Gospel Story Finder

Eight years ago my sweetheart, Zina, suffered a massive stroke that took her speech and left her paralyzed. The doctors said she probably would not survive the week. As our children surrounded her bed I pled with the Lord to spare her life. Then I spoke to her, though she was unconscious. I reminded her that through the years of our married courtship we had planned and hoped to take the final trip together. I told her I wanted what was best for her and our Father’s will, but life would seem so empty without her presence. I think the Lord in his mercy permitted Zina her choice—she could travel on into immortality and rest, or remain to bless us with her exhibition of quiet faith, patience, and fortitude. Characteristically, she chose to do what she knew would give me greatest comfort, unmindful of her own tribulation. Hers is truly a Christlike love. Our entire family has been blessed and benefited by her unselfish sacrifice in our behalf. Noble characters do not alone bear trouble; they use it.

One day at work, I had to leave for a few hours to take care of some important errands for my mother. I went to the office in the morning and told a colleague that I would be absent in the afternoon. During a break she whispered to me, “I can help you with the time clock.”
“No, thanks,” I said.
As I left the office to catch the bus, my friend followed me to the time clock. She said quietly, “Why don’t you clock in for the afternoon period, and then I’ll punch your time card when I go home?”
Before I could utter a word, she added, “Look, our salary is below minimum wage, so it would be OK to do this. It’s just a small amount. Besides, we are not the only ones who do it.”
I began to consider what she had said. She had some good points, and I knew she had good intentions. But this was not what I had been taught in the Church.
Gathering all my strength and resolve, I told her softly, “My friend, the Lord is good, and if He blesses us, we can receive from Him more than that amount.”
She left and was somewhat annoyed with me for rejecting her offer. While I walked to the bus stop, I worried about how small my paycheck would be. I knew we would have to forego buying some food the following month.
As I walked, I remembered the words of one of the hymns: “Be honest in your heart; and God will love and bless you and help to you impart.”1 A phrase from another hymn came to my mind: “Choose the right! And God will bless you evermore.”2
These lines strengthened my decision not to give in to temptation but to trust in the Lord’s promises.
Three years have passed since that incident, and I now have a new job. The Lord has definitely blessed me. It took time, but the promise of the hymns indeed came true, and I can feel that many blessings will continue to come to me as I continue to choose the right. I am grateful for the hymns, which give me courage to hold on to that which is right in the sight of God.

Years ago I had the privilege of serving on the New York World’s Fair Committee. I remember that after months of planning we were ready to start construction. It was a clear and beautiful day as we gathered at the fair site for our groundbreaking event. All around us was a flurry of activity as the fair buildings were taking shape. The fair was being constructed on a lush meadowland. Instead of the traditional groundbreaking ceremonies of turning over soil with shovels, we were using a pile driver because of the lack of a solid foundation. Big wooden piles about the size of those used for telephone poles were being driven into the ground to form the foundation of our pavilion.
After a prayer and two or three responses, it was time to drive the first pile. Everything was in place. The driver was ready for action. There was a big puff of steam and a loud thud. The pile driver started its work. Then the second puff and the second thud—the pile was on its way into the earth. Then the third puff and the third thud—suddenly the earth swallowed up the pile, and it sank completely out of sight. We learned a great deal that day about foundations.
The days and weeks passed, and many piles were driven into the meadowland soil until a foundation was established that was strong enough to support our beautiful pavilion.

