Gospel Story Finder

The summer before my senior year in high school, I decided to participate in my hometown’s Olympic-length triathlon. I had always been a runner, so the 10 kilometer run portion didn’t worry me too much. And I liked cycling, even though 40 kilometers seemed like a long time to be on a bike. What I was really concerned about was the 1.5-kilometer swim, but as I trained over the summer, I became more confident in all three events.
The night before the race my dad helped me set up my swim-to-bike transition. We made sure everything was placed just right, so I could get to biking as quickly as possible after I got out of the water.
At 7:00 the next morning, I jumped into the cold river to begin the race. In less than 30 minutes I was out of the water and getting ready to begin the bike course.
Thousands of people were competing, and even more people were there to cheer the racers on. I knew my family members and friends were along the course somewhere, but I didn’t know where, and I didn’t think I could pick their voices out of the large cheering crowd surrounding the transition zone. Just as I was about to hop on my bike, a voice cut through the noise.
“Heather, the chain is off your bike. Heather, put your chain back on. The chain is off your bike.”
It was different from all the other voices that were yelling and cheering the triathletes on. That voice stood out to me because I knew and trusted that voice. It was the voice of my high school cross-country coach. I looked down, and sure enough, my chain was off. I quickly put it back on and began riding. A few hours later I had successfully completed my first Olympic-length triathlon.
Had I not heard my coach, I would have figured out pretty quickly that the chain was off my bike. But I probably would have figured it out with my right foot clipped into my pedal pushing down hard to get my momentum going. Without the anticipated resistance from my chain plus my predisposition to being accident prone, I most likely would have fallen over onto the pavement. It wouldn’t be a race-ending or even a serious injury, but I would have had a skinned-up knee and elbow, along with a big hole poked in my confidence. I was grateful for my coach.
That day on the triathlon course, my parents were at the race supporting me, but they couldn’t be everywhere. I needed help from someone else, in this case my coach, who saw what I didn’t notice. The Spirit can be that someone for us wherever and whenever we are worthy and willing to listen. And if we listen and obey, we will successfully “run … the race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1).

On April 3, Jesus Christ appeared to the Prophet Joseph and Oliver Cowdery in the temple. He told them that He accepted it as His house and that the Saints should rejoice because of the blessings they would receive.

Summer vacation had always been a wonderful time for me. It seemed that I had a chance to feel the Spirit more strongly when I had more time and didn’t feel the pressure of school.
But this summer was different. A strange emptiness filled me, and I felt confused. I had always heard that Heavenly Father communicates to his children through the scriptures. So I sat on my bed with the Book of Mormon in my hands and began to pray. “Dear Father in Heaven. I thought I was doing everything right. I make good choices and strive for the Holy Ghost to find me worthy of constant companionship, yet this emptiness fills me. Father, let me know what I have done wrong.”
Then I opened my scriptures to Alma 37. The answer to my prayers began in verse 39. It was speaking of the Liahona. “And behold, it was prepared to show unto our fathers the course which they should travel in the wilderness. … Nevertheless, because those miracles were worked by small means it did show unto them marvelous works. They were slothful, and forgot to exercise their faith and diligence and then those marvelous works ceased, and they did not progress in their journey” (Alma 37:39, 41).
It was as though a voice had spoken to me. Heavenly Father was not angry with me. I think he knew the desires of my heart were good and pure. But it was obvious that I had become a little slothful in my efforts to maintain my spirituality and to keep my testimony strong and growing. This was not helping me “progress in [my] journey.”
Since my study of the scriptures had not been very focused, I decided to start there. After all, it is our modern-day Liahona. How grateful I am for a Father in Heaven who cares for me so much that he would speak to me through the scriptures.

By the time Kim arrived at his early-morning seminary class, the students had already started singing the opening song, and he knew he was late. He walked in as quietly as possible, trying not to be noticed—not an easy thing to do in a class of 11.
