Gospel Story Finder

I talked with a Relief Society member about a visit she had made. It was to a woman who would soon lose her husband suddenly and tragically. In recent years the woman had only intermittent contact with Relief Society.

The visitor prepared by stopping at a shop to buy flowers. It was a season when the tulips were stacked for sale in many colors. She chose one color, her favorite, but then felt impressed to try another. She didn’t know why she selected yellow, but she did.

When she presented the yellow tulips at the door, the woman smiled and said, “Come. See my backyard garden.” It was filled with yellow tulips in full bloom. The woman said, “I was just wondering if I should cut some for the house. But now I can leave them and enjoy them a little longer in my garden because you brought me these.” They chatted pleasantly as if they were old friends. From that impression to bring some flowers and to choose yellow tulips, that visiting teacher had evidence that she was on the Lord’s errand. When she told me, I could hear the joy in her voice.

When she spoke with me, she didn’t know what the widow felt after the visit. But if the widow felt that God loved her and that He had sent an angel to her, the visiting teacher had helped her move down the road to success in the Lord’s eyes. That visitor may verify success from her faithful effort only in the world to come.

Nineteen members were baptized on the above date by Elders Rendell N. Mabey, Edwin Q. Cannon, Jr., and A. Bruce Knudsen. The Aboh Branch was organized, with Anthony Obinna as president, his brothers Francis and Raymond as his counselors, and his wife Fidelia as Relief Society president. When President Obinna expressed concern about the propriety of having his own family in these offices, Elder Mabey assured him that they had been chosen for their worthiness, not for their kinship. The new branch presidency promptly reported the event in a jubilant letter to the First Presidency:
“Dear Brethren,
“All the members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in this part of Nigeria have the pleasure to thank you and the Latter-day Saints throughout the world for opening the door for the Gospel to come to our people in its fullness.
“We are happy for the many hours in the Upper Room of the Temple you spent praying to the Lord to bring us into the fold. We thank our Heavenly Father for hearing your prayers and ours and by revelation. He has confirmed the long promised day, and has granted the holy priesthood to us, with the power to exercise its divine authority and enjoy every blessing of the temple.
“There is no doubt that the Church here will grow and become a mighty center for the Saints and bring progress enough to the people of Nigeria as it is doing all over the world.”

It was only a shadow moving under water near a sunken rowboat in a small pond near our home in Rome, Georgia. I had been fishing for bass, bream, and crappie when the shadow caught my eye. It was moving under the boat when a quick jerk on my line shifted my attention. Pulling in my line, I could see something was stealing my bait.
“The shadow?” I asked myself out loud. In the next hour, I offered my underwater friend crickets, worms, and pieces of a chicken sandwich. Each time I pulled the bait closer to the surface. The shadow turned out to be a turtle—a very smart and very large snapping turtle.
I was fascinated watching my reptilian neighbor use its beaklike jaws to dine on the cuisine being served, without ever touching the hook. How easily and gracefully it moved; how safe and in total control this leathery looking aquatic creature appeared. Nothing could ever harm the turtle or lure it from the pond.
One day the shadow was gone, and I wondered why. “I reckon it’s pretty easy,” Mr. Owens, the resident sage of Little Sand Mountain, told me when I asked him what happened to the turtle. “My dogs won’t touch them if they ever catch one on land, and you shouldn’t either. They are terribly mean, but you can catch them and make great turtle soup.”
He smiled as he told me how. “Take a 2-by-12 piece of wood and pound 16 penny nails through it, beginning one foot from the end. Bend the nails over about a quarter of an inch until the nails are parallel to the wood and facing the same way. Lay the finished plank down into the water on a small bank with the nails pointing up.
“Place chicken parts or hamburger on the top quarter of the wood and make as much meat juice as possible run down the wood into the water. Just sit down and wait. It’s just too tempting,” he added. “The turtle will follow the smell right out of the water and up the wooden plank.
“When you see the turtle climb out of the water and reach the bait, move quickly towards the turtle. As the turtle pulls into its shell and starts sliding down to the safety of the water, its bottom shell will catch on one of the nails, and it’s trapped. Unable to get back to the water or defend itself, it is at the mercy of man. And the Georgia snapping turtle becomes turtle soup.”