One March night, the phone jangled into my dreams until Dad yanked me out of a deep sleep.
“Beth,” he hissed into my dark room as a sharp shard of hallway light spilled onto my pillow.
“Mmmmph,” I growled into my down comforter.
“Beth, Annemarie is on the phone for you. It sounds like something is wrong.” Immediately I leaped out of bed, glaring at the glowing green digital clock—4:13 A.M. Something was certainly wrong. I had only gone to bed three hours earlier after returning from junior prom. I thought Annemarie and her date left around the same time.
“Hello. What’s wrong?” I said as I picked up the receiver.
There was a sniffle on the other end of the line. “Nothing,” she said finally. “I’m okay. I’m stranded though. Can you come pick me up?”
At 4:30 A.M., I pulled into the empty parking lot of Sanders Market, a small grocery store at the edge of town. Annemarie stepped out from beside the pay phone and hobbled in her dainty high heels over to my car.
“What happened?” I demanded. Annemarie wiped the mascara streaks from her cheeks.
“We went to a party after the prom. It was all right for a while, but now everyone is drunk. I won’t tell you what Kevin tried, but it definitely wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been drinking.” Annemarie sniffled again. “Beth, I used to like parties, but you and I have so much fun without them. I wish you weren’t practically the only person in our high school who understands that you don’t need beer to have fun.”
“Congratulations,” I said quietly. “It probably wasn’t easy to walk away.”
She shrugged, her voice gathering strength as she spoke. “Not really. I knew I could count on you.”

Jeff and his wife, Melissa, were attending general conference for his first time. Jeff played professional baseball (he was a catcher) and is now a physician anesthesiologist. He told me, “Much to my surprise, I am moving toward baptism because it feels like the most authentic and honest way to live.”
Earlier, Melissa had apologized to Jeff’s assigned ministering brother, “Jeff does not want ‘white shirts’ in our house.” The ministering brother said, “I’ll find a way.” Now he and Jeff are good friends. At Jeff’s baptism, I met a congregation of Latter-day Saints whom Jeff, Melissa, and their daughter, Charlotte, love.

I thought of this lesson about repentance after watching my sister one afternoon. Our family’s backyard opened onto a field that had been cleared for construction. During heavy rainstorms, the field would turn to mud. This was no average mud. No, this mud was gross, gooey, and deep. If you got stuck, getting out was like trying to run through peanut butter.

One day my little sister decided she wanted to go outside and play. My mom reminded her to stay on the cement patio close to the house. Instead, my sister wandered off into the field.

After a while, I heard somebody crying and looked outside. I couldn’t believe it! My sister was sitting in the middle of the mud, completely covered, with tears rolling down her face. She kept trying to get out, but it was impossible. Every time she tried to move, she sunk deeper and deeper into the gross mud. Of course, we quickly ran out to rescue her.

I helped my mom lay down boards so we could walk out to my sister without getting stuck ourselves. The mud was so thick that when my sister was pulled out, her shoes and socks were sucked right off!

Life can be a lot like that muddy field. If we’re not careful, we can become bogged down by sin, worldly influences, or poor decisions. These things are like spiritual mud sticking to our spirit and make us feel awful inside.

As we choose to turn to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, we find that They are there and ready to help us get out of any sticky situation. It is because of the Savior Jesus Christ’s atoning sacrifice that we can be forgiven and become clean again. You will always find “joy in choosing to repent.”*

However, some of my negative feelings still remained. I still felt like I wasn’t worth anything. Then I suddenly remembered a story my mom had told me. When I was three years old, my mom was woken up in the middle of the night by the Spirit whispering, “Go to Anna.” She ignored it and tried to go to sleep. Again she heard it, and again she ignored it. The third time it was even louder, so my mom got up and went into my room. She found me turning blue and having some form of a fit, like a seizure. She called an ambulance, and I was quickly sent to the hospital. The doctors took care of me and told my mom that if I had been left a little longer, I might not have survived.
When I think I have no worth or purpose on earth, I reflect on this story and the peace I felt from the Holy Ghost, and I realize that I’m worth so much to my Heavenly Father. Even though I don’t understand it all yet, I know that I have an important mission on earth. I am a daughter of God, and He truly loves me.

My parents both served missions in Mexico. I’ve wanted to go on a mission since I was about 15 years old, so I’ve been preparing to serve. My younger brother turns 18 when I turn 19, so we will turn in our mission papers at the same time. I’m saving money for my mission by working with my mom. I have a small jar that I put my money in, and I’m trying to fill it. I want to bring more people to Christ and His Church to bring good into their lives and mine.