He sat down and joined the others in singing “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” The class sang the song often—very often, in fact. Jessica was the pianist, and “Onward, Christian Soldiers” was one of only two or three hymns she knew how to play.
Scott, who sat next to Kim, caught Kim’s attention during the song and motioned toward Cindee, who was sitting behind them. His gesture drew an angry glance from Brother Barker, the teacher. Neither boy noticed the glare, however, and each turned and stared at Cindee.
Cindee wasn’t the prettiest girl that Scott and Kim knew, but she wasn’t the ugliest, either. She didn’t realize that she sang off key, but Scott and Kim knew. Each shot a knowing look at the other, and then they snickered.
After the prayer and the thought, Brother Barker began a lesson on service.
Kim’s mind began to wander. He looked at his watch and thought about the math test he would have in fourth period. Then he looked up at the poster Brother Barker had displayed prominently in the front of the room:
Painting PartySaturday 8:30Bring a Brush, a Friend,and Old Clothes
Oh yeah, he remembered. Brother Barker had asked the class to help paint a widow’s house.
The discussion about service was over, and Brother Barker concluded the class by talking about the morning’s opening song.
“You know, we sing ‘Onward, Christian Solders’ a lot in this class, and I think that’s good. The song relates to each of us here—as well as to service. I’d like you to think about how it does and about what a Christian soldier is. We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”
During Brother Barker’s discussion of the song the next day, he read slowly through each verse. Before he read the third verse, he asked the students to pay particular attention and to think what it meant to them:
Like a mighty army moves the Church of God;
Brothers, we are treading where the Saints have trod.
We are not divided; all one body we:
One in hope and doctrine, one in charity.
“You see, we are the Christian soldiers,” he said. “Each of us is important, because we each serve individually as soldiers. But when we are united in our service, when we serve together as a class or as members of the Church, all of our individual efforts are added together and we become, truly, a mighty army working together for the good of others.”
Brother Barker then reminded everyone to come to the painting party and to be united in their service on that day.
The four cars in the church parking lot Saturday morning were enough to grant Brother Barker an overwhelming feeling of success. The vehicles had brought ten of his eleven students and, with them, an exuberant fireball of raw energy waiting to be bridled. The missing student was Cindee, who had left a message with Brother Barker that she was sorry, but she wouldn’t be able to come.
The group said an opening prayer and then drove to an older house, where they gathered on the front lawn and listened to their instructions.
It was a productive morning. There was little wind, and the smell of fresh paint soon filled the air. Gradually the house—once a dirty gray—brightened into a fresh pale yellow.
“How did you do on your test yesterday?” Lynette asked Sue.
“Really well, I think,” she responded. “Most of the questions seemed pretty easy. How about you?”
“I think I did okay, too.”
Their conversation persisted while they worked, floating like driftwood from one topic to the next. It finally landed on the subject of Cindee.
“Hey, where is she, anyway? How come she didn’t come today?” Sue wondered.
“I don’t know; she never comes to things like this,” Lynette answered.
“I think it’s because she’s weird,” Kim piped in. He had been working his way toward Lynette and Sue and had overheard the conversation.
Lynette came to Cindee’s defense. “Oh, come off it, Kim,” she said. “You guys are always so rude to her. I wish you would just grow up.”
Kim yelled to Scott and Jared, who were also still painting. “Hey, Lynette thinks we should grow up. What do you guys think?”
“Yeah, I say we should,” Scott replied, grinning mischievously.
“Me, too,” Jared chimed in.
“There. See how easy that was?” Kim said to the girls. “Actually, I do know where Cindee is—right this minute.”
“Where?” Sue and Lynette both wanted to know.
“She started taking singing lessons today,” Kim joked. He then mimicked an out-of-tune scale, which seemed to trigger the next round of revelry. Several of the group spontaneously began singing, “Onward, Christian Soldiers”—off key.
