Gospel Story Finder

Was it a church project or a school project? Allison Steiner, a Laurel in the Rosepine Second Ward, Alexandria Louisiana Stake, got credit for both, proving that she’s a good manager and worthy of her title of Louisiana’s Miss Future Business Leader of America.
At the state conference, Allison won first place for a community service project she chaired. It involved showing support for the families of servicemen stationed overseas at Christmas. She helped the families tape messages for their loved ones, and entertained the children. Allison also planned the event as a Young Women Value project focusing on “Good Works.”

Kate’s stomach dropped when the soccer field came into view from the car window. She knew the Bulldogs were the best in the league. But she didn’t think this many people would show up for tryouts.
She tightened her grip on her bag when she realized tryouts must have already started. It looked like they were doing drills. The girls were weaving between cones and sprinting across the grass. She was late! Kate jumped out of the car as soon as her mom pulled up.
She only made it a few steps before she remembered something important. She needed to say thank you! She circled back. “Thanks, Mom,” she called. “Thanks for driving me and for breakfast!”
Saying thank you wasn’t a big deal to a lot of people, but it was to Kate. Her favorite scripture story was the story of the ten lepers. She couldn’t believe that out of the ten people Jesus healed, only one said thank you! She’d made it a goal ever since to always say thank you.
Remembering that story made the tight feeling she had inside loosen a little bit. At least until she joined the other girls in doing drills and saw how good they were. She couldn’t help worrying. What if everyone else is way better than me? she thought. What if I’m the worst one here?
But soon the coach divided them into teams for a practice game, and Kate stopped thinking of anything other than the black-and-white ball moving like lightning from one girl to the next.
She was breathing hard by the time the coach blew the whistle to end tryouts. “Great job, everyone,” he said. “I’ll make decisions in the next few days and let you know.”
Kate walked slowly over to her bag. Her whole body was splattered with mud. And her legs felt like slow, heavy elephant legs. Worst of all, she had no idea if she’d even come close to making the team.
She was one of the last girls to leave. “Thank you,” she said, smiling at the coach. He just gave her a short nod and turned back to his clipboard. But Kate felt a little better as she walked away. She might not make the team, but at least she’d been grateful.
Later that night, Kate was washing dishes with her dad when the phone rang.
“I think it’s the soccer coach,” Dad said, looking at the number. Kate’s heart started pounding. He took the phone to the next room. Kate stayed at the sink, trying to focus all of her attention on washing the dishes.
When she heard Dad come in a few minutes later, she kept her eyes down. “What’d he say?” she asked.
“Just that my Katie is going to be a Bulldog,” he said, nudging her shoulder.
Her heart skipped a beat. “I made the team?” she said, finally looking up. Dad nodded with a big smile. Kate did a happy dance, splashing water over both of them.
“Hey!” Dad said with a laugh. “I have something even better to tell you once you quit being a human water fountain.” Kate paused mid-twirl. What could be better than making the number-one team in the league?
“Did you thank the coach at the end of tryouts?” he asked. Kate nodded. “Well, he wanted me to tell you that he was really impressed by that. Of the 34 people who tried out, you were the only one that said thank you. He said to thank you for saying thank you.”
Dad’s smile was even bigger than before. Kate knew her own smile was just as big. Just like the story of the ten lepers, she thought. Being grateful did matter!