“Because a temple is sacred, the Lord asks that it be protected from desecration. Anyone may enter who is willing to prepare well for that privilege. The concept of preparation prevails in other fields of endeavor. I remember when I was but a young boy, I told my parents I wanted to attend the university. They said I could, but only if I worked hard in preliminary schooling and met all the requirements for admission to the university. Similarly, we must qualify for admission to the temple. We prepare physically, intellectually, and spiritually.”—Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “Prepare for Blessings of the Temple,” Ensign, Mar. 2002, 18–19.

Carlos knows that sacrifice brings blessings.
“My brother Set and I have autism. This made it really hard for me to study in school. Then my mom invited us to read the scriptures in the mornings as a family, and it helped me so much. It gave me a boost in school and helped me be self-sufficient.
“Another time, I didn’t want to go to a youth conference because I was really busy with a class in school. But I went, and I felt like I was blessed to do better in the class than I thought I would. Because of these experiences, I postponed my university studies and am preparing to go on a mission. I know that sacrifice will help me again.”

News reports on May 25, 2008, predicted that the mile-wide tornado that had wiped out half of Parkersburg, Iowa, USA, would head north. But as Wes Godfrey videotaped the tornado from his home to the east in New Hartford, Iowa, the rotating funnel slowly started to fill up his camcorder’s screen.
Brother Godfrey rushed his 8-months-pregnant wife, Erin, and two children into their tornado shelter and huddled his family together to pray. As Brother Godfrey asked Heavenly Father to spare their lives and the lives of their neighbors, the Spirit touched his heart, and he immediately knew two things: (1) they would be OK, and (2) they were going to get hit.
After the prayer, an eerie silence fell. Moments later, rain and wind exploded against the steel door of the shelter. The commotion lasted only a few seconds before silence returned.
When the family decided it was safe to come out, their home was gone.
“I was devastated,” Sister Godfrey said. “I thought our house would still be there, but at the same time I was glad that we were alive. I realized how fragile life is.”
Winds of the tornado, rated as a low-end EF-5 on the Enhanced Fujita Scale,1 peaked at 205 miles per hour (330 kilometers per hour), completely destroying more than 240 homes and businesses and killing six people in Parkersburg. In New Hartford, the tornado destroyed an additional 30 homes and killed two people within a two-block radius of the Godfreys’ home.

… She couldn’t believe it! She, Kristi Evans, had been chosen as a contestant, and they were already to the final big choice of the show. She’d been so clever and careful and thoughtful and had won so many beautiful gifts. She had so much; how could anything be better? Yet here was the M.C. pointing toward another curtain where a gorgeous girl with a frozen smile gestured gracefully toward the next option. The M.C. was describing with his smooth voice all the joys that would await her if she were willing to give up the things she was certain she had for the things behind that curtain. The audience was shouting a din of advice all around her; she looked down at Nils. He shrugged and said, “It’s up to you.”
The M.C. said, “It’s up to you.”
The gorgeous girl gestured, and her grin dripped ice. Nils shrugged, and the M.C. urged her to hurry. She tried to think, but all that came through was, “It’s up to you.”
Suddenly she was seated beside Nils, the M.C. was signing off until tomorrow, and Kristi felt sick. It was all over and she had lost. Why, why, why had she traded that one last time? Why couldn’t she have realized that she had everything she could ever want or need already? She had had no idea what the curtain concealed; she had known what she had; she could see she was well off already. Why, why …

Youth in Fargo, North Dakota, know how to live within their means. When their leaders announced they were going to have a stake-sponsored formal dance, they were excited. Then the leaders dropped the bomb: No one could spend more than five dollars on what they wore to the dance.
“When I heard we could only spend five dollars, I was a bit skeptical,” says Becky LaDuke, a Mia Maid. “But I found two great dresses at a thrift store, and it only cost me four dollars. I guess you don’t have to have a lot of money to have a good time, because I had a blast.”
People found different ways to adhere to the budget rule. Some borrowed clothes from friends, others remade thrift-store items, and a few wore things they already had in their closets. A couple of enterprising priests even secured a matching set of powder-blue tuxedos from the school’s drama department costume collection.
The dance was a huge success, proving that low-budget doesn’t have to mean no fun.

