Gospel Story Finder

As a young boy, I learned to love the dramatic changes in the seasons of the year in southwest Montana, where I grew up. My favorite season was fall—the time of the harvest. Our family hoped and prayed that our months of hard work would be rewarded with a bountiful harvest. My parents worried over the weather, the health of animals and crops, and many other things over which they had little control.
As I grew, I became even more aware of the urgency involved. Our livelihood depended upon the harvest. My father taught me about the equipment we used to harvest grain. I watched as he would move the machinery into the field, cut a small swath of grain, and then check behind the combine to make sure that as much grain as possible landed in the holding tank and was not thrown out with the chaff. He repeated this exercise several times, adjusting the machine each time. I ran alongside and pawed through the chaff with him and pretended that I knew what I was doing.
After he was satisfied with the adjustments to the machine, I found some kernels of grain in the chaff on the ground and presented them to him with a critical look. I will not forget what my father said to me: “It is good enough and the best that this machine can do.” Not really satisfied with his explanation, I pondered the imperfections of this harvest.
A short time later, when the weather turned cold in the evenings, I watched thousands of migrating swans, geese, and ducks descend onto the fields to nourish themselves on their long journey south. They ate the leftover grain from our imperfect harvest. God had perfected it. And not a kernel was lost.

The answer didn’t come all at once. It came the same way the Lord often guides us: through small, consistent moments of light.

I learned from my former chief information officer, Tracy, of a special prayer he offered every year that he was employed here at BYU. On the anniversary of his hire date, he and his wife would walk around campus with a prayer in their hearts, asking the Lord if this was still where they needed to be. I followed his example while I was at BYU, and I continued to do this at BYU–Hawaii. Every year I prayed and received confirmation to stay. This past year I prayed and had a sense that something was changing.

At BYU–Hawaii, plans were announced for the groundbreaking that would mark the beginning of the construction phase of a five-year project to renew and revitalize the heart of campus. I was especially looking forward to the groundbreaking because of a meaningful family connection to the original building.

In 1955, my husband’s grandfather, Lausi’i Tafua, was present for both the groundbreaking and the dedication of the McKay Building at what was then called the Church College of Hawaii. Being there this past year for the groundbreaking of the new building that will replace the original McKay Building felt like a full-circle moment, connecting past and present in a very personal way.

What a great blessing it was to continue Grandpa Lausi’i’s light and legacy of service in building the kingdom of God in Laie at BYU–Hawaii. This experience gives but a small glimpse of the special spirit of BYU–Hawaii and the place it holds in our hearts as a family. It was during the new groundbreaking that I received personal revelation to my prayers. And that revelation came in a moment I will never forget.

I am grateful for the special light and love that Relief Society general president Camille N. Johnson brought to campus. During her visit, Sister Johnson shared many thoughts that resonated with me.

In the Ohana meeting for all faculty and staff, Sister Johnson shared how plants that need repotting are taken out and the roots put into new pots to grow and expand. In the groundbreaking ceremony, Sister Johnson described the symbolism of the turning of the dirt and invited us to also turn our hearts to the Lord and to His work. In the President’s Council luncheon, she invited us all to share what we had celebrated in the last six months, and I shared about the birth of my ninth grandchild.

Halfway through the President’s Council luncheon, Vice President Kevin Schlag asked Sister Johnson, “With all the work that is scheduled for our campus, what is your advice to the President’s Council?”

I recall her taking a breath and looking around. Then her sky-blue eyes looked straight at me. Her response to the question was, “Take care of yourselves and take care of your family.”

In that moment I was deeply touched and felt light and warmth come into my heart, providing a clarity I hadn’t been able to create on my own. I felt the pull toward my family. I had been an ocean away from my children and grandchildren for the past three years. Through prayer and temple worship, I felt the Spirit confirm my next steps.

The Lord didn’t show me the entire path, but He gave me enough light for the next step. I was reminded:
Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.5
I am grateful that as I chose to trust Him, He then opened the next chapter of my life and brought me back to BYU.

I came to realize that paradise is not paradise without my posterity. Prosperity means very little without posterity. During this time of uncertainty—as in many other times in my life—I was grateful for my mother’s ray of light, which comforted me. Her prayers and faith in giving thanks to the Lord and trusting in His plan ignited the dim light of faith that I was feeling at the time.