Sixteen-year-old Steven D. McKell of Salt Lake City, who was kidnapped at gunpoint but was able to free himself, received Scouting’s Medal of Merit for his bravery.
The FBI report of the incident reads:
“While alone at his home, Steven was confronted by a person who represented himself as a deliveryman. The man at the door had a truck-type dolly with a large cardboard box on it.
“The man indicated he had a document that Steven should sign as a receipt for the package. As the youth started to do this, the deliveryman pulled out a handgun, held it against Steven’s cheek, and forced him into the house.
“The man placed leg irons and handcuffs on Steven and forced him to lie on the floor. Steven’s mouth was then stuffed with a bandanna, and the bandanna was taped in place. Pads of cotton were placed over his eyes and taped closed. A nylon stocking was pulled over his head to keep the bandanna and pads in place.”
Steven was told to get inside the carton, which was then hauled out of the house on the dolly and lifted into the van, which was driven to a location about 10 minutes away.
The boy was led into an old rabbit hutch where boards were nailed over him. He was told by his captor not to try to escape since someone would be watching him.
“I didn’t believe him,” said Steven, “so when I heard him drive away, I began kicking my feet until I could get out of the frame. In my efforts to get free, I felt a nail against my nose and used that to pull the blindfold off.”
Steven was still gagged and cuffed hand and foot, but he could see and move. He made short jumps toward the road and attracted the attention of a jogger, who removed his gag and carried him over his shoulder to a nearby home. From there, Steven called his father, allowing enough time for the local police and the FBI to set a trap for the kidnapper, who was caught, convicted, and imprisoned.
Steven received the national Scouting office medal at a court of honor. He is a member of the Butler 12th Ward, Salt Lake Butler Stake.

When I returned from my mission, I found it necessary to go to firesides and devotionals almost weekly to maintain my spirituality. The speakers fed me with their gospel insights, and I appreciated the way those insights made me feel. I had studied and taught the gospel for two years, but I didn’t seem to have the necessary skills to feed myself on a regular basis. I was just reading the scriptures and not really searching them diligently.

Gospel study is much like learning to paint. It is not intuitive or natural for everyone. We would not think of giving someone a paint palette and expect that person to become an artist immediately. Becoming a self-reliant gospel learner is the same. We can’t expect to discover great insights on a regular basis if we haven’t learned some basic gospel-study skills. President Packer explained that the scriptures “contain the fulness of the everlasting gospel, an eternity of knowledge. But one must learn to use them or the search will be discouraging.”6

That’s how it was for me—discouraging—when I first tried to find meaning and guidance from my scripture study. So I began to analyze how the speakers got their insights. It took a while, but I eventually saw how they extracted specific statements of doctrine from the scriptures; how they mined meaningful teachings about the Savior from the verses; how they formulated life-guiding principles from scriptural phrases; how they interpreted symbols; and how they connected the teachings of prophets and apostles to specific verses of scripture.

As I continued my study of the scriptures and the teachings of prophets and apostles, I found myself asking questions:
What doctrine is being taught in these verses, and what do I learn about that doctrine?
Where and when have I seen this gospel principle effectively applied?
What do I learn about Heavenly Father and His plan for my happiness?
What do I learn about Jesus Christ and His Atonement?
What does the Lord want me to learn from this?
What inspired thoughts and feelings am I receiving as I read?
Is there something here that helps me with a current challenge in my life?
What do I learn that will help me live from day to day?

As my scripture study changed, so did my teaching. I became more interested in helping people discover gospel truths that would guide them than I was in telling them what the scriptures meant to me.7 It thrilled me to see the joy others felt when they discovered something new. It was, and is, one of the most gratifying experiences of my teaching experience.

I also found that when I helped those I taught consistently use the skills and questions above, their ability to become self-reliant gospel learners accelerated. They didn’t have to go through the long process I went through.

When I was 16, I had the opportunity to attend general conference in person for the first time. My family was living in western Oregon, USA, and we drove to Utah to attend conference and to drop off my older brother at the missionary training center.
I went to the conference with a desire to be taught by the Holy Ghost. As a result, I received a manifestation from the Spirit that I probably would not have received had I not prepared myself.
During one of the sessions, everyone stood and sang the congregational hymn, “Guide Us, O Thou Great Jehovah.” As we sang, I had the distinct impression to look around the Conference Center. I did and was struck by the power of the unity of the thousands of people there as we all raised our voices in praise to God.
Then I had an experience where I felt like Nephi when he saw the vision of the tree of life, for the Spirit told me, “Look” (see 1 Nephi 11–14). I looked at President Thomas S. Monson and felt that the unity of the Church existed because we are led by a living prophet. Through the witness of the Holy Spirit, I know President Monson is the true prophet for our day, and I know that Jesus Christ leads this Church through him.