It was too much for Brother Barker, who had been listening to the last few minutes of the conversation. He came flying around the house still holding a dripping yellow paintbrush. “You come down off those ladders right now,” he called firmly, wielding the brush as if it were a deadly weapon. His students descended quickly, looking sheepish.
Brother Barker singled out Kim, Scott, and Jared. “You three have been hard on Cindee for long enough,” he said with authority. “Do you have any idea how she feels? I want each of you to do something for her or talk to her to find out what she thinks and how she feels—and I’d like each of you to do it by next Friday. Okay?” The teacher gave each of the students a piercing look, pressuring them to respond.
“Okay,” each one said. Kim was the last one to agree.
The rest of the painting party proceeded without incident.
Kim watched the calendar each day, counting the days until his deadline. He knew in his heart that he should follow Brother Barker’s counsel and find a way to apologize to Cindee, but when he tried to picture himself actually doing or saying something, he realized that he just didn’t want to.
And then it was Thursday. Kim had made up his mind that this would be the day. But it was too late.
“Did you ever see Cindee?” Brother Barker asked Kim after the other students had left class.
“Not yet. I’m going to see her today.”
“That might be a little difficult. I got a call from Cindee’s mother last night. Cindee’s grandfather died yesterday, in Baltimore. Cindee and her mother have gone there to stay with her grandmother and to help prepare for the funeral. Since next week is the last full week of school, she told me that Cindee won’t be back.”
Kim felt a sudden wave of guilt for his procrastination. At the same time, though, he felt relief—like he’d been let off the hook.
“Oh, you might be interested in something else she said, too,” Brother Barker went on. “Cindee was in Baltimore on Saturday, reading to her grandfather and keeping him company. Apparently he’d been sick for quite a while, and Cindee’s been visiting him whenever she could. That’s why she couldn’t paint with us—and why she’s missed a lot of our activities.”
Brother Barker let that sink in before he continued. “In her own way, Cindee’s been serving right along with us—maybe even a little ahead of us. We just haven’t known, that’s all.”
Kim left Brother Barker’s class wishing he’d said something to Cindee—but not badly enough to do anything about it.
The following Monday was Memorial Day. Ever since Kim could remember, his family had gone to Arlington National Cemetery on Memorial Day to lay flowers on the grave of his grandfather, who had been killed in World War II. Kim knew that his parents would want to go again this year, but this time he didn’t want to go with them. He had other things he’d rather do, and besides, he didn’t see the purpose of laying a bunch of dumb flowers by a tombstone.
Early Monday morning, Kim’s family rose and prepared for the short drive to Arlington. As soon as the flowers were on the grave, Kim suggested that the family leave for home, but his father wanted first to see the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Kim went along grudgingly.
When they got to the tomb, Kim looked at the uniformed marine ceremoniously guarding the graves of the unknown soldiers buried there. Then he read the inscription on the tomb: “Here rests in honored glory an American soldier known but to God.”
Something about the setting touched Kim, but he wasn’t sure just what. He stood silently for a minute and watched the lone sentry parading slowly and deliberately from one end of the black walkway to the other. The guard stopped at each turn, then began the careful journey back. Everything about him seemed perfect: the spotless uniform, the polished black boots, the smooth cadence of his march. It seemed that the soldier felt no emotions, except that somber look on his face and the reverent spirit reminded Kim of something he had seen when he was ten.
He had had two dogs, Runner and Tank. One day Runner was hit by a car on a seldom-used dirt road and killed. Kim was devastated. Tank was too, apparently; he stood guarding the spot where Runner had died from then until Kim’s dad finally brought him home in the family truck two days later. It was Tank’s only way of mourning a lost friend.
Kim looked up again at the guard, and he thought he understood. This unknown soldier seemed to symbolize a part of the guard which had somehow been lost. His march was a respectful way of saying good-bye to that part of him—a lost friend—“known but to God.”
Kim didn’t talk as the family drove home from the cemetery. All he could think about were the endless rows of tombstones he had seen there, many marking the grave of someone who had died in battle.
