking to one another. She just sat in the flowers thinking that they were gone and she’d have to try again tomorrow. She considered just going to their small apartment to talk with them.

“I could bring something nice like fresh cookies,” she whispered to her small spade, knowing that she would never find the strength to do it.

The elders sat on their bikes looking back at their neighbor.

“What makes you think she wants to talk to us, Elder? The only things she talks about are her flowers.”

“I know, but did you see the way she was watching us? Did you see her eyes? I have a little sister who used to wait by the big window every day when I came home from work, and I could see in her eyes that she wanted to tell me what had happened to her in kindergarten that day.”

“So?”

“Well, Elder, look at her eyes, and besides that, she didn’t even wave at us. She always waves.”

“Maybe she’s mad.”

“I don’t really think so. Let’s just ask her if we can help her in some way. Look, she’s still watching us.”

“Okay, let’s go chat.”

They turned their bikes around and came back. When they stopped, Elder Lyon said, “Ah, ma’am? Could we help you?”

She just looked at them, and her eyes filled with tears. “Yes, Elder,” she said, through a slightly cracking voice. “Let’s go in the house, and you … well … I’ve got some questions I need some answers to.”

They walked up the stairs and onto the front porch. Before they went in, a thought came to her, and she said, “I hope this won’t take all morning, because there is an old man I must see today, an old man who suffered a stroke in the early spring. He must be awfully depressed watching his beautiful lawn go unattended. I think I’ll take him some flowers, flowers of forgiveness.”

Wash and brush pet dogs and take them out for a walk; polish silverware; establish a mending service to sew on buttons and repair torn sleeves; help neighbors haul trash to the dump; wash shower curtains and repair their torn eyelets; form an oven-cleaning brigade that will also make refrigerators and sinks sparkle, for a modest fee; form a garage cleaning troupe. Two high school football players talked their fathers into lending them the money to purchase some wrecked cars and a piece of ground to store them on. They built a shed for an office, removed serviceable parts from the cars, inventoried them, and established a solid reputation for providing dependable used parts. When school reconvened, they sold their business at a profit.

I don’t really know where a young man begins to go wrong. I couldn’t have had a happier childhood. My father was a nature lover, and he had schooled us in the beauties and appreciation of the out-of-doors. My mother enriched our lives with her wit and her songs. And I grew up in the Church. I loved the gospel stories, and I looked forward to becoming a deacon. I remember my baptism day and the feeling that accompanied this ordinance.
But about the time I became a teacher, I began to sit with a crowd of boys in the back who were without a streak of reverence, I’m afraid. From this time on, I never really appreciated the gospel or made the effort to study the scriptures and gain a testimony, and any person without the gospel and spiritual motivation in his life will naturally turn to worldly things. It took a terrible accident and three years to do it, but I finally was able to see through the fads and falsities that had become a part of my life in the early years of high school and to realize just how plastic and superficial many of those values really are.