In college I was given the privilege of joining a very elect honorary engineering society. As I attended the initiatory activities, everyone was drinking. I asked for a soft drink and was handed a glass. As I raised it to my lips, I could smell alcohol. I looked around the room. All the eyes were on me. These were professionals who had just given me a great honor. Should I pretend to drink so as not to offend? No. I set the glass down and then noticed that three other inductees also set their glasses aside. Do what is right, and others will follow your example. Every time you make the right choice in the face of potential criticism, you build strength that makes it easier the next time. The reverse is also true. Satan counts on that.

The president of the Cardston Temple told me this incident. He said, “A group of young people came to go through the temple for the first time to do baptisms for the dead. After they had gone through two or three baptismal sessions and were about ready to go back home, I suggested that they could come down to my office and I would attempt to answer any questions they might have. I talked to them about their own baptisms. I said, ‘After your own baptism, you were told to receive the Holy Ghost, which means that the Holy Ghost will guide and bless you if you are worthy. If anyone should oppose you, or bring harm to you, you can overcome that opposition by the influence of the Holy Ghost.’
“I looked around and saw a pleasant young girl sobbing. She said, ‘When I was baptized, my mother cursed me. Every time I would go out she was vile and called me wicked names. When I told her I was going to the temple, she profaned and said I was no daughter of hers. I have been fasting ever since I left home that here in the temple I would be given a guide and the power to overcome the opposition of my mother. I was going away disappointed. But now, at the last moment, you have given me the key.’ A smile lit up on her face as she said, ‘I am going to bring Mother within the influence of the power of the Holy Ghost which I have a right to enjoy.’”
Then the president said, “Weeks went by, and a letter came from this girl. The letter said, ‘When I returned home and entered the house, mother greeted me similarly to the way she had when I left, by profaning. On other occasions I had fought back, but this time I walked over and put my arm around her shoulder and said, “Mother, I am not going to quarrel with you today. I want you to come over on the couch and sit down beside me. I want to tell you something.” This surprised Mother. As we sat down, we touched cheeks so that in actuality the Spirit would emanate from me to her, and I bore my testimony. I told her what a wonderful experience I had had in the temple. And to my amazement, Mother burst into tears and begged my forgiveness.’
“The girl closed her letter by saying, ‘We are now preparing Mother to be baptized a member of the Church.’”

But think of the day when you must know what God would say and what He would do. It has already come for us all—wherever you are in your calling in the priesthood. I grew up in the mission field in the eastern United States during World War II. The members of the Church lived far apart, and there was strict gas rationing. I was the only deacon in the branch. The members gave their fast-offering envelopes to the branch president when they came to fast and testimony meeting in our home.

When I was 13 years old, we moved to Utah to live in a large ward. I remember my first assignment to walk to homes to collect fast offerings. I looked at the name on one of the envelopes I was given and noticed the last name was the same as one of the Three Witnesses of the Book of Mormon. So I knocked on the door with confidence. The man opened the door, looked at me, scowled, and then barked at me to go away. I went away with my head down.

That was nearly 70 years ago, but I still remember the feeling I had that day on the doorstep that there was something I was supposed to have said or done. If only I had prayed in faith as I went out that day, I might have been inspired to stand a moment longer on that doorstep, smile, and say something like: “It is good to meet you. Thank you for what you and your family have given in the past. I look forward to seeing you next month.”

Had I said and done that, he might have been even more irritated—and even offended. But I know now how I might have felt. Rather than feeling sadness or failure as I walked away, I might have felt the soft commendation in my mind and heart: “Well done.”

We ought to remember we don’t dictate to God the timing of His answers to us and the content of what comes in response to our prayers. I learned this when I was about 16. I was in the pageant at Hill Cumorah. I lived in New Jersey at the time, and they had some of the youth from New Jersey and New York as participants. I thought I had a deep belief in the Prophet Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon and felt that they were true and that the First Vision was as he described it. I thought, “This is the perfect chance. I’ll go to the Sacred Grove one night after the performance and get the final confirmation I need there.”