The March day felt almost like summer as Raybell walked down the quiet country road. Her parents had gone to dinner the night before and had brought her two fortune cookies that she carried in a paper bag. She wanted to give one to her best friend, Linda.
Raybell looked out over the fields that were just beginning to turn green and thought how very quiet and empty her little farming town was. The sun felt warm on her head and shoulders, and a meadowlark broke the lonely silence with its call from the telephone lines.
Raybell hurried up the long walkway to Linda’s house and knocked on the door. She waited and then knocked again. The house was silent. Maybe Linda’s family had gone into town. Raybell sat on the steps and waited for about ten minutes, though it seemed longer. Finally she got up and wandered across the road to the church, a white building with pine trees in front. She sat down on the church steps where she had a view of Linda’s house. She could also see Judy’s house across the field, and she began to think about what had happened after Primary one day last month.
Now Raybell sat on the steps in the warm sunshine and remembered the feelings of that day. Judy hadn’t spoken to her in the last month, but she had never been very friendly. Raybell looked across the field at Judy’s run-down house, surrounded by old, broken-down cars.
Raybell looked again at Judy’s old house. She looked at the paper sack sitting on the steps with the two fortune cookies in it. She picked it up and climbed through the fence into the damp, plowed field.
As Raybell approached the house, she saw Judy sitting on her rickety front steps wearing an old army shirt and baggy pants. She watched Raybell with a hostile expression, and Raybell wished she hadn’t come. She tried to smile.
“My mom and dad went out to eat last night—”
“So?” Judy said.
“Well, they brought these fortune cookies, and I thought we could open them and read our fortunes.” Judy’s expression was puzzled but not angry. “Judy, I’m really sorry about putting snow in your boots.” She stood there not knowing what else to say.
“What do I care if my boots are wet? It doesn’t bother me,” Judy said.
“Well, I’m sorry anyway. I’d hate it if my boots were all wet inside. I guess I’m not as tough as you.”
Judy shrugged her shoulders. “So are you going to give me one of those fortune cookies or not?”
“Oh, sure.” Raybell sat down on the steps and handed a cookie to Judy. They broke the cookies in half and read the slips of paper. “What does yours say?” Raybell asked.
Judy sat up very straight. “It says I will be rich and famous one day. How about yours?”
“‘You are a good leader and should consider politics or business,’” Raybell read. They both laughed.
Judy took a bite of her cookie. “I prefer chocolate cookies, but they’re not bad.”
“Me too,” Raybell said. They both laughed again. Raybell munched her cookie and thought that the spring sunshine felt even warmer here on Judy’s steps.

He was always tall. “By the time I was 13, I was already 182 cm (six feet). But my real growth spurt didn’t begin until my sophomore year in high school.” He reached his full height by his senior year, and, as with most tall kids, it was assumed he would play basketball. That was not to be.
““I never really liked basketball,” he noted. “The other kids and the coaches always kind of made fun of me, telling me I couldn’t jump.”
His mother urged him, instead, to try a local recreation league volleyball team. “I had never had so much fun in any sport before,” Chambers says. “I was hooked! Even though I wasn’t very good, I went home and told Mom that volleyball was the sport for me!”
Great club coaching helped him find his footing in the game, and because of his prodigious height, they made him a middle blocker. Finally, the burden of being tall began to pay-off. After a season of club volleyball, he was anxious to join his high school team and test his new skills. But disaster struck in his very first scrimmage.
““I jumped and extended myself to try and block a ball, and when I came down, I landed on the foot of the guy on the other side of the net and broke my ankle,” Chambers recounted. “I had to wear a boot everywhere after that and I didn’t get to play at all my freshman season.”
““It was frustrating to have made progress in this new sport I really liked, then lose that whole season.”
But from the ashes of that setback rose the phoenix of an all-star career. Over the next three years, Chambers became a feared opponent on the court, drawing the attention of college volleyball teams throughout the US. He turned down scholarships offered by top schools—Stanford and UCLA among them—in favour of what he truly wanted: to play for the nationally-ranked Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah (USA).
Chambers’ youth career culminated in the summer of 2022, with the victory of his Orange Coast Volleyball Club at the under-18 national club volleyball championship. Chambers was named first-team all-American by the American Volleyball Coaches Association. The kid who couldn’t jump had proven all of those early naysayers wrong.