It didn’t take long for Sally to get the missionary spirit. Together, she and Sarah invited a young man by the name of Mark Hall to sit in on Sally’s discussions.
“I thought it was all a bit stupid at first,” Mark remembers. “I had been an altar boy, brought up in a Catholic family. I took lists of questions to those meetings. My questions were answered.”
Sally remembers Mark finally asking her, “What is this feeling in me? I’ve got to get it out. Turn off the central heating, Sally.” Her reply—“It’s not on, Mark.”
He was baptized one month later. His mother became so impressed with the Church and the people that she wanted more of her children to be part of it.

Another evidence of faith took place when I first visited the St. Thomas Branch of the mission, situated about 120 miles from Toronto. My wife and I had been invited to attend the branch sacrament meeting and to speak to the members there. As we drove along a fashionable street, we saw many church buildings and wondered which one was ours. None was. We located the address which had been provided and discovered it to be a decrepit lodge hall. Our branch met in the basement of the lodge hall and was composed of perhaps twenty-five members, twelve of whom were in attendance. The same individuals conducted the meeting, blessed and passed the sacrament, offered the prayers, and sang the songs.

At the conclusion of the services, the branch president, Irving Wilson, asked if he could meet with me. At this meeting, he handed to me a copy of the Improvement Era, forerunner of today’s Ensign. Pointing to a picture of one of our new chapels in Australia, President Wilson declared, “This is the building we need here in St. Thomas.”

I smiled and responded, “When we have enough members here to justify and to pay for such a building, I am sure we will have one.” At that time, the local members were required to raise 30 percent of the cost of the site and the building, in addition to the payment of tithing and other offerings.

He countered, “Our children are growing to maturity. We need that building, and we need it now!”

I provided encouragement for them to grow in numbers by their personal efforts to fellowship and teach. The outcome is a classic example of faith, coupled with effort and crowned with testimony.

President Wilson requested six additional missionaries to be assigned to St. Thomas. When this was accomplished, he called the missionaries to a meeting in the back room of his small jewelry store, where they knelt in prayer. He then asked one elder to hand to him the yellow-page telephone directory, which was on a nearby table. President Wilson took the book in hand and observed, “If we are ever to have our dream building in St. Thomas, we will need a Latter-day Saint to design it. Since we do not have a member who is an architect, we will simply have to convert one.” With his finger moving down the column of listed architects, he paused at one name and said, “This is the one we will invite to my home to hear the message of the Restoration.”

President Wilson followed the same procedure with regard to plumbers, electricians, and craftsmen of every description. Nor did he neglect other professions, feeling a desire for a well-balanced branch. The individuals were invited to his home to meet the missionaries, the truth was taught, testimonies were borne and conversion resulted. Those newly baptized then repeated the procedure themselves, inviting others to listen, week after week and month after month.

The St. Thomas Branch experienced marvelous growth. Within two and one-half years, a site was obtained, a beautiful building was constructed, and an inspired dream became a living reality. That branch is now a thriving ward in a stake of Zion.

When I reflect on the town of St. Thomas, I dwell not on the ward’s hundreds of members and many dozens of families; rather, in memory I return to that sparse sacrament meeting in the lodge-hall basement and the Lord’s promise, “Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” (Matt. 18:20).

These remarkable events were preceded by a special dedication of the land.
On a Sunday morning, April 27, 1975, I stood on an outcropping of rock situated between the cities of Dresden and Meissen, high above the Elbe River, and offered a prayer on the land and its people. That prayer noted the faith of the members. It emphasized the tender feelings of many hearts filled with an overwhelming desire to obtain temple blessings. A plea for peace was expressed. Divine help was requested. I spoke the words: “Dear Father, let this be the beginning of a new day for the members of Thy Church in this land.”
Suddenly, from far below in the valley, a bell in a church steeple began to chime and the shrill crow of a rooster broke the morning silence, each heralding the commencement of a new day. Though my eyes were closed, I felt a warmth from the sun’s rays reaching my face, my hands, my arms. How could this be? An incessant rain had been falling all morning.
At the conclusion of the prayer, I gazed heavenward. I noted a ray of sunshine which streamed from an opening in the heavy clouds, a ray which engulfed the spot where our small group stood. From that moment I knew divine help was at hand.