So I did. I went there late one night. It was a beautiful summer evening. Nobody else was there—perfectly reverent and peaceful. And I prayed. I didn’t ask for anything specific. I just said, “Can I have some confirmation of my belief?” Really I wanted a testimony of my feeling about the Prophet and the Book of Mormon.

Nothing happened. I prayed a long time—I’m sure more than an hour. Nothing. I was really disappointed. I said, “What did I do wrong? Why didn’t the Lord answer me? Wasn’t it the perfect place, the perfect time? What should I have done that I didn’t do?”

Later, what I was looking for came, but it was at home in a quiet moment when I was reading the Book of Mormon. That witness from the Holy Ghost flooded over me, and I knew. I knew I knew. And when I looked back on the experience, I said, “Why didn’t He answer my prayer then? Why was it later?” I learned two important lessons from that:

First, you don’t have to be any place special for the Lord to answer your prayer. You don’t have to make a pilgrimage to Palmyra or Jerusalem or anything like that. He knows where you are. He knows your name. He can answer you right here, right now, any moment.

And second, you don’t dictate to God. You just don’t tell Him what and when. That comes according to His will and His timing and His wisdom. He loves us; He knows what’s best for us, and our job is to be open. Our job is always to be willing and ready to receive. Then He knows what’s best and when to answer us and how to answer us. So, after all is said and done, we still have to live by faith.

“This really happened here?” Sharon murmured. The bronze statue showed Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery kneeling before John the Baptist to receive the Aaronic Priesthood.
“We don’t know exactly where the event happened,” Dad said, “but we know that Joseph and Oliver were praying somewhere near the river when John the Baptist appeared. The Melchizedek Priesthood was restored later by Peter, James, and John.”
Sharon listened to the Susquehanna River gurgling behind the trees and felt warm sunlight shining on her face. A peaceful, happy feeling swelled inside her. She felt that way a lot lately.
She and her family were traveling with a group visiting some Church history sites. She had felt the Spirit in the Sacred Grove, at the Hill Cumorah, and now here in what was once called Harmony, Pennsylvania.
“I believe what happened here,” she thought, “but I have a hard time imagining it.” The word priesthood reminded her of her brother passing the sacrament or Dad giving her a blessing, not angels appearing.
As she climbed back into the car, she took one last glance toward the peaceful river and tried to picture the glorious event that had occurred. But it seemed like too much for her mind to grasp.
A week later, the tour group stayed at a campground with a fun playground. Sharon enjoyed running around after a long day in the car, and she hardly noticed when fireflies started coming out.
“It’s getting dark. We should probably go in soon,” her friend Emily said. “Come push me on the swing one more time.”
Sharon agreed. As Emily gained momentum, Sharon pushed harder. “Faster!” Emily giggled.
Suddenly, Emily’s little sister Darcy darted through the darkness—right into Emily’s path. Emily’s feet rammed into Darcy, and she crumpled to the ground.
Emily leaped from the swing and fell beside her motionless sister. “Darcy! Darcy! Are you OK?”
Darcy didn’t respond. She looked like a limp potato sack lying on the ground.
Sharon’s heart pumped wildly as she tried not to panic. “Stay here!” she told Emily. “I’ll go get help.”
Sharon found Emily’s dad, and they ran back to the swings. Sharon breathed with relief as Darcy opened her eyes and whimpered. Then Darcy clutched her arm and screamed in pain.
“Emily, please go tell Uncle Steve that we need to give Darcy a blessing,” Emily’s dad said. He scooped Darcy into his arms and hurried toward their campsite.
Emily grabbed Sharon’s arm. “Come with me!”
Sharon swallowed the lump in her throat as they explained to Emily’s uncle what had happened. It scared her to see adults acting so worried. The three hurried back to Emily’s campsite, Sharon silently praying that Darcy would be OK.
When they stepped inside the dimly lit trailer, Sharon saw Darcy lying calmly on the bed. A familiar, peaceful feeling came over her as Emily’s dad whispered in Darcy’s ear, “Uncle Steve and I are going to give you a blessing.”
Sharon folded her arms and closed her eyes while the men placed their hands on Darcy’s head. As she listened to the reverent words, a warm feeling grew stronger and stronger until she was tempted to open her eyes and peek. It felt as though warm sunlight were filling the room.
She remembered standing on the banks of the Susquehanna River the week before, sunlight shining through the trees. She remembered the bronze statue of John the Baptist, Joseph, and Oliver, and suddenly she understood what had happened there. Though she couldn’t see angels, she felt heaven’s power streaming into the room.
Her heart burst with joy as tears trickled down her cheeks. The priesthood wasn’t just something her brother used in church to pass the sacrament. It wasn’t just something that helped her dad say comforting words whenever he gave her a blessing. It was Heavenly Father’s glorious power to lead, bless, serve, and perform miracles—all restored through a humble latter-day prophet.
The sacred places Sharon had visited flashed through her mind, including Carthage Jail, where the Prophet Joseph had been martyred. She cried harder as she realized that Joseph Smith had sacrificed everything so that heaven’s power could be on earth today.
Emily’s dad said, “Amen,” and Sharon opened her eyes. She smiled to see she wasn’t the only one wiping away tears. Everyone else had felt the power, too.
The next day as Sharon and her family ate breakfast at the picnic table, Emily walked over to their campsite.
“Good morning, Emily,” Sharon’s mom greeted her.
“How’s Darcy?” Sharon’s dad asked. Sharon had told her parents all about what had happened.
Emily’s eyes danced. “My parents took her to the hospital to make sure she was OK, and do you know what the doctor said?”
Sharon shook her head.
“He looked at her arm and said that it was broken, but the X-rays proved him wrong. He said he’d never seen bruising like that without a broken bone, and he couldn’t understand why hers wasn’t broken.” Emily smiled knowingly.
Sharon grinned back, grateful that she understood why. It all went back to a miraculous event that had happened on the banks of the Susquehanna River—the day the priesthood was restored.