I went on a two-day school field trip with other fifth and sixth graders to study paleontology. I shared a motel room with three of my friends. One of my friends found a Bible in the nightstand drawer. He flipped through some of the pages and then asked me if I would help him read it. I was surprised that he didn’t know any of the Bible stories I thought everyone knew. I taught him about the Creation, Adam and Eve, and the Resurrection. I also told him about Joseph Smith. I told him some of the stories I learned in Primary.
Afterward, I felt like we should have a prayer. I let my friend say the prayer. I led him through it by saying one phrase at a time and having him repeat it. I had a warm feeling, and my friend said he felt good inside.
I never expected that to happen on a school field trip. I was glad that when I had an opportunity to be a missionary, I was prepared and I wasn’t afraid to share my beliefs.

“By the end of the five weeks of the project to meet the immediate needs of the Afghan refugees in the borough, we had served over 1,000 families. One family stood out to me that came in. They were a humble family placed in a hotel not far from there. As they came in, they seemed like every other refugee that normally comes through. The dad pulled me aside and asked me if he could, in return, also volunteer to help us. He said he has no job and with the time he had, he would like to help others and give back. My heart filled with warmth. Here he had nothing and yet wanted to give the little that he had.
“I have learned so many things I will never forget. Even at the thank you dinner for the volunteers I sat next to extraordinary people from around the world from different religions that were the kindest people I have ever met. I found Christ in those around me who are not members of the Church. I am forever grateful for the opportunity I had to participate in the project.”

Matt Kesler, a Primary teacher and professional artist, shared his testimony by painting a portrait of the Savior for the Liberty First Ward Primary in Liberty, Missouri. He wanted the children to better understand the Savior’s love for them. “It was a very special experience,” Brother Kesler says. See how the painting went from idea to reality!
For ideas, Brother Kesler prayed, looked at other paintings and sculptures of the Savior, and drew many sketches.
Once he had an idea, he asked a neighbor to pose for the painting.
He drew the final sketch on the canvas with permanent marker, then did the painting with oil paints.
Every fast Sunday throughout the year, he showed the Primary his progress. He taught them that completing a painting is like developing a testimony—both take consistency, time, and effort.
Here is Brother Kesler and the Primary with the finished work—a beautiful painting and testimony that the Savior lives.

“I must have missed the bus,” I thought. For 15 minutes, I had been waiting in the icy gutter that was my bus stop, with no bus in sight. The day was unusually cold. Despite my puffy coat, I couldn’t stay warm. I felt hopeless, standing in the dark, in the cold, waiting for a bus that had probably already come and gone.
Finally, I sent a plea heavenward: “Heavenly Father, please just help me get to school.” It was simple but desperate and pleading.
A car on the other side of the road pulled over and turned around. As it neared, I saw the public transportation logo on the car. A woman leaned toward the open window and asked, “Are you waiting for bus 14? I’m pretty sure it already went by. Hop in. I was just patrolling the area because people can freeze on cold mornings like this.”
I thanked her repeatedly.
“Thank you for using public transportation,” she responded.
I sent another thanks heavenward as I warmed my hands.
A lot of the time, our blessings come through other people. No matter how small a blessing is, I know that I still need to thank the Lord. He is mindful of me, so I need to be mindful of Him.