In the summer of 1971 I was an undergraduate here at BYU and had been home from a mission for less than a year. I was in school and working hard in classes and at a part-time job.
I was assigned by my elders quorum president to home teach several people that summer.
My companion and I began contacting our people, two of whom were not much involved in the Church at the time. One of these was an attractive young lady who lived alone in a basement apartment. She seldom attended Sunday meetings and didn’t “do appointments” with home teachers. She would talk to us if we happened to catch her at her apartment. It usually took several attempts each month to connect with her. As the weeks passed, we made a special effort to get to know her. I think she was beginning to trust us, and even like us. She was becoming less evasive and guarded.
She was an interesting and engaging person. Attractive and witty, she held her own in conversation. She resisted being anyone’s service project and telegraphed just enough cynicism and mistrust to keep herself isolated from the well-intentioned. I sensed that she had been injured by people she had trusted the most and that her edginess and cynical humor were worn for self-protection. I was beginning to take on this relationship as a personal challenge, and I’ll admit that I was beginning to enjoy the challenge.
One day, walking alone past her apartment on my way to campus, I decided to stop and knock on her door and see if I could catch her at home. I had some pretext for stopping. I don’t remember what it was, but it was enough of an excuse to make the call seem comfortable. No one answered the door, so I went on my way.
A few days later I was in the company of my brother, Gene, who was serving in the bishopric of the same ward I was attending. He had just extended a calling to me in an interview and we were visiting for a few minutes before his next appointment. He asked me about my home teaching assignments and particularly how our efforts were going at helping this young lady. I mentioned casually that I had recently stopped by her place on my way to the campus but hadn’t found her home.
At that moment the expression on my brother’s face changed visibly. He looked carefully at me, put his hand on my forearm, and with that voice and expression I had come to know so well—the voice of the older brother—he said, “Michael, don’t ever, ever go over there on your own. Don’t risk being alone with her by yourself. Take your companion or call one of your quorum leaders or call me, but don’t go alone.”
I nodded and mumbled something like “fine” or “okay” and changed the subject to something that would let me quickly end the conversation. I ended it and left. I don’t know to this day if my brother heard the edge in my voice or noticed that I was suddenly very turned off. I was eager to get out of there and to get away from him. I was mad. He had given me some very direct counsel, and I had chosen, in an instant—as we so often choose on those occasions—to take offense.
Looking back on it, my reaction embarrasses me. It is very clear to me now why I was so offended. This response from my brother had cut me to the quick. He had felt impressed to tell me in that moment exactly what I most needed to hear. He had spoken the truth in love and courage, and I had retreated in resentment to sulk.
Ironically, his uninvited counsel worked. I followed his advice, and I was a lot more careful about home teaching and lot of other things throughout the rest of that summer. The effectiveness and care of my service improved. I don’t have much to report about the other events of that season. The summer passed quietly with no drama and no heartbreak. By the way, that young lady moved from the ward at the end of the summer feeling better about her relationship with the Lord and with His church.
I truly believe now that through that one moment of unsolicited warning, delivered by an inspired messenger, I had been rescued from a temptation I was beginning to caress in my mind and heart.
But I rewarded my rescuer with a cold shoulder for several days afterward.
A cold shoulder and the resentment of another are often the reward for speaking the truth in love and courage. But that speaking out and reaching out are what great and inspired people do. My brother had put up a guardrail for me to glance off of. I was close to an edge that I did not see—or did not want to see.

Today is one of those days when getting out of bed is nothing but a trial. Six o’clock is just too early for any sane soul to be up. Even the birds aren’t yet awake! And besides, it’s Sunday—a day when I should be resting from my labors. But I have to go to work, and needless to say, I’m not thrilled. But I’ll go, grudgingly. Just let me sleep ten more minutes.
My name is Jana, and that is the attitude I had on that certain Sunday morning. Even though I love my work as a nurse at LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City, I just wasn’t in the mood to be there.
I arrived at the hospital promptly at 7:05; I was supposed to arrive at 7:00. Seeing the time on the clock in the hall, I panicked and pushed the elevator button several times, only to see that the elevator was on the fifth floor and not coming down. No time to waste. I ran up the six flights of stairs. By the time I reached the top, I was exhausted—huffing and puffing, my heart pounding in my ears in rebellion against the sudden exertion. I was relieved to know that I was in a hospital and if I had a heart attack, someone could save me.
I went down the hall, passing the clerk who looked up from her work and said without emotion. “They’ve started without you.” I smiled and stumbled into the report room where all the other nurses were gathered, to receive instructions for the day.
In the meeting several patients were assigned to me, each with special problems and needs. I had baths to give, bed linens to change, equipment to monitor, temperatures to check, food trays to deliver, medical charts to complete, medications to administer, bandages to change, sore muscles to rub, and to top it all off, doctors to please. Unfortunately, the work was not going to get done by itself. I had no choice but to start on the work.
In the midst of all the activity, a voice came over the loud speaker in the hall, “Any patient who would like to go to church, please notify your nurse.” Oh yes, I had almost forgotten; it was Sunday. I asked each of my patients if they wanted to attend the short half-hour meeting. No one seemed interested; most were too ill or too tired. That was how I felt too. Only one little lady, Mrs. Whitmer, an arthritis and bone cancer patient, answered my question with a quiet yes. This dear woman—who was confined to bed and in pain with every movement, every touch—desired to attend the meeting.
I told the brethren conducting the meeting that Mrs. Whitmer needed to be wheeled to church in her bed. Then without delay, I hurriedly prepared her for the trip, combing her hair, washing her face, and changing her gown and bed linen. She grimaced with pain at every move, but she never uttered a word of complaint. No sooner had I finished getting her ready than the brethren came for her, and off she went. I turned my attention to other patients without giving her another thought.
The day progressed, and finally my work period was over. I could relax! Before leaving duty I checked once more on the patients who had been under my care. Mrs. Whitmer had long since returned from church and was resting calmly—and so was everyone else, thank goodness. As quickly as I had run to work that morning, I ran back to my apartment, ending another working day.
A few days later when I was working the evening shift, just as I was ready to finish, the call light went on in room 4. I thought, “Why do they wait until I’m ready to leave before they call for me?” But I really didn’t mind. I went down the hall through the darkness to the patient’s bedside. It was Mrs. Whitmer.
“Jana?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
She reached out and gently took my hand. In a quiet, quivering voice she said, “I just wanted to thank you for helping me get to church last Sunday. I haven’t been for awhile because I’ve been so ill, and you’ll never know how much it meant to me that day to go. When I partook of the sacrament …” There was a long pause; then in trembling words she continued: “I felt God’s Spirit, and I just knew that Christ is my Savior.” And with that she began to cry. I realized that I too was shedding some tears. This beautiful woman, as weak as she was, was stronger than I had ever been. She had a glowing testimony.
I couldn’t help but recall the times when I had only gone to church out of habit, never partaking of the Spirit, though I always partook of the bread and water. I also recalled the Sunday when I prepared Mrs. Whitmer for church and how hurriedly I had done so, as if it were a burden on me. Never would I feel that way again.
The two of us cried together that night, only for a few minutes, but it was long enough to share our souls. No other words were spoken; none needed to be. The tears and the touch of our hands had said it all.