It had been a long, disappointing day, and now Elder Cooksey and I were walking through the rain of Puerto Montt, a city in the Chile Osorno Mission. We had lost three families from our investigator pool. Two were unable—perhaps unwilling—to commit to keeping some of the commandments, while the third family felt they couldn’t leave the pastor of their current church, a man who was this family’s close, personal friend.
We knew that all three families had testimonies of the gospel, yet they were no longer interested in listening to our message. I was in the depths of despair. As we walked through the cold rain that night, I thought, What’s the use? We were struggling to share something that no one wanted to hear. I wondered what I was doing. I was in this strange country, far from family and friends, and now to make matters worse I was soaking wet.
As I dried myself after arriving home late that night, I crawled into my bed, ready to do battle with fleas. I opened the Book of Mormon at random and glanced at a page. The words of Ammon helped me find the answer to my despair.
“And we have entered into their houses and taught them, and we have taught them in their streets; yea, and we have taught them upon their hills; and we have also entered into their temples and their synagogues and taught them; and we have been cast out, and mocked, and spit upon, and smote upon our cheeks; and we have been stoned, and taken and bound with strong cords, and cast into prison; and through the power and wisdom of God we have been delivered again.
“And we have suffered all manner of afflictions, and all this, that perhaps we might be the means of saving some soul; and we supposed that our joy would be full if perhaps we could be the means of saving some” (Alma 26:29–30).
This passage brought me back to reality, and I had the answer I was looking for. That was why I was in a foreign land, and that is why we serve missions—that perhaps we might be the means of saving some soul.

As a new convert to the Church, I always like to help the missionaries in my ward. I’ve often seen that even when investigators aren’t comfortable with hearing the discussions, they are happy to participate in family home evening.

One time I invited the full-time missionaries and an entire nonmember family to my family home evening. Before they arrived, I fasted and prayed that the Spirit would be present and would open their hearts to the gospel. We watched a missionary video about helping families progress and developing trust. Afterward we shared our feelings about the video. The Spirit was so strong.