It is frustrating when you are living as you know you should, and you are being ridiculed for it. It’s uncomfortable to be made fun of for any reason, but it is especially hurtful when someone makes your good choices seem like bad ones.
You may have noticed that instead of talking about how they are trying hard to do what’s right, teens sometimes get into conversations where they compare how bad they have been. Sometimes it seems cool to brag about getting drunk instead of mentioning that you don’t drink and never have. Instead of admiration, you may feel like your friends think you are a goody-goody, unadventurous, and maybe a little naive.
The answer to this dilemma may sound like a cliche, but it just happens to be true. You need to be true to yourself, true to the standards of the gospel of Jesus Christ. If your friends only want you around when you’ll go along with the bad choices they are making, then they really aren’t friends. You must stand up for yourself. You can be friendly and fun and loyal without letting down your standards. Keep doing what you know is right, and your friends will separate into two groups—those who like you for what you really are, and those who really don’t care if they hurt you or not. The second group isn’t worth having for friends.
Another problem may come up when your friends tease you for the righteous standards you keep. Instead of admiring you, they may give you a hard time. But whose admiration do you really want? Your own? Your parents’? The Lord’s?
Elder Bryant Bush, serving in the Florida Tallahassee Mission, wrote and said, “Many times people have rationalized so many broken rules in their own lives that they think it’s silly when others try to obey them. Examine yourself. Are you trying to be obedient to impress others or to get nearer to God? It is important to keep examining yourself and not others.” In other words, you can enjoy being around many different kinds of people as long as your own hand is firmly grasping the iron rod.
We know it’s hard to have your friends leave you out of their activities even when it’s probably for the best. Just feeling left out is hard. But this time of your life will not go on forever. After a while your friends will become accustomed to the fact that you are not going to give in. And in the future, here on earth and throughout eternity, you will be very glad you stood up for what you believe. If you still feel bad about your situation, talk to your parents or Church leaders. They really will remember what it’s like and may be able to say something that will help.
Readers
Along with keeping Church standards, spread some sunshine. Be genuinely friendly, smile, and have a positive attitude. Show your friends that you truly love and care about them and their feelings, but that you’re also going to stick to what you know is right. Jesus taught by his good example, and so can you.
Becky Lawson, 18LaVerkin, Utah
Many of my high school friends were respected for living Christ’s standards. They were an example to me. Without giving in on any standard, you can be an example to your friends by losing yourself in service.
Elder Todd B. Drennan, 21Mississippi Jackson Mission
I made the mistake of trying to keep the standards but not explaining to my friends the reason why. When I took the time to, they listened and began to understand me more, which changed their view that I was “stuck up.”
Secondly, make sure that you keep what I call the quieter standards, things like being a trustworthy and loyal friend, not getting angry in situations, not gossiping, and so on. I certainly have found that it’s keeping these types of principles that has earned me the most respect from my friends.
Rachel Kent, 18Plymouth, Devon, England
I have the same problem with my nonmember friends. They are really nice inside, but sometimes just act bad. I try to think of that. I try to be nice to them and show a good example. If they are true friends, they will try to respect our standards.
Kathleen Parker, 13Anchorage, Alaska
My friends respect me a lot for standing up against peer pressure. One time I was at a party and my friend said she just had to have a beer. She turned to me and asked, “How do you do it?” Instead of making me feel bad, it made me feel good about myself.
Kelly Raddon, 17Northbrook, Illinois
Since I’ve moved here from Utah, I’ve been labeled as “different” by my peers. They thought it was odd that I had never had a drink or smoke in my life and that I went to church every single Sunday. But they respect me, and I believe them because they are careful not to offend me, and they watch their language around me too.
My point is that if your “friends” don’t respect you, never forget who you are and what you stand for. Maybe find a new group of friends.
Karl Harwood, 18Chagrin Falls, Ohio
When my friends do things or even talk about doing things that go against my standards, I explain to them that I don’t believe in that, so they’ll stop talking about it.
Staci Fredrickson, 16Portland, Oregon

To the full-time and service missionaries, and senior missionaries, Elder Bednar reiterated the importance of listening to the Spirit. To those gathered at the Philippines Missionary Training Center (MTC), Elder Bednar requested the missionaries to prepare to be ‘taught by the Spirit’ by studying five articles. Instead of just writing down what he would say, Elder Bednar invited them to write their impressions as given by the Spirit. As he spoke to them, he invited them to ask questions.
Sister Asis, who is assigned to the Japan Kobe Mission, realized that such preparation and study was crucial to inviting the Spirit before the devotional began. “Without studying his previous talks,” she noted, “comprehending everything he says would have been difficult.” Elder Ruiz of the Philippines Iloilo Mission gained a deeper understanding of the word conversion: “As a missionary, if I am converted, I can follow the Missionary Standards and [the Savior’s] example and rely on my testimony to teach by the Spirit.”
At a similar devotional at the historic Buendia Chapel with missionaries from four missions (Philippines Antipolo, Philippines Manila, Philippines Quezon City and Philippines Quezon City North), Elder Bednar asked the Elders and Sisters to prepare themselves and to learn by the Spirit—to hear not just what had been said but also what was taught to them individually by the Holy Ghost.
For her part, Sister Bednar highlighted the importance of the For the Strength of Youth guide, recounting how she and Elder Bednar had shared its inspired counsel with nonmember friends of their three sons as they were growing up. “My husband and I have found that when you live in places where there are very few members of the Church,” she related, “it’s easier for our children and… your children to give away the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet… it’s a great missionary tool.” She then narrated how she and Elder Bednar reared their children in gospel values.
“When Sister Bednar mentioned about having a picture of Jesus Christ on their sons’ walls, I remembered our family scripture study where my father mentions two characteristics of Jesus Christ in John 2 where he cleanses the temple,” Sister Laneah Benigno of Cubao Ward, Quezon City South Stake recalls. “Now that I also have a picture of Him, I can see and remember not just His characteristics but also His teachings that made an impact in my life.”
“Elder and Sister Bednar talked about how pictures of Jesus and the temple in their son’s rooms made them excited to go to the temple,” shared nine-year-old Kaylee Sophia Lopez of Quirino 1st ward, Quezon City South Stake. “I am excited to go to the temple, too, but I have to wait until I’m twelve.”