“When he was a boy, Grandpa had a red coaster wagon that his father had a blacksmith make. At first it was short, with room for only three people; but eventually it was extended so that more could ride. The front person steered and the back one used the brake. The riders would start between Ninth and Tenth avenues on “C” Street in Salt Lake and coast all the way down to South Temple Street, then push the wagon back up the hill and go down again.”

Sue Baker, whose home is in La Crescenta, California, is just one of more than 60 BYU students who participate in the Adopt-a-Grandparent program (AAG) sponsored by the Student Community Services office. Coordinating their efforts through a central bureau, the students work with Provo rest homes and private individuals in an effort to battle loneliness in the lives of elderly area residents.

“I felt good about the program when I first heard about it,” said Jan Henrie of Idaho Falls. “One of the greatest things about it is that you bring joy into their lives by visiting with them. But the joy that comes back to you is much more than you would get by doing something for yourself. It helps you see what a great thing service really is, not just for the person you do something for, but for yourself as well.”

The elderly participants are as excited about the once-a-week (minimum) visits as the students are. “For several years, the Y has sent somebody down here who has the time to help me make my deliveries,” said Fred Davis, an “adopted grandfather” who sells shoes. “The other day, Mike (Mike Allred, who’s working with Fred this year) took me over to deliver some in Springville. We sold a couple of pairs, and I got the chance to talk to him. He doesn’t mind helping me. I’m blind in one eye, and I like to have him describe what we’re passing.”

On the days they know visitors are coming, rest home residents sometimes get so eager they line up out in the halls, according to Sheryl Sanders of Boise, Idaho, AAG’s assistant director. “If it hadn’t been for the program,” Helen Strong, one elderly sister, emphasizes, “life would have meant nothing to me. Now, I have a friend. I feel good about having her come.”

Julie Melville, of San Jose, California, directs the Adopt-a-Grandparent service. She explains that students who wish to participate must be willing to donate at least an hour each week for six months to visit their special friend. A screening committee interviews applicants to orient them to the program and explain the commitment necessary to do a good job. Glen Hale, from Murray, Utah, the orientation and training director for the staff, meets with each new volunteer and discusses likes, needs, and tips for getting along with his elderly friend. Then the visits begin, along with a weekly progress report to a supervisor, who can offer help or refer problems to qualified authorities.

“They matched me with Albina Felker,” Jan said. “As I’ve come to visit her every week, I’ve also become acquainted with her roommate, Wanda Roper. Albina is always cheerful, tells me stories about her life, and gives me good advice. She’s 94 but active. She walks outside every day. She tells me about how she’s never smoked or drunk, how she’s done things to keep herself healthy. She also loves to talk about her family.” When Sister Felker isn’t in, Jan will spend a few minutes with Sister Roper. “I’ve worked with young people all my life, and I still enjoy it,” Sister Roper said.

“Some of the people we visit have so much to say, but no one to say it to,” Sue added. “I know it means a lot to my special friend just to be able to talk. I’ve got a great relationship with my grandparents back home, and leaving them was hard. Having someone up here who more or less is ‘family’ means a lot to me. But when I first met my friend I felt I had something to overcome. I talked with her for about 90 minutes, and a couple of days later came back. She couldn’t remember who I was. The next week I went back, and she still didn’t remember me. I finally started calling her every day and talking to her. I wouldn’t tell her who it was; I’d make her guess. Then she started saying, ‘Oh, I’ve been looking forward to your call all day.’

“About three weeks ago she said, ‘Why don’t you give me your phone number so I can call you sometime?’ It was when she actually phoned me that I got excited. She called the other night. My roommate said, ‘I think it’s your grandmother.’ I got on the phone and said, ‘Grandma?’ She said, ‘Yes, it’s me. I’ve got something exciting to share with you,’ and told me that a group of children had just come by with a basket of fruit and a card. That meant a lot to me. I feel like I’ve overcome the problem of her not knowing who I am.” Sue obviously won her heart. She’s the same elderly lady mentioned at the beginning of this story, the one who asked Sue to help her wrap a present and then gave the present to Sue.