They remind me of the characters in a parable written a few years ago by Dr. Hugh Nibley. And I would like to quote part of his parable:
“A young man once long ago claimed he had found a large diamond in his field as he was ploughing. He put the stone on display to the public free of charge, and everyone took sides. A psychologist showed, by citing some famous case studies, that the young man was suffering from a well-known form of delusion. An historian showed that other men have also claimed to have found diamonds in fields and have been deceived. A geologist proved that there were no diamonds in the area but only quartz: The young man had been fooled by a quartz. When asked to inspect the stone itself, the geologist declined with a weary, tolerant smile, and a kindly shake of the head. An English professor showed that the young man in describing his stone used the very same language that others had used in describing uncut diamonds: He was, therefore, simply speaking the common language of his time. A sociologist showed that only three out of 177 florists’ assistants in four major cities believed the stone was genuine. A clergyman wrote a book to show that it was not the young man but someone else who had found the stone.
“Finally an indigent jeweler … pointed out that since the stone was still available for examination the answer to the question of whether it was a diamond or not had absolutely nothing to do with who found it, or whether the finder was honest or sane, or who believed him, or whether he would know a diamond from a brick, or whether diamonds had ever been found in fields, or whether people had ever been fooled by quartz or glass, but was to be answered simply and solely by putting the stone to certain well-known tests for diamonds. Experts on diamonds were called in. Some of them declared it genuine. The others made nervous jokes about it and declared that they could not very well jeopardize their dignity and reputations by appearing to take the thing too seriously. To hide the bad impression thus made, someone came out with the theory that the stone was really a synthetic diamond, very skillfully made, but a fake just the same. The objection to this is that the production of a good synthetic diamond, for the farm boy, would have been an even more remarkable feat than the finding of a real one.” (Lehi in the Desert and the World of the Jaredites, Bookcraft, 1952, pp. 136–37.)

I could not help noticing the lady across the aisle. She was looking around the bus with her eyes wide, her thin hands clasped together in front of her. She kept squinting out the window, shaking her wispy hair, and making a funny noise. She began fidgeting more and more, and I wondered if she was going to make a scene. I turned to the window, trying to ignore her. But curiosity made me look back again.
It was then that I saw the tears in her eyes. I wondered if she might be in trouble. I wanted to help, but what if she did make a scene? I wouldn’t know what to do. Besides, I thought, I have to get to school on time, and my stop is coming up.
Then I looked at her again and saw the fearful expression on her face. The next thing I knew, I stood up, crossed the aisle, and sat down beside her.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “Do you need some help?”
Her eyes were wet, and her hands were shaking. She turned her delicate face to me, and I saw confusion in her eyes. I asked her again, “Are you okay?”
She looked down at her green handbag and fumbled through it for a pen and a notebook. She began writing, “Have we left Ottawa? I think I took the wrong bus.”
I picked up the pen and wrote, “Are you deaf?” She responded with a nod. “Don’t worry,” I continued to write. “We’ll figure this out.”
My stop was coming up next, and I knew this would make me late, but I didn’t get off. Instead, I approached the bus driver, and he phoned the station for directions. I wrote the alternate route down for her, and the bus driver said he would ensure that she caught the connecting bus.
“What is your name?” I wrote quickly, before getting off at a stop quite a distance from the school.
“Anna,” she scribbled. “Thank you. You are the friend I was praying for.” A calm smile spread across her face that made her hazel eyes sparkle. I could feel her love and appreciation. As I smiled back at her, I felt an understanding bond us together.
As the door swished behind me and I waved good-bye, I could not believe I had almost let Anna take that frightening journey alone. I ran all the way back to school with a smile on my face. I was glad I had listened to the promptings of the Holy Ghost telling me that someone needed my help.

We recently held an open house in the Arizona Temple. Following a complete renovation of that building, nearly a quarter of a million people saw its beautiful interior. On the first day of the opening, clergymen of other religions were invited as special guests, and hundreds responded. It was my privilege to speak to them and to answer their questions at the conclusion of their tours. I told them that we would be pleased to answer any queries they might have. Many were asked. Among these was one which came from a Protestant minister.
Said he: “I’ve been all through this building, this temple which carries on its face the name of Jesus Christ, but nowhere have I seen any representation of the cross, the symbol of Christianity. I have noted your buildings elsewhere and likewise find an absence of the cross. Why is this when you say you believe in Jesus Christ?”
I responded: “I do not wish to give offense to any of my Christian brethren who use the cross on the steeples of their cathedrals and at the altars of their chapels, who wear it on their vestments, and imprint it on their books and other literature. But for us, the cross is the symbol of the dying Christ, while our message is a declaration of the living Christ.”
He then asked: “If you do not use the cross, what is the symbol of your religion?”
I replied that the lives of our people must become the only meaningful expression of our faith and, in fact, therefore, the symbol of our worship.
I hope he did not feel that I was smug or self-righteous in my response. He was correct in his observation that we do not use the cross, except as our military chaplains use it on their uniforms for identification.