In a small way, I experienced this spirit of sportsmanship while attending a BYU basketball game. My son and I were attending a game in the Marriott Center in 2009. The crowd was sparse with Christmas less than a week away. The opponent was Eastern Washington University. Nothing our opponent shot went in. Every shot was off the backboard, around the rim, or in and out. Every once in a while I glanced at the scoreboard. I saw 9–0, then 21–0; in fact, our BYU basketball team went ahead 33–0. I was beginning to find myself conflicted. I was thrilled we were winning, and yet my heart sank for these poor athletes from Eastern Washington. I began privately pleading for them to make a shot. They were about 800 miles from home, it was just before Christmas, they were in an opposing arena, and the ball wouldn’t drop through the hoop for them. Then suddenly they scored, and the Marriott Center erupted in spontaneous applause. I was never happier to be a Cougar as the fans began cheering Eastern Washington on. We didn’t stop cheering our team, but we were also cheering for our struggling opponent.

I had an interesting experience two or three years ago as I was assigned to the West Texas Region. The stake president there had a son who played football in high school, and I’d like to tell you that in Texas they take their football seriously. They take Texas seriously, as a matter of fact, and I learned many things there.

I happened to attend a game with the stake president where his son played in one of the quarter-final games for the state championship. (They eventually won the state.) I noticed an interesting thing before the game: both teams came out on the field, knelt down, and had prayer. You have to understand that Texas is in what is sometimes called the Bible Belt. There are many Baptists and Disciples of Christ, and it’s not uncommon to find towns in Texas that close entirely on Sunday and bar the sale of liquor, even though they’re not Mormon communities.

Well, our team won the game, and after the game the other team didn’t have much to pray about. Our team again knelt down on the field and had another prayer, and before they prayed all the high school students in the stands poured out on the field and joined the team. They covered nearly a fourth of the field, and they all joined in that prayer. I thought it was an impressive example. I can’t tell you how sincere they were, but I would assume that they meant what they were doing and they were grateful for their blessings.

We may not necessarily use that means to demonstrate our faith in Christ, but we ought not to be behind others in our positions as true witnesses of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Like my mother and my grandmothers, my wife, Delores, is a woman of faith. She has never complained about our Church assignments. In 1978 our six little daughters were all under age 12. We accepted a call to preside over a mission in Mexico, leaving behind our home and the year’s supply of food she’d worked hard to store. A few weeks after we accepted the mission call, she told me, “I think our seventh child is on the way.” Delores had no idea what medical care might be available in Mexico, or what having a baby in Mexico might be like. Many years after this experience, she told me that as we were leaving for Mexico on the airplane, she looked at our six beautiful daughters. Silently, she prayed that when we returned home in a few years, each of those six seats would be filled. We came home with eight children—each a blessing from the Lord. Delores likes to say that when we put the Lord’s work first, He blesses all our other work too.

Each year I feel the Christmas spirit in our home as we get out the Nativity scene and the other traditional decorations. And always, when we place the Christmas angel in her usual spot, I remember something that happened halfway around the world.
It’s 22 December 1970. I am in the jungle near the village of Song Be, South Vietnam. We can hear the supply helicopters coming. We prepare the landing zone for them and wait to receive supplies: food, water, ammunition, and, most important, letters and packages from home.
I make sure the men under my command have received their rations and have all their mail and packages. Then I take some time to read my own letters. My mind wanders, and many things trouble me as I read the letters—some of them mailed over four weeks ago. I’ve been in Vietnam for 335 days, most of them spent in combat. I feel calloused and frustrated with life. Here it is—three days before Christmas—and the one thing I’m thinking of is that I have only twenty-nine days left until my assignment ends and I’m on my way home. I hope my last combat missions will go well, that I’ll be able to leave my responsibilities and my men well, and that the officer replacing me will be the best one they could receive.
I have no thoughts of Christmas or of my Savior’s birth until I open the package with the beautiful white angel inside. She’s about twelve inches tall, is dressed in white clothes, has golden hair, and stands on a music box. I put her on top of an overturned ammunition can and begin to read the letter from my dear mother.
In her own words, she tells me the story of the birth of our Savior and bears a quiet, sweet testimony. I feel myself being lifted spiritually. My mother told me the Christmas story over and over when I was a child, but never did I feel the Spirit of Christ so close before.
I glance up from the letter and notice some of my men looking at the white angel. I wind up the music box, and no one says a word as the sound of “Silent Night” fills the air and the Christmas angel brings special emotions out in each one of us. Some tears are shed and feelings exchanged as the Spirit of Christ touches each one of us.
Later, as I pack and prepare to move out, I wrap the angel carefully and place her in my backpack. I think of home, family, and loved ones. But most of all, I think of Jesus and all that he has done for me.