Now this wonderful family is willing to learn more about the gospel by meeting with the missionaries. We have all been invited to help with missionary work, and I have seen that family home evenings are an effective way to share with others the joy of having the gospel in my life.

Maria de los Angeles Vilca Zeballos, Peru

Recently, I read about Erik Weihenmayer, a 33-year-old man who dreamed of climbing Mount Everest, a feat that defies many of the world’s most expert climbers. In fact, nearly 90 percent of those who attempt the climb never reach the summit. Temperatures sink lower than 30 degrees below zero. Besides extreme cold, 100-mile-per-hour winds, deadly crevasses, and avalanches, the climber must overcome the challenges of high altitude, lack of oxygen, and perhaps unsanitary food and water. Since 1953, at least 165 climbers have died in the attempt to scale the 29,000-foot-high summit.

In spite of the risks, hundreds line up each year to make the ascent, Erik among them. But there is an important difference between Erik and every other climber who had attempted to ascend before: Erik is totally blind.

When Erik was 13 years of age, he lost his sight as a result of a hereditary disease of the retina. Although he could no longer do many of the things he wanted to, he was determined not to waste his life feeling depressed and useless. He then began to stretch his limits.

At age 16 he discovered rock climbing. By feeling the face of the rock, he found handholds and footholds that allowed him to climb. Sixteen years later, he began his ascent up Mount Everest. The story of his climb, as you might imagine, was filled with many harrowing and life-threatening challenges. But Erik eventually scaled the south summit and took his place with those who had gone before him, one of the few to stand on top of the highest mountain on the face of the earth.

When asked how he did it, Erik said, “I just kept thinking … keep your mind focused. Don’t let all that doubt and fear and frustration sort of get in the way.” Then, most importantly, he said, “Just take each day step by step.”

Yes, Erik conquered Everest by simply putting one foot in front of the other. And he continued to do this until he reached the top.

Like Erik, we may have obstacles that would hold us back. We may even make excuses why we can’t do what we want to do. Perhaps when we are tempted to justify our own lack of achievement, we can remember Erik, who, in spite of having lost his sight, accomplished what many thought was impossible simply by continuing to put one foot in front of the other.

I was given an assignment to prepare an entry for my school’s social studies fair. The title of my project was “How Does The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints Teach Its Youth to Live Their Religion?” I interviewed 40 members of my ward. Then I charted their answers and wrote my research paper. I also narrated a slide show that showed many of our church activities.
My project won “Best in Fair” at the school, county, and regional levels. I did not win at the state level, but that was OK because my project taught people how the Church works. I even got to teach the judges about the Church. I think it was a good missionary project.