It had been a long, hard day at work, and I was exhausted. I could hardly wait to get home, kick off my shoes, slump on the couch, and relax to the soothing beat of my favorite album.
With this appealing thought in mind, I climbed the porch steps and opened the front door. To my surprise, I found not the serenity I’d expected but rather the third world war in progress. As you may have guessed if you have any of your own, my mischievous little brothers were acting as the two opposing generals.
I was just in time to hear Kurt scream, “Give it back! That’s mine!” This was countered with Todd’s sassy, “If you don’t give it here, I’ll tell mom.” Kurt merely shrugged his shoulders and said, “Go ahead, crybaby. You don’t scare me.”
I was just about to intervene, when suddenly the object in dispute came sailing across the living room floor and landed right on top of my poor aching feet. Unable to check my anger, I lurched forward and grabbed Todd, the closest one to me. I was considering strangulation, which I thought would be the perfect cure, when more casually walked into the room.
Being terribly wound up by this time, I vented all my day’s frustrations on her. In a rather aggravated tone of voice I said, “Can’t you do something with these rotten boys? They’re mean and spiteful, and they’ve just made a perfectly awful day worse!” With that I turned and stormed off toward my bedroom, not noticing my mother’s disapproving glance or the hurt look on my brothers’ faces.
Once within the safe confines of my own room, I locked the door and proceeded to remove my shoes and socks and stretch out on the bed. I guess it was then that I noticed my journal resting haphazardly on my vanity. Not feeling like doing anything too strenuous, I decided to pick it up and browse through a few old memories. I suppose it was luck or maybe even a little heavenly guidance that caused the pages to fall open to page 25. Not that page 25 looked so spectacular, but the contents were just what I needed. The entry began something like this:
Dear Diary,
April 27th will always be a memorable day for me, not only because it marks the end of my first year at Ricks College, but also because it marks the beginning of a summer at home with my family. I know it will be hard to say good-bye to all my special new friends, but it will be easier knowing I take with me increased strength, testimony, and love of the gospel because of all they’ve shared with me. I’ve set an important goal to share this knowledge with my family in hopes they too will want to share it with others. It is late now, and there will be much packing to do tomorrow, but I promise not to pack away this goal.
I continued to thumb through more of the pages, but the words were a blur and I was unable to concentrate on them. I was feeling very guilty for my earlier behavior and decided then and there to unpack that goal which had been in storage for too long.
Forgetting about my aching body, I slid my feet to the floor and quickly walked from my bedroom back to the living room. There I found my brothers pouting and looking somewhat out of sorts. I began by apologizing for my bad behavior, and to prove my sincerity, I offered to spend a whole day with each one individually, doing anything they wanted to do, within reason.
Todd, being the oldest, spoke up first and said he’d always wanted to pack a good lunch (potato chips, candy bars, and pop!) and then climb the mountain that had the high school’s letter “B” on it.
In my mind’s eye I pictured the distance and wondered what I’d gotten myself into. I had been thinking more along the line of an hour or two at the park, not a strenuous day climbing mountains. However, I’d given my word, so with all the courage I could muster, I told him I thought it was a great idea. Since the next day was my day off, we would be able to get an early start.
The bright morning sunshine popped into my room much sooner than I’d expected, and so did my brother Todd. He was dressed from head to foot and very eager to start the day’s activities. Seeing him, I rolled over and groaned, suggesting that maybe we should go some other time. He quickly reminded me that I’d promised we could go today. So while he packed the lunches, I got ready.
Before I knew it, we were on our way, with a perfectly beautiful summer’s day to accompany us. At first we walked and then we raced one another to the nearest lamp pole. We then tried to see who could skip the farthest. He won, of course.
The farther we went on our little journey, the more he began to open up to me. He mentioned some of his classmates and asked my advice on how to handle the school-yard bully. He talked a little about the family and how he felt he fit in. He even blushed when he told me I was the first to know that he had a girl friend and she was the cutest second grader around. I laughed and said his secret was safe with me. He then asked me if we could sing some Primary songs, which we did, until the terrain became so steep and bushy that it was all we could do just to climb and still breathe.
We were able to help one another by pushing and pulling, and before long we had scaled the mountain and stood on top of the large white-painted “B.” Both of us were huffing and puffing, and somehow our tiredness made everything seem terribly funny. We laughed over our soggy sandwiches and hot pop. Even the melted chocolate bars seemed somewhat hilarious.
When we no longer had energy to laugh, we composed ourselves and gazed over the beautiful valley below us. We marveled at the intricate handiwork of God. There was such a feeling of awe in our hearts that we felt it appropriate to kneel in prayer and thank our Heavenly Father for helping us to reach the mountaintop in safety.
Todd volunteered to offer the prayer, and afterwards I commented on what a good job he’d done and how much the Lord must love him. I asked him if he remembered earlier when we had been climbing and were so tired we felt we couldn’t go another step. He nodded and asked me if that wasn’t the reason we’d stopped and prayed for strength. I smiled in assurance and went on to explain that sometimes in everyday life we are given trials that seem even more difficult to climb than the mountain we sat on. But if we remember to always rely on the Lord’s strength, he will lift us and make the way possible for us to reach our goals. Having finally reached them, we will experience the same feeling of happiness that we felt when we’d reached the top of the mountain. Even though we won’t always see a big white “B” at the top of every trial we overcome, we will still feel a strength in our hearts. It will remind us that we can “B” anything we want to “B,” as long as we do it in righteousness.
At first I wasn’t sure if he had grasped the meaning of my symbolism. By the way he was bent over with his head in his hands, I supposed he hadn’t even listened to a word I’d said. So gently prodding, I asked, “Todd, did you understand what I was trying to say?” When he didn’t reply or even so much as flinch, I slowly lifted his head.
For a moment I was taken back when I saw the sweet humble tears rolling down his cheeks. I vowed then to never pack away my summer goal again.