When I was younger, I lived next door to an elderly lady who spent most of her time alone and seldom left her house. When she did leave, she would be gone for a long time, and that is when I went to work.
I would get a rake or snow shovel or broom and sneak around the tall wooden fence that separated our yards and do some yard work. Sometimes I would just leave her a plate of cookies with a note. I tried so hard to be a friend to the lady who lived there, and I thought that if I did these things for her she would be nice to me.
I really enjoyed the extra work because it made me feel good inside, but I thought I would feel even better if she would only acknowledge my kindness. I would watch her come home and feel disappointed because she never made an attempt to show thanks or appreciation. I had worked so hard and never received so much as a smile.
Then one Sunday at church we had a lesson on service, and I realized that I had been performing acts of service for my neighbor with the expectation of getting something in return. I went home and asked my mom about service and she gave me a scripture to read. It was Mosiah 2:17:
“And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”
That taught me a valuable lesson about my activities. And I knew that even if my neighbor didn’t seem to care about my efforts, my Heavenly Father did care.

For Damien, serving others was a natural part of growing up. He enjoyed going with his dad to help others move. “Service is what I am meant to do,” Damien says. He has often looked for ways to serve others—for instance, landscaping or sharing his technical abilities. So when he was asked to help with the Just Serve Club at his high school, Damien was ready to make it happen.
Damien had been a member of the Just Serve Club before. But when the previous leaders graduated, he was mostly on his own. Damien began the process of rebuilding the club.
It took a lot of work to recruit new members. During the week at the beginning of the school year when students promote the school clubs, Damien worked every day inviting people.
One young woman, Abby R., was excited to join. “I always wanted to be in the Just Serve Club,” she says. Her older sister had been president of the club a few years before.
She loves doing simple acts of service like opening a door or bringing treats for a friend. But the Just Serve Club provided a way to serve in bigger ways. “I went to every service activity I could,” Abby says.
At club meetings, members work together to write encouraging notes in cards for people in the local hospital or gather supplies for boxes to go to disadvantaged children. “It felt good to serve and help others during their struggles,” Abby says. “And service is a great way to connect with your peers.”
Damien says, “Watching students come together talking and laughing while they make cards helps me feel the Spirit.”
Damien and Abby have both found that service gives you an opportunity to think more about others and not just yourself. “You can get caught up in yourself and what you need to do for school,” Abby says. “Taking time to think about others and what’s going on in their lives helps you think about the Savior. It brings you peace and makes you happy.”
Abby has found that service brings her closer to the Lord as she is doing what He would want her to do. Damien has discovered serving and giving back is a way he can follow the Savior’s example. “The pure love of Christ is charity,” Damien says. “I try to embody charity, and it has helped me to grow so close to Christ.”
“Anywhere there is a need, you can make a difference,” Damien says. “That’s what Christ’s work is all about.”

I gazed at the girl sitting alone at the table across from mine. Her long hair hid her face, but I could sense her loneliness as she idly scooted food around her tray. I couldn’t help but feel selfish watching her eat by herself when I was surrounded by friends.
One of my friends suddenly elbowed me. “Sierra! I’m talking to you. Wake up!” My focus snapped back to the conversation at our lunch table.
“Oh, sorry! I wasn’t paying attention. Hey, do you guys see that girl sitting over there?” I nodded toward the young woman eating alone. “Do you know her name?”
My friends shrugged and returned to their conversation. Their laughter muddled into the noise of the cafeteria while my mind wandered back to the girl at the table. The thought came that I should do something to help her. “But what if she thinks I’m weird or if she’s waiting for her other friends?” I silently objected. But the thought returned, and I knew what I needed to do.
I shuffled nervously toward her, and she glanced up when I reached her table.
“Do you want to sit with us?” I asked.
She half nodded, gathered her belongings, and followed me as my friends scooted over to give her room to sit.
“I have two classes with you,” I said, “but I don’t think I’ve met you before. What’s your name?”
“Kelsey,”* she said. Her reply was barely audible.
For the rest of lunch, my friends and I asked about her interests and school schedule, trying to help her feel welcome. I could tell she was relieved not to be sitting alone. When lunch was over, a warm, light feeling filled my heart.
In the following weeks, Kelsey continued to sit with us at lunch. While her face always made it seem like she was fine, I could see pain in her eyes. She didn’t talk much about her background, but I could sense that there was a lot of stuff she was trying to keep hidden or forget about.
Months flew by, and I grew to love Kelsey. We enjoyed each other’s friendship. I was amazed by her lofty dreams and loving personality.
One day in our computer class, the teacher moved me next to Kelsey, who seemed to be struggling with some of the material. We spent hours working together, and I watched happily as her grade inched up to an A. For one assignment, we created time lines that included 10 major events in our lives. When Kelsey completed hers, she tapped me on the shoulder.
“Do you want to see my time line?” She grinned.
“Yeah, sure!” I looked over at her computer. Stifling a gasp, I read some of the sad events that had filled Kelsey’s life. My surprise reached its peak, however, when I read the final event on her time line: I met Sierra.
Stunned, I hugged her and whispered, “Oh, Kelsey. Thank you.”
Toward the end of the school year, Kelsey suddenly moved to California. About a year after that, Mrs. Cummings,* who worked at my school, told me she wanted to talk with me. She hesitantly explained that Kelsey had passed away over the weekend. Tears started pouring down my cheeks. Mrs. Cummings didn’t know—or at least couldn’t tell me—how it happened, but she did tell me some things about Kelsey that I hadn’t known before. Her life on earth was challenging. I cried for several days, but even through my tears, I was comforted because of the plan of salvation.
Back in that lunchroom, when I saw a girl sitting alone, Heavenly Father knew she was a daughter of His who needed a friend. He knows our needs and knows how we can meet the needs of others. Though it’s easy to ignore the promptings of the Spirit at times, I will forever be glad for the day I listened to the Spirit at lunch.