In the middle of her tenth summer, Cassie decided to have a Great Adventure.
“A Great Adventure? What’s that?” Morgan, her best friend, asked.
“It’s like when my big brother does things with the Boy Scouts,” Cassie said. “They work and save money and then do really fun things, like boating or camping or horseback riding.”
“Wow!” Morgan exclaimed. “What will you do?”
Cassie thought for a moment. “I think I’ll spend a whole day at the amusement park, ride on every ride, and have all the cotton candy I want.”
“Sounds great—can I come, too?”
“Sure. We can have a Great Adventure together. But you’ll have to help earn the money for it.”
“OK. What can we do to earn money?”
“Lots of things. Let’s make a list.” Cassie took out a piece of paper and a pencil. “Let’s see—we can mow lawns, baby-sit, and collect aluminum cans.”
“Walk dogs, sell lemonade, and weed gardens,” Morgan added.
“That’s probably enough ideas to get started,” Cassie said. “Let’s meet at my house every Saturday and see how much money we earned during the week.”
“Great!” Morgan’s eyes gleamed. “I can almost taste the cotton candy already.”
On Saturday Cassie brought out a big glass jar and set it on the kitchen table. “OK, Morgan, let’s see what you have.”
Morgan reached into her backpack and brought out a bag of homemade cookies.
Cassie looked puzzled. “What are those for?”
“That’s what I made this week,” Morgan said quietly.
“What?”
“Mrs. Burke gave them to me for mowing her lawn. I couldn’t ask her for money. She can’t even afford to fix her old lawnmower.”
“All right,” Cassie said. “I understand. Here’s my haul.” She dropped a handful of coins into the jar. “I made it recycling pop cans. I did have fifty cents more, but the lady at the recycling center looked so hot that I bought her a cold drink.”
Morgan sighed. “That’s OK.”
Cassie smiled. “We’ll do better next week. You’ll see.”
The next week Morgan dropped a few dollars into the jar. “I opened my lemonade stand,” she said.
Cassie laid down some wilted flowers. “They weren’t wilted when Mr. Jeffries gave them to me,” she explained. “I got them for weeding his flower patch.”
“That’s nice,” Morgan said without enthusiasm.
The next week Morgan plopped a big zucchini onto the kitchen table. “Don’t tell me,” Cassie said. “You weeded someone’s garden.”
“Uh-huh. Mom’s going to make zucchini bread to sell at my lemonade stand. I’ll make tons of money. What do you have?”
Cassie slowly pulled from her pocket a ten-dollar bill.
Morgan’s eyes lit up. “That’s terrific! Where did it come from?”
Cassie frowned. “I walked Mrs. Peterson’s dog every day this week. But I hated to take her money. Her dog is sick, and she can’t even afford to buy its medicine.”
“Maybe it’ll get better with all the exercise you gave it,” Morgan suggested hopefully.
Cassie shrugged. “Maybe.”
The next week Morgan brought thirteen dollars from her lemonade stand, and Cassie made fifteen dollars baby-sitting.
Morgan grinned. “Now the money’s really rolling in!”
“But not fast enough,” Cassie pointed out. “It’s almost the last week of summer vacation, and we don’t have nearly enough money for our Great Adventure.”
“We could still buy all the cotton candy we could eat,” Morgan said.
“Or we could avoid a stomachache and do something better with our money.”
“Like what?”
“Like pay for a sick dog’s medicine.”
“Do we have enough?” Morgan’s eyes got big.
“I think so. Let’s count it up.”
They were still several dollars short.
“We have to earn more,” Cassie said. “My brother is going to Scout camp this week and said he’d pay me to do his paper route.”
“I’ll ask my dad if I can wash the car and clean out the garage,” Morgan said.
“Great! See you next week.”
The next Saturday, when Cassie and Morgan counted up their money, they were excited to find out that they had more than enough for the medicine. They hurried right over to Mrs. Peterson’s house and gave her the money. Mrs. Peterson got tears in her eyes and hugged them again and again. Then she gave them some homemade cookies.
As they walked down the street, Cassie said, “Isn’t this where it all began?”
“Whu whub beguab?” Morgan asked, her mouth full of cookie.
“Our Great Adventure. It really started when someone gave us cookies instead of money.”
“Oh, yeah.” Morgan thought for a minute. “What should we do with the extra money? Still want to get cotton candy?”
“No.” Cassie bit into a cookie. “These are much better than cotton candy. I was thinking we should save our money.”
“For what?”
“For next summer’s Great Adventure.”
“Next summer?”
“Yeah. I thought maybe we could cross the ocean on a cruise ship.”
“Or maybe get Mrs. Burke’s lawnmower fixed?”
“That would also be a Great Adventure.” Cassie grinned. “Don’t you think so?”
Morgan nodded. “I can hardly wait.”