Many of the students said they became involved with Adopt-a-Grandparent in about the same way Sharon Pritchett of Atlanta, Georgia, did. “Julie had been praying about finding people who wanted to get involved, and I had been feeling lonely and praying for ways to get to know new people,” Sharon said. The two met on their way to a religion class they had together, and after class Julie invited Sharon to a staff meeting the same day. Soon Sharon was publicity chairman for AAG.

The volunteers also said they felt their leaders had been inspired in matching them with particular elderly participants. “The Lord guides us a lot in what we do,” Julie said. “You wouldn’t believe the backgrounds of these people,” another supervisor added. “One man used to catch broncs by the tail and then train them. Another was born in Czechoslovakia and was a concert pianist. Now he’s paralyzed in one hand, but he still plays. His name is Rudy.” The supervisor also said it’s a goal of the program to place volunteers and participants with similar interests together. One fellow watches football games each Saturday with the gentlemen from a rest home. A young lady is learning how to crochet. Others work on sewing, knitting, and lapidary (making jewelry from rocks) projects with their elderly friends.

Kathleen Koch, of Carbondale, Illinois, often discusses genealogy with Alberta Campbell, her special friend. They spent one day together watching a general conference session, eating lunch, and visiting with Sister Campbell’s friends in other rooms of the convalescent center.

“My friend has been to college. Even more important, she doesn’t want to be treated like a baby,” Karen Critchfield of Los Altos, California, said. “We were both nervous to start with, but now we confide in one another.”

Besides visiting their elderly friends, the students meet on their own at least once a month for a fireside and often have social gatherings. Wendy Ius of Trail, British Columbia, said fireside speakers are usually experts in social work, psychology, or human relations. The meetings help group members feel like a team, sharpen their skill in dealing with others, and provide a time for sharing ideas and experiences. A periodically published newsletter also helps to unite the group.

From time to time special activities are held at the rest home, especially on holidays. “We had a home evening a little while ago,” Karen said, “at which she (Sister Strong) bore her testimony. It was really uplifting. We had my entire home evening group out here, and she spoke about relying on the Lord.”

Linda Barr, of Brunswick, Georgia, said AAG “makes you more concerned because you find out how lonely some people are, what little joy they have, how they feel they’re not worth anything. You want to make them feel better. And it makes you feel better to think you’re important to them.”

“Just because they’re old doesn’t mean they’re not people. They’re up-to-date, not living in the ’20s. The person inside will be the same, now or later on,” Julie said.

And Sharon Wendell, of Bountiful, Utah, added, “They have lots to offer, unless people forget them.” Colette Johnson, of Boise, Idaho, commented, “It’s hard to know if I’ve changed because of the program. It was so great to start out with, how could it get any better?”

Perhaps one of the most poignant stories, however, was related by Peggy Buchanan, of Waynesboro, Virginia, as she described her first visit to the rest home: “I went to visit Edna. She was in bed and kind of sick. I had a picture of a lily mounted on matboard, with a poem on the back. I was going to read the poem and give her the picture. She didn’t respond much, so I decided to talk to her instead. I asked her if she liked flowers. She said yes and started talking a bit. She is a great lady, and she brought out something in me. I told her about my grandmother’s flowers, and she listened while I shared parts of my life with her, which was very rewarding. Then she fell asleep, and I left. Outside the door, a woman in a wheelchair asked me to pick up her blanket and tuck it in. She cuddled up and snuggled back in her chair and was happy. I got to see about five ladies that day and helped them all. As I was leaving, I went down the back hall and asked if I could visit anybody else. I started to go, when someone called out to me and said to please come in. She reached her hand out and said, ‘Please don’t leave. We love you.’”