Some summers ago, my family met some friends at Waimea Bay for a lazy summer beach day. My son and his friend, during their turn on our paddleboard, got caught in a rip current that made it difficult for them to paddle back to shore. I watched over the course of a few minutes as they went from near the rock, to well past the rock, to finally outside the bay. I quickly grabbed my swim fins, mask and snorkel and raced into the water and began to swim. By the time I reached them, they were well past the bay and beyond sight of the sandy shore as they drifted toward Haleiwa. It was a long exhausting paddle back, me holding onto the back of the paddleboard kicking like an outboard motor.

Currents of sin are quick to sap us of the ability to grow spiritually. Once caught in sin, it can be painful and difficult to escape its hold. By applying the Atonement of Jesus Christ, we can be forgiven of sin and escape its telestial hold on us. I testify to you that this is true.

Equipped with wheelbarrows, gloves, shovels, trash bags, and plenty of energy, youth from the Salt Lake Holladay South Stake joined with young members of the Hindu, Jewish, Muslim, Greek Orthodox, and Catholic faiths to share similarities and offer service in the community. Braving a light spring drizzle, the group of about 200 teens filled the banks of a nearby river, clearing out weeds, laying fresh soil, and planting new shrubs. Eli Fullmer, a priest from the Holladay 18th Ward, explained how meeting youth of other faiths increased his desire to reach out. “I’m more ready to serve because I feel like I’m friends with everybody.”
By starting the project out with an interfaith worship service, the youth were able to focus on their common beliefs and devotion to God. After rendering service together, the teens participated in a memorial tree planting. They were reminded that they are all children of God. “We’re all similar,” reflected Danielle Chard, a Mia Maid from the Holladay 14th Ward. “We have similar standards. We’re all good people.”

Members of the choir rejoice that they are singing in “the Lord’s choir.” Duffie Hurtado, who has been singing in the choir for the past ten years, remembers, “After the choir sang at the dedication of the Washington D.C. Temple visitors’ center, we had the opportunity to be greeted by President Spencer W. Kimball, who shook our hands and thanked us for singing. At that point in my life, I was making some really serious decisions, and because of personal problems I was having, I felt it might be best if I left the choir. When I reached President Kimball, he took my hand and said, ‘This is the Lord’s choir, and this is where he wants you to be.’ I hadn’t told him I had a problem, or asked for his counsel. He just knew. With the other choir members around me in the line he just shook hands and said hello or thank you or God bless you. But when I stopped that’s what he said, and I will never forget it. I know that that man was a prophet of God, and I am so touched that the Lord would answer my prayers in such a special way.”

Phil’s successes are all the more impressive for the fact that he’s a hemophiliac. “I’ve learned to look at it as a blessing to me,” Phil said. “It’s a mechanism the Lord uses to humble me.” Because of the illness, Phil has attended special camps for the handicapped, an experience that has helped him gain sympathy for other people’s problems. He tells of making friends with one fellow named Frank, who didn’t seem to be handicapped at all—in fact, Frank won the camp wrestling contest. Then one night as they were getting ready for bed, Phil discovered that his friend had wooden arms and wooden legs. “He had so much self-esteem that it really lifted me above my own problems,” Phil said. Phil also noted that his illness has provided him with an opportunity to witness the power of the priesthood through blessings and anointings during particularly trying times.