As a teen I studied in a technical school for young men. It was hard to be a member of the Church in an atmosphere where there were other beliefs or no beliefs at all. Being the only member in school was difficult because I felt alone; I felt different. My classmates were relatively good, but many didn’t share my principles.
I remember well one time when they wanted to get me to smoke. They didn’t say it directly. Instead, one of them lit a cigarette while we were in our classroom waiting for the professor. We weren’t supposed to smoke inside the school.
I was sitting in the back. The guys at the front of the room lit the cigarette, and they each took a puff and passed it on. Everyone was watching to see it get to me. Finally the guy in front of me took a puff and turned around.
I didn’t take the cigarette.
He said, “Come on. Go ahead.”
“No, I’m not going to smoke.”
He took the cigarette and put it to my mouth. So I hit him. He hit me back. Then almost everyone in the room started to fight, though we quickly calmed down before the professor got there.
Now I’m not saying that was the right way to respond, but I was only 13. I didn’t know how to respond. I just knew no one was going to make me smoke.
After class I found the boy I had hit and asked his forgiveness. With some emotion, he told me, “No, I’m the one who needs to ask your forgiveness.”
If I had lowered my standards, would the Holy Ghost have stayed with me? Or would I have lost my guide?
By choosing the right, I allowed the Holy Ghost to be my companion. With Him as my guide, I had help making the right decisions, and my testimony was strengthened.

Years ago I took a young man, 20 years of age, into the waters of baptism. My companion and I had taught him the gospel. He was the first in his family to hear the message of the restored gospel. He asked to be baptized. The testimony of the Spirit made him want to follow the example of the Savior, who was baptized by John the Baptist even though He was without sin.
As I brought that young man up out of the waters of baptism, he surprised me by throwing his arms around my neck and whispering in my ear, tears streaming down his face, “I’m clean; I’m clean.” That same young man, after we laid our hands on his head with the authority of the Melchizedek Priesthood and conferred on him the Holy Ghost, said to me, “When you spoke those words, I felt something like fire go down from the top of my head through my body, all the way to my feet.”