Peggy said, “I love you, too,” and spent several more minutes chatting with the woman. As she left, Peggy knew “that lady was happy, and that it meant a lot to her to have people visit.” She also knew that despite the pressures of school, dating, and work, she had found friends and would find time to come back often.

“Let me take just a moment to mention a little incident that made an impression upon me when I was a boy. …

“It was on a summer day early in the morning. I was standing near the window. The curtains obstructed me from two little creatures out on the lawn. One was a large bird and the other a little bird, obviously just out of the nest. I saw the larger bird hop out on the lawn, then thump his feet and cock his head. He drew a big fat worm out of the lawn and came hopping back. The little bird opened its bill wide, but the big bird swallowed the worm.

“Then I saw the big bird fly up into a tree. He pecked at the bark for a little while and came back with a big bug in his mouth. The little bird opened his beak wide, but the big bird swallowed the bug. There was squawking in protest.

“The big bird flew away, and I didn’t see it again, but I watched the little bird. After a while, the little bird hopped out on the lawn, thumped its feet, cocked its head, and pulled a big worm out of the lawn.

“God bless the good people who teach our children and our youth” (“A Teacher,” Ensign, July 1972, 85).

“Five, six, seven, eight.” The music started, then stopped again. We had been practicing all morning!
“Sally!* Turn out more! Anne, your kicks are too low! Bethany, it’s a triple pirouette. Get it right! Give me 50, and do it again!” We sighed. We still had half an hour more of this.
It was my junior year and my first year on the school drill team. Being on drill team had always been my dream. We performed at basketball and football games, and everyone knew who we were! Being on the drill team would make my life fun.
From day one our coach informed us that we would call her “Mrs. Smith” because first names were too personal. Dancing was strictly business. I put everything I had into the practices. I was always on time and ready to work.
When Mrs. Smith passed out competition costumes, I felt sick. “What is that? It’s like a skimpy piece of fabric!” This was going against everything I had learned in Young Women. Life was crazy. During the week, it was school and drill team. On weekends it was competition. I had no time for church or family.
My older brother received his mission call, and we were all so excited for him. He told me when he would report to the Provo Missionary Training Center, and my heart dropped. It was the week before regional drill competition. I knew if I wanted to see him off, Mrs. Smith would cut me. I talked with her and hoped she would understand, but she threatened to take me out of all the routines. I was sorry, yet I didn’t let it shake my decision. I went to the MTC with my brother and family. I also danced at region and state competition, where our team took second both times.
At the end of the school year talk of tryouts began. Everyone expected me to try out again, and I assumed I would.
One night, as I was lying on my bed doing some scripture study, I felt strongly impressed to read my patriarchal blessing. As I read, I thought about the past year. What kind of person had I become in the past year? I was wearing immodest clothing for performances. I wasn’t going to church anymore. My relationships with my family had deteriorated. I had forgotten who I was. Where was my testimony? What were my priorities?
I went to my mom’s room and flopped onto her bed. We talked about what I had just discovered. We made a list of pros and cons, but she told me the decision was up to me.
That night many thoughts swirled inside my head. I knew what the right decision was, but I didn’t want to give up the popularity, the status, and the prestige of drill team. Did family and church mean enough to me to change?
I didn’t go to tryouts the next day. Never had I felt such relief and comfort about a decision. Although Mrs. Smith and my team accused me of abandoning them, I didn’t regret my decision. I had abandoned myself for too long and was ready to straighten out my priorities.