1. Bobby knocked on his sister Alicia’s door. “Will you help me button my white shirt? I want to look just like the bishop.” Alicia smiled as she helped him. “You will look just like the bishop,” she said.
2. Bobby went to his brother Chris. “Will you help me tie my tie? I want to look just like the bishop.” Chris tied Bobby’s tie and said, “You will look just like the bishop.”
3. Bobby saw his sister Sarah fixing Laura’s hair. “Will you help me tie my brown shoes?” Bobby asked. “I want to look just like the bishop.” Sarah tied his shoes. “You will look just like the bishop,” she said.
4. “Don’t forget your suit coat,” Laura said. She helped him put his arms in the sleeves of the coat. “You will look just like the bishop.”
5. Bobby saw Mom looking in the mirror. “Mom, will you comb my hair? I want to look just like the bishop.” Mom sprayed Bobby’s hair with water and combed it. “You will look just like the bishop.”
6. Bobby stood at the front door. “Are we ready to go?” Bobby asked. “I want to be on time, just like the bishop.” “Don’t forget your scriptures,” Dad said. “You will need them to look like the bishop.”
7. Bobby picked up his scriptures. “Am I ready?” he asked. “You look just like the bishop,” Dad said.
8. At church, Bobby sat reverently as he waited for sacrament meeting to start. Then he saw a hand stretched out in front of him. It was the bishop! The bishop shook Bobby’s hand. “Is that you, Bobby?” the bishop asked. “I thought it was me!”

“Thanks for helping me get that broken water pipe fixed.”
Elder Jose Arcia laughs, “Oh, Hermana, we didn’t help much.” During their last visit, the woman’s eight-year-old boy had broken a pipe in the front yard, sending water gushing onto the sidewalk. After an hour, with a Church member’s help, they fixed it. Today, every time the boy starts to wander away from the discussion, Elder Arcia asks him simple questions and playfully draws him back.
The mother, who is separated from her husband, is impressed by the lesson. Elder Arcia and his companion teach sensitively, urging her to love God and her neighbors and obey the law of chastity and the Word of Wisdom. “In twenty years, after the missionaries are gone, will you still be obeying these laws?” he asks.
“Of course I will,” she answers. She’ll be baptized in two weeks.
Watching Elder Arcia teach, you’d assume he’s had years of Church experience. Actually, this twenty-four-year-old Panamanian entered the MTC thirteen days before completing even one year as a member.
Later, a U.S. missionary assistant to the mission president comments on Elder Arcia’s work in the Costa Rica Mission: “The president sends him to areas where the work isn’t going well. Wherever he goes, Elder Arcia sparks excitement, teaches a lot of discussions, and has baptisms. There’s something about him that we foreigners don’t have. He can get into doors we can’t enter!”

by Debbie Jones
“Yes, it is a gold wedding band.” As the young men and women of my ward gathered around to admire the band, all sorts of questions arose. “Whose could it be? Where did you find it? I wonder how long it has been buried in the flower garden?”
While my friends had been mowing, power raking, and shoveling in the widow’s yard, I had been weeding her flowerbed. Sister Kelly and I were digging out a big clump of grass and shaking the dirt off the roots when the precious ring fell out.
It’s always fun to find buried treasure, but that one unanswered question still remained: To whom did the ring belong? I thought how sorry the owner must have felt when he lost it and how much it would mean to him if he could get it back.
That night as I said my prayers, I asked the Lord to help me find the rightful owner. I knew I would need His help because the house had been rented to many couples over the years.
You can imagine my surprise when just two days later, the doorbell rang and at the door stood Brother Huff, asking me if I had his wedding band. He explained that he and his wife were spending some time in Salt Lake City. They were waiting in a restaurant for breakfast when their good friends, Brother and Sister Thatcher, walked by. They invited the couple to join them. In conversation, Sister Thatcher, my Young Women leader, mentioned the ring we had found. How excited they all were when Brother and Sister Huff discovered that the ring was found at the house where they lived 14 years ago! He had lost his wedding ring while raking leaves.
Brother Huff had since purchased another band, but he was thrilled to find his original wedding ring again. He offered me 20 dollars in appreciation, but I refused. I knew it was the Lord who really deserved the thanks. And besides, I was as happy as he was.
A short time later, the doorbell rang again, and there stood the florist with a beautiful arrangement of flowers. I opened the card and read the words, “Thanks again. Brother Huff.” The next day I took the bouquet to church to share with the Payson Utah Third Ward and all who were involved in that service project.
From this experience I received much more than flowers. I now have a stronger testimony of church service and prayer. Don’t miss your next project, because you never know what service surprises await you!

Illustrations by Maryn Roos
Matt and Mandy’s family is moving to a different city because of Dad’s job.
I’m leaving all of my friends behind!
Don’t worry, Matt. You make friends a lot easier than I do.
Yeah, I guess. But I still don’t know where my new school is. Or where my class will be. I’m sure I’ll get lost.
It’s scary right now because the future is foggy—like that day last winter when we got lost driving home from the movies.
That was actually kind of a fun adventure …
But we have each other, and we have the gospel. And if we hold on tight to those things, everything will work out.
Hmm. Fog? Holding on tight? Hey! It’s like Lehi’s dream in the Book of Mormon—holding on to the iron rod.
I guess it is.
And guess what else. Mandy, you know you’ve been looking forward to being old enough to go to the temple to do baptisms for the dead?
Mandy: Yes?
Well, our new home will be much closer to a temple.
Cool!
(To be continued.)