Katie rummaged through the storage box, carefully looking through the crumpled packing paper. She still couldn’t find what she was looking for.
She put everything back in the box and went to find Mom.
Katie had looked behind the piano, under the couch, even in Thomas’s crib. It was lost. She had to tell Mom.
“Mommy, the baby Jesus is lost!”
Katie led Mom to the nativity set in the living room. Joseph and Mary and the shepherds were there. The Wise Men—even a camel and a donkey—were there. All of the figures were gathered around the empty manger.
“It looks that way, doesn’t it?” Mom said.
“I can’t find Him anywhere! I looked and looked.” The nativity would be ruined without the baby Jesus.
Mom went to the bookshelf. “He isn’t lost,” she said as she reached up and took something from the top shelf.
Katie sighed in relief. “There He is!” she said. “I’ll go put Him in the manger.”
She reached for the figurine, but Mom put it back on the shelf. “This year we’re going to put the baby Jesus in the manger on Christmas morning,” Mom said. “It’s a tradition Dad learned in France.”
“But everyone looks so sad,” Katie said.
“I don’t think they’re sad,” Mom said. “To me, it looks more like they’re waiting.”
Katie looked at the figures. She could see the place in the manger where baby Jesus belonged. Some of the figurines were reaching out to the empty spot.
“I guess so,” Katie said.
“Remember before Thomas was born how excited you were for him to come?” Mom asked.
Katie smiled at her baby brother, who was playing on a blanket. “It felt like forever!” she said.
“Did you know that prophets waited for thousands of years for Jesus to come to help us return to live with Heavenly Father?” Mom asked.
Katie remembered seeing a picture in Primary of a prophet writing about the Savior’s birth. “I think so,” she said.
“Prophets like Isaiah thought about and wrote about what the Savior would do when He came,” Mom said. “They spent their whole lives waiting for Him to be born. That’s one of the reasons we set up the nativity like this, to remind us that many people waited a long time for the Savior to come.”
“I would get tired of waiting my whole life,” Katie said, looking at the shepherds who were waiting for Jesus.
“But there’s also another reason we do this,” Mom said.
“What?”
“Do you remember in family home evening when we talked about the Second Coming?”
Katie thought for a minute. “Isn’t that when Jesus comes again?
“That’s right,” Mom said.
“When will that happen?” Katie asked.
“Well, we don’t know. But we’re waiting for Jesus to come, just like the shepherds in the nativity and just like the ancient prophets. That’s the other reason we’re waiting until Christmas to put the baby Jesus in the nativity—to remind us that we’re waiting for Jesus too.”
“Will He come to a manger again?” Katie asked.
“No, He won’t be a baby again. The next time Jesus comes, He’ll be resurrected. But the empty manger in the nativity reminds us that just like you’re waiting for Christmas morning, and just like people waited for Jesus to come to earth, now we’re waiting for Him to come back. We didn’t lose the baby Jesus. This is part of the way our family plans to remember Him.”
“We just need to wait,” Katie said with a smile.
“That’s right,” Mom said.
“OK,” Katie said. “But while we’re waiting, can we make some sugar cookies?”

I would like to tell you just one little experience of my own along that line. When I was a young fellow and was out at the old Saltair beach dance hall on Great Salt Lake, when that was reckoned to be the finest dance hall in all America, one of my girl friends came up and said, “LeGrand, we are having a banquet downstairs. Wouldn’t you like to join us?” Now you know the old saying that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I couldn’t turn that one down. So I took hold of her hand and went hopscotching down the steps over to the north end of that eating hall. We approached a long table that was all spread, and I saw by every plate a tall beer bottle like they used to have in those days. As soon as I could see that that was where we were headed, I stopped just like I was shot. I looked at that table, and I looked at that girl, and there I was, holding her hand. She said, “What’s the matter? Are you too good to drink a little beer?” Now you know if you have hold of a girl’s hand, you have to think pretty fast when she talks to you like that. I had to think fast.
I said, “Well, Elsie, I guess I am. I thought you were.”
“Goodbye,” I said, and I went up those steps a lot faster than I came down them.

If this really works, it is the greatest source of happiness to be found on earth. Let me cite one more example as it was written in a recent Ensign magazine.
“In the summer of 1953 I was a sixteen-year-old apprentice actress. … Our lead actress was a pretty red-haired girl who had won the lead role in a competition (so I understood) in New York. … She and I shared a suite of rooms, and every morning when I woke up I saw [her] sitting on her bed reading. I awoke to that sight, no matter what the hour, for four months.
“The news quickly spread that she was a Mormon, and in an environment where morals simply did not exist, she was as pure as snow. No drinking, no smoking, not even in plays, and no men in her room. She loved everyone, and she was so gentle and friendly even though she was the “star.” And always in the morning she was reading and reading, not her scripts, but some other books and magazines that she had brought with her.
“She never talked to me about her religion, and I never asked her. But I never forgot her.
“Many years later, after I had married and already had two children, my husband and I became dissatisfied with our spiritual lives. We took religion courses and went to all kinds of churches, but we still were not satisfied.
“Then I remembered [her]. She had been, they said, a Mormon. We had no idea what a Mormon was, and I didn’t remember even talking about them in school history. So I went to the public library in the little Alabama town of Opelika, and checked out the only thing I could find: ‘Mormon, The Book of.’ In the back was a list of mission homes and I wrote to the nearest one, which was in Georgia, and asked if they accepted converts. The rest is part of our family history.
“I’ve never been able to find that young lady to tell her that, because she lived her religion in a way that I could not forget, thirty-seven people on both sides of our families are members of the Church. Countless others in the spirit world also have been given the opportunity.” (Ensign, Dec. 1977, p. 62.)