Genuine gratitude was expressed by the writer of a letter received some time ago at Church headquarters. No return address was shown, no name, but the postmark was from Portland, Oregon:
“To the Office of the First Presidency:
“Salt Lake City showed me Christian hospitality once during my wandering years.
“On a cross-country journey by bus to California, I stepped down in the terminal in Salt Lake City, sick and trembling from aggravated loss of sleep caused by a lack of necessary medication. In my headlong flight from a bad situation in Boston, I had completely forgotten my supply.
“In the Temple Square Hotel restaurant, I sat dejectedly. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a couple approach my table. ‘Are you all right, young man?’ the woman asked. I raised up, crying and a bit shaken, related my story and the predicament I was in then. They listened carefully and patiently to my nearly incoherent ramblings, and then they took charge. They spoke with the restaurant manager, then told me I could have all I wanted to eat there for five days. They took me next door to the hotel desk and got me a room for five days. Then they drove me to a clinic and saw that I was provided with the medications I needed—truly my basic lifeline to sanity and comfort.
“While I was recuperating and building my strength, I made it a point to attend the daily Tabernacle organ recitals. The celestial voicing of that instrument from the faintest intonation to the mighty full organ is the most sublime sonority of my acquaintance. I have acquired albums and tapes of the Tabernacle organ and the choir which I can rely upon anytime to soothe and buttress a sagging spirit.
“On my last day at the hotel, before I resumed my journey, I turned in my key; and there was a message for me from that couple: ‘Repay us by showing gentle kindness to some other troubled soul along your road.’ That was my habit, but I determined to be more keenly on the lookout for someone who needed a lift in life.
“I wish you well. I don’t know if these are indeed the ‘latter days’ spoken of in the scriptures, but I do know that two members of your church were saints to me in my desperate hours of need. I just thought you might like to know.”
What an example of caring compassion.

Elder Quentin L. Cook of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles tells the story of his father teaching him to set goals by sitting down with the children individually and offering help.

“I had the desire to engage in this practice with my children,” Elder Cook said. “When our son, Larry, was five years old, I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. He said he wanted to be a doctor like his Uncle Joe. …

“Several months later, I asked him again what he would like to be. This time he said he wanted to be an airline pilot. … I said, ‘Larry, last time we talked you wanted to be a doctor. What has changed your mind?’ He answered, ‘I still like the idea of being a doctor, but I have noticed that Uncle Joe works on Saturday mornings, and I wouldn’t want to miss Saturday Morning Cartoons.’

“Since that time our family has labeled a distraction from a worthwhile goal as a Saturday Morning Cartoon.

“What are some of the Saturday Morning Cartoons that distract us from attaining the joy that we desire? … If we examine the reasons we don’t do what we ought to do, we find that the list of Saturday Morning Cartoons is almost endless.”

Elder Cook’s teachings show us that we need to reflect on how we are doing, avoid distractions, and stay focused as we seek to achieve our goals.

Harold B. Lee learned to recognize the Spirit at an early age. One day he started toward some rundown sheds, but a voice called his name and told him not to go there. Harold obeyed. He continued to follow the Spirit throughout his life, like when he was called to lead the Church Welfare Program. He also led the Church department that developed learning materials to help members recognize the Spirit in their own lives.

“Given the situation, we conduct ministering via Facebook Messenger, by call, or by virtual meeting,” shares Sister Maria Criselda “Love” de Jesus of Sumag Ward, Bacolod South Stake. “But we also try to minister personally by going out and keeping proper distance,” she also says. For several Sundays, Love’s husband Neil visited his assigned brethren and was able to commit several Young Men to attend virtual sacrament meeting. The couple also encouraged ward members to seek out senior-age members who might need spiritual support.
When religious gatherings at 30% capacity was allowed, the De Jesus family, as much as they wanted to resume full fellowship, decided to sacrifice and give up their “seats” so that families without priesthood holders at home could go to church instead. “We conducted sacrament meeting at home,” Sister de Jesus says, “but amazingly, it helped our 11-year-old daughter Samantha participate more as she offered prayers, conducted the hymns and bore her testimony.”