It was eleven o’clock at night. Elder Todd Bradford lay in bed, listening to the slow, even breathing of his companion as he slept across the room.
What had gone wrong? For as long as he could remember, Todd had always known the right thing to say. “Polished” was the word people used when talking about Todd.
But even from the beginning of his mission, he’d felt as if he didn’t belong. As if he were just going through the motions, copying what the other missionaries did, pretending he was like them.
But he wasn’t, and he knew it.
They said they knew the Church was true. He said it too, but sometimes he wasn’t sure if he knew or not.
They said they knew Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, but sometimes he wondered if it was just because they’d been conditioned to say that since they were kids in Primary.
He was smart, he learned fast, he quickly learned to imitate the other missionaries. There’d even been some baptisms.
He’d gotten by all right for ten months.
Until today. When they’d been tracting door to door.
Todd’s companion was Elder Stewart, who’d been in the mission field for only two weeks.
Two doors that day had done Todd in.
The first door was opened by someone not much older than Todd, wearing blue cotton slacks, a short-sleeved sport shirt. He had a tanned face and athletic build and an easy, infectious smile.
They introduced themselves. His name was Devin Anderson.
“What do you do?” Todd asked.
“I’m at the university,” Devin answered.
“Taking classes?”
“No,” Devin smiled. “Giving them.”
“You’re a professor?”
“That’s what they say.”
“You seem so young.”
“Well, I guess I’m what they call a child prodigy. I’m 20 and have a doctorate in philosophy.”
“Was that your car we saw coming in? The Corvette?”
“Yes, that’s mine. Why?”
“I always wanted to have a red Corvette.”
“Take it for a test ride if you want.”
“Really?” Todd said. And then he noticed his companion looking strangely at him. “Well, no, I guess not,” Todd continued. “We’d better just tell you why we’re here.”
Todd began to talk about their message. Devin listened with interest. When they finished, he asked with a smile, “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Why not?”
“It seems so bizarre, that’s all. Tell me, do you have any proof of what you say? Where are the gold plates these days?”
“The angel took them back.”
“Sure he did,” Devin laughed. “Really, guys, let’s be honest with each other. I don’t mind you going around looking for members, but no person with an education over the third grade could possibly swallow that story. Do you?” He was looking at Todd.
“I wouldn’t be here unless I believed it,” Todd said, mainly because he’d heard other missionaries say that.
Devin went to answer the door. A beautiful blonde stood there wearing a red jump suit that was so flashy it looked like it must be battery operated.
Devin introduced the elders. Her name was Brandi.
“Oh, how about that!” she chirped, “You both have the same first name.”
“Devin, let’s invite them to the party tonight,” Brandi said.
“Sounds like a good idea,” Devin said.
“It’s at a friend’s apartment, but they won’t mind a couple more coming along.” She gave the address.
“Hey, that’s just across from our apartment,” Todd said.
“Great, we’ll see you then. It’ll be a lot of fun,” Brandi said.
“I don’t think we’ll be able to go,” Elder Stewart said.
A few minutes later they left and continued tracting.
That was the first door.
Ten minutes later they met Sloan Thomas, a saintly looking elderly man who was the minister at a local congregation.
“How old do I look to you?” he asked them as he ushered them into his home.
“I don’t know. Maybe 45,” Elder Stewart said.
“I’m 64. God has been good to me. Now you boys just go ahead and present your message.”
When they finished, Reverend Thomas looked Todd in the eye. “I’ve spent my entire life preaching the gospel. Every waking hour I’ve had a prayer in my heart to be an instrument in God’s hand. He’s answered my prayers. I love Jesus with all my heart. And so what you say bothers me. Do you mean to tell me that what I’ve done my entire life is wrong?”
“Well, I’m sure you’ve done the best you could do,” Todd mumbled.
“Are you telling me that what I’ve said about Christ is wrong? For 40 years I’ve preached that if you’ll just accept Christ as your personal Savior, then you’ll be saved in the kingdom of God. What can possibly be wrong with that?”
“Nothing really,” Todd stammered.
“Except a person needs to be baptized by someone who has authority,” Elder Stewart said.
“And you’re saying that all these years I haven’t had any authority?”
“That’s right,” Elder Stewart said.
Reverend Thomas turned to Todd. “If God didn’t approve of what I was doing for the past 40 years, why wouldn’t he let me know?”
“He is now. That’s why we’re here,” Elder Stewart said. “We have more truth to tell you about.”
“More truth? What do you mean?”
“We have the Book of Mormon in addition to the Bible.”
“All a person needs is found in the Bible. We don’t need anything else.”
They discussed back and forth. Todd could see that Reverend Thomas was as good a man as anyone he’d ever met. How can you tell a man like that, with love and warmth in his eyes, and a face like a prophet, that he’s been wrong for 40 years of his life?
“Boys,” Reverend Thomas concluded, “I admire you for leaving your homes to come here to talk to people, but the truth is that the claims of your church are wrong. Mormons are simply not Christian. You are promoting lies by what you’re doing, and my advice to you is pack up and go home.”
For the first time in his life, Todd didn’t know what he was supposed to say.
They excused themselves and left.
After that, for the rest of the afternoon, Todd just went through the motions.
That night they had two appointments, but much to Todd’s relief, they both fell through.
He and Elder Stewart returned to their tiny apartment, got ready for bed, and said their prayers. Todd asked his companion to say the prayer.
And now Todd lay in bed and listened to his companion sleep.
He could hear music. He got up out of bed and looked out the window and across the street where the party was.
The people had left their curtains open, and he could see right into the room. They were not much older than he was. They looked like people he’d like.
A red Corvette pulled up. Devin and Brandi got out and went up the sidewalk to the apartment building where the party was. Brandi looked terrific even from across the street, and he could hear her laughter as they walked.