Imagine a concert featuring 20 of the best young musicians in a major metropolitan area, all performing barefoot! That’s what happened during Zack Clark’s Eagle Scout service project. He organized a concert to benefit children in need of footwear, and the musicians decided to emphasize the point by going without shoes or socks while they were on stage.
Admission to the concert was a pair of new shoes or socks, and 235 pairs of socks, 91 pairs of shoes, and other articles of clothing were donated for a local children’s home. Scouts from Zack’s troop distributed flyers promoting the event, served as ushers, prepared snacks, set up for the concert, and delivered items to the shelter, contributing more than 700 hours of service.

Four-year-old Jayde Cluff’s sixty-cent donation to help victims of the 11 September 2001 terrorist attack touched hearts across the nation and inspired others to donate, too.
When Jayde, who was living in Utah, saw a news broadcast of the attack, she was very sad. Three days later, while walking to preschool, she gave her mother a handful of dimes and said, “Mommy, this can help the people who were hurt in those towers.” Her mother knew that Jayde had been saving her ten-cents-a-week allowance for a long time. “That’s the money you’ve been saving for your doll,” she reminded Jayde. “Send that money to New York,” Jayde said.
So the next day, Jayde and Mommy taped the six dimes to a letter to the New York City mayor, Mayor Rudolph Giuliani. Mommy wrote, “I know this contribution is only pennies, but we are a family of little means, and this is my daughter’s greatest treasure. Please send it where it can help someone.”
Word of Jayde’s sacrifice reached the manufacturer of the doll she wanted, and they sent her 17 dolls and clothing and other things for them in a box taller than she was. Moments after opening the box, Jayde drew out a particular doll and told her mother, “This is the doll, Mommy. This is the one I want to give to the little girl who lost her daddy,” referring to a firefighter’s little girl whom Jayde had seen on television. Jayde’s parents were able to locate the girl and send her the doll so that it arrived on her birthday.
A hotel worker heard about what Jayde was doing, and his heart was touched. He sent her another doll. A New York police officer sent her some police badges and another doll. More dolls came from other people whose hearts were touched. Altogether, she received 46 dolls and other toys and gifts!
Jayde gave all of the things to grieving families and to other needy children. Mommy talked to the families to learn which doll would be best for each child. If there was a boy in the family, a different toy was sent for him. Children who lived as far away as Washington and Arizona received dolls from Jayde. Some went to the local Toys for Tots organization.
And Jayde’s effort to be like Jesus Christ inspired her sisters, too. They have raised money by doing chores. Jayde’s sixty-cent donation came from her heart—and touched the hearts of many people all across the nation.

On the other hand, Jill and Kent Sorensen, who are from the same stake, say one of the best ways to strengthen their family has been to serve away from home. Sister Sorensen says, “One of the main excuses couples give for not going is grandkids, married children with struggles, daughters expecting babies, aging parents—you name it. Family is a priority, and you miss them every day. But going on a mission sends a powerful message that missionary work is important too.”
Besides, Elder Sorensen notes, “there are so many ways to keep in touch now that you can check in all the time.”
The Sorensens’ missionary journey began three years ago, when their bishop asked them to host monthly firesides for couples contemplating missionary service. “After talking about it constantly,” Sister Sorensen says, “we had to go ourselves!” They received a call to serve in the Cook Islands, where Jill’s grandparents served 50 years ago.
Today, among other duties, they are asked to teach Bible classes in schools.
“We talk about Christ being the rock,” Elder Sorensen says. “We give the students a small rock and encourage them to remain rock solid in Christ. Now everywhere we go, people say, ‘Rock solid!’ when they see us.”