Brady really liked the song Sister Robers had taught in Primary. He whistled the melody all the way home from church. He hummed it as he washed his hands for lunch and as he raced downstairs to help his mom.
“Hi, Mom,” he called cheerfully. “What can I do to help?”
His mom chuckled as she handed him the forks. “Please finish setting the table.”
“What are you laughing about?” Brady asked as he began putting a fork next to each plate.
“You’re the fourth person who has offered to help,” Mom said. “There’s nothing like a fast Sunday to get cooperation in this family!”
Brady laughed with her. It was true. All the Marsh family eagerly volunteered to help speed up the meal preparation after fast and testimony meeting.
“Brady!” Dad called from the study. “Can you come in here for a minute?”
“Sure, Dad,” Brady called back. He hummed as he put the last spoon in place, then raced to the study. In the dim light of the hall he tripped over something hard and fell to the floor.
“Ouch!” he said, rubbing his stubbed toe. “What was that?” Looking around he saw Trent’s dump truck. It was his little brother’s favorite toy, and he didn’t let Brady play with it. Forgetting the pain, Brady began to work the levers on the truck.
“That’s mine!” Trent yelled from the doorway. “Give it back!”
Brady gave the truck a shove toward his brother. It missed hitting him by inches. “Here, baby. I don’t want to play with your old truck, anyway!”
Brady stomped on down the hall, fuming.
“Come on in,” Dad called from the study. “We need to talk about family home evening. It’s your turn to give the lesson, remember?”
“I forgot,” Brady mumbled. He didn’t feel like thinking about a lesson. He wanted to be mad.
“Is there something you learned in church today that you could share with the family?” Dad sat back quietly and waited for Brady to answer.
“No.” Right then he couldn’t think of one thing he’d learned at Primary that day.
“Maybe I should help Mom get lunch on the table,” Dad said gently, looking at Brady’s angry face. “You sit here where it’s quiet and think. I’m sure it won’t take long for you to come up with something. The books we use for the lessons are on the shelves.”
“All right,” Brady muttered.
After the door closed, Brady stared out the window. All he could think about was being angry. He picked up a pencil and began doodling. As Brady sketched, he began to hum the Primary song that was still in the back of his mind. He stopped, his anger forgotten. What was that song again? he asked himself. “‘I’m trying to be like Jesus; I’m following in his ways,’” he sang softly. That’s it! That’s what I’ll use for my lesson. I’ll challenge the family to try to be like Jesus this week, he decided. I’ll teach them about what He was like and then ask them to follow His example!
After lunch Brady read all he could about the Savior. I’m going to be more like Him, too, he promised himself. I’m going to play with Trent. I’ll help Merry with her chores so that she can practice the piano more. I’m going to be a better friend to all the guys at school.
The next day after school, Brady hurried home to finish preparing his lesson. He took the pictures of Jesus off the walls to use in the lesson. He especially liked the one of Jesus blessing the children.
It seemed forever before supper was over and the last dish was put away. But finally he could start his lesson. The rest of the family seemed to really listen to him as he showed the pictures and told examples of Christ’s life from the New Testament and the Book of Mormon. At the end he said, “I want our family to really try to live as much like the Savior as we can. It’s a challenge from me to you. Next week we’ll all report on how we did.”
For the closing song, they all sang “I’m Trying to Be Like Jesus.” Merry played the piano, and Trent led the music. No one even snickered as he wildly waved his arm. They wanted to be like Jesus, and He would never hurt anyone’s feelings.
After the lesson, Mom gave Brady a hug and Merry stopped to say, “Great lesson.”
Brady smiled as he put the pictures back on the walls and returned the books to the study. When he came back to the family room and saw Trent standing on a chair, patting the picture of Jesus blessing the children, he yelled angrily, “What are you doing? You’re going to knock that picture off the wall, you little brat!”
Trent turned around and smiled at him. “I’m going to be just like Him,” he said, patting the picture again. Hopping down from the chair, Trent pushed his dump truck over to Brady. “Here. You can play with my truck. Jesus would let you.”
Embarrassed, Brady just stood there looking at the truck. Then he walked over to his little brother and put his arm around him.
“Thanks, Trent,” he said. “I’m going to be a better big brother too. Come on. I’ll help you get ready for bed. Then I’ll let you listen to my new tape.”
“On your very own recorder?” Trent asked in awe.
“Yes,” Brady answered. “Until it’s time to go to sleep.”
Trent noisily ran upstairs with Brady following behind, whistling his song. It was going to be a great week!