Todd had always hoped that someday he’d have a girl friend who looked like Brandi, except perhaps she could be a little more intelligent.
If I had a red Corvette, he thought, then girls like Brandi would go out with me too. Maybe someday, when I get off my mission. But if I’d just taken the money I’d saved for my mission, I could have put down a sizable down payment on a Corvette. Then, on a night like tonight, instead of standing here, I could be like Devin, at a party, talking with friends, with a girl like Brandi by my side.
What am I doing here? I don’t belong here. And what if Reverend Thomas is right. What if all that we tell people is wrong?
Suddenly it seemed to him that he’d spent his whole life living up to someone else’s expectations, doing what someone else wanted him to do.
Even when he was six years old, he got up month after month and bore his testimony in church, always saying that he knew the gospel was true.
What does it mean to say I know something is true? How can anyone know anything for sure? All this time I’ve been faking it. I don’t belong here. Not me. How can I convert someone when I’m not sure myself?
He closed his eyes. God, help me. I need help. Please help me, he began.
A few minutes passed. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Devin and Brandi out on the veranda of the apartment across the way. They were in a deep, passionate embrace.
He felt that was an odd way for God to answer his prayer. Watching them carry on was more than Todd could stand, so he got up and went into the kitchen.
He looked up at the one overhead light on the ceiling. It made the room look like a morgue. He made himself a peanut butter sandwich and got a carton of milk and sat down at the table, but then he decided he wasn’t hungry.
I’ll go home, he thought, and take the money I have left and buy me a red Corvette, and then I’ll just be like Devin and find me a girl like Brandi too.
It was as if he were seeing everything for the first time, and everything was tinged with gray and dust. On the table was the jar of peanut butter, a knife still coated with peanut butter, and a sandwich made with the cheapest white bread that money could buy.
Near the middle of the table, off to one side, was a stack of mission newsletters that nobody had thrown out for months. And just to the right of that was a crumpled paperback copy of the Book of Mormon that some unknown elder in the past had read while eating breakfast.
Todd picked up the book and examined it. As he turned the pages, he noticed that because it had been read during meals, some of the pages were stuck together.
In a way the glue from the food made it more of a challenge to read. He found one section of the book that was stuck together. He pried open a page in 2 Nephi, chapter 33, and began reading. “And now, my beloved brethren, and also Jew, and all ye ends of the earth, hearken unto these words and believe in Christ; and if ye believe not in these words believe in Christ. And if ye shall believe in Christ ye will believe in these words, for they are the words of Christ, and he hath given them unto me; and they teach all men that they should do good.
“And if they are not the words of Christ, judge ye—for Christ will show unto you, with power and great glory, that they are his words, at the last day” (2 Ne. 33:10–11).
Todd stopped reading. How odd that the very page he picked was one that testified of Christ.
How could anyone reading that say that Mormons aren’t Christian, he thought.
He picked another page at random and found on that one page alone there were five references to the Savior. And on another page, eleven references. And on another page, exact quotes from the Savior in the New World after his resurrection.
A little later he pried open the part of the book containing 3 Nephi. He began reading in chapter 11 about the Savior’s appearance to the people in the New World. For the first time in his life, he could see it all in his mind. Jesus, gently coming down from heaven, his arms outstretched, the wound marks on his hands and feet. He speaks and his voice is gentle, but at the same time, it touches the very souls of those who hear him. “Behold, I am Jesus Christ, whom the prophets testified shall come into the world. And behold, I am the light and the life of the world” (3 Ne. 11:10–11).
He continued to read through much of the night.
Suddenly passages seemed to jump out at him. Passages of scripture that answered the doubt and uncertainty of his heart.
He smiled a little when he read 3 Nephi 13:19–21 [3 Ne. 13:19–21]: “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and thieves break through and steal; but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal. For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”
He smiled about thinking that a red Corvette was more important than a mission. The Savior was talking about him all right.
It wasn’t the first time he’d read the scriptures. He’d read them in seminary, but mainly to find the answers to the teacher’s questions. He’d read them in missionary study class, but mainly to be doing the assignment so he could check it off as being done. This was the first time the scriptures had become his scriptures, advice for him.
It seemed that the more he read, the lighter and more cheery the room became, until for the first time in his life, he realized he knew for a certainty that what he’d read was true.
Now he knew that he’d stay on his mission and tell anyone, everyone who’d listen, about the truths found in the Book of Mormon.
He went into the bedroom and looked out the window. Across the street, the party was just now beginning to break up. Devin and Brandi slowly made their way to their car. Brandi lurched unsteadily, leaning precariously as Devin, not too steady himself, tried to help her.
Even so, Todd thought, she’s still very attractive. And he continued to think that until she bent over and vomited all over a rose bush.
A minute later they made it to the car. Devin got in and tried to start it up. After several tries, it became apparent the car was not going to start.
“Stupid idiotic car!” Devin raged, getting out and kicking the tires.
Todd started laughing. Strange, he thought, that Jesus would know so much about red Corvettes.
He lay down in bed and hoped he’d be able to get some sleep before the alarm went off.
It would be another full day for him and his companion.
“Father in Heaven,” he prayed silently, “thanks for giving us the scriptures.”