Those who died in battle didn’t want to die anymore than I would, he realized. They had hopes and dreams and a family, just like me. How sad that they had to die so soon in their lives.
And then Kim thought about the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.
But if it’s that sad for them all to have died, he thought, what about those who fought and died but who couldn’t even be identified so that their families could experience at least some peace?
Kim was quiet the rest of the way home.
That night he lay awake, still unsettled. Several times he tried to picture himself as a soldier; it made him feel vulnerable. They were afraid, too, he realized. Just like I would be.
Something made him think about Brother Barker’s lesson on service.
“We should put ourselves in someone else’s place and think what we would want if we were in their situation,” he had said.
What would I want if I were one of those soldiers? he wondered. Or what if I were an unknown soldier? What would I want then?
He thought for several minutes before he found his answer: I’d want others to understand what I did.
As if on cue, “Onward, Christian Soldiers” began playing in his mind, and he immediately visualized his seminary class. The melody of the song changed, when it reached the chorus, as if someone were singing off key. Kim then saw himself turning, with Scott, to make faces at the girl sitting behind them—Cindee.
He winced a little as he remembered some of the things he and Scott had said about her before she left. He wondered whether she might have been more involved if not for them.
Then it hit him.
He hadn’t even known about what she was doing for her grandfather. Not only was she a Christian soldier but she was an unknown Christian soldier—her many acts of service were known “but to God.”
Kim felt a chill go through his spine. What was it he had thought about unknown soldiers just minutes earlier?
I’d want others to understand what I did, he had thought. Maybe that’s what Cindee had wanted, too.
Kim slept poorly that night.
Brother Barker was surprised by Kim’s request the next morning.
“You want to know how you can reach Cindee now?” he asked his student.
“Uh, yes, that’s right,” Kim replied. “Do you know how I can reach her at her grandmother’s place?”
“No, although I think I could find out, but—”
“Could you please? I’d like to apologize to her,” Kim concluded.
Brother Barker carefully studied Kim’s face for a few seconds, then made a few calls. He finally got Cindee’s number.
“You can call her from here if you’d like,” he said, motioning toward the phone with his head.
When the phone call that morning was for her, Cindee answered it, wondering who it could be.

Then I began dating Kelly, a friend who was not a member of the Church. I related to her my plans to serve a mission. Kelly saw that I had changed and wondered why. This led to Kelly’s having the missionary lessons and joining the Church, and I had the opportunity to baptize and confirm her. At this point I wondered if that missionary effort had fulfilled my service to the Lord. I wrestled with having to go, and I was determined to pray to find out if leaving Kelly and serving a mission was the right thing to do.
I chose a place in the hills on the moors called Saddleworth Dovestones, where I would not be disturbed. I took my lunch, scriptures, and my journal and headed out, climbing to the top to offer the desires of my heart to my Father in Heaven. As I prayed, I listened very carefully for an answer, maybe a peaceful feeling or a burning in my bosom, but I felt nothing.
As I walked back, I noticed a series of rocks on the ground carefully placed to spell out the words “Truth Will Prevail.” “Curious,” I thought, but nothing more. However, when I told my mother, she said simply, “That’s your answer.”
Trusting the Lord, I turned in my mission papers. On my 21st birthday, along with my birthday post, came my call to serve in the England London South Mission. Due to my years of inactivity, I still felt weak and inadequate. Only later would I understand what that early missionary understood: the Lord may choose the weak things of this world to preach His gospel, but truth will prevail and will prosper.

When I was six, an older couple in our ward wanted to find a good home for their dog, Max. They knew our family would love Max. So we adopted him!
A few weeks later, some of our friends came to stay with us for a few days. Our house was full of playful children running all over.
But Max was used to a nice, quiet home. Being in a house full of noisy children made him very nervous. One day when we were playing and laughing, we suddenly realized that Max was gone!
We looked everywhere for Max. I was near tears as my mom drove us all over the neighborhood. We even checked with Max’s first owners. But he was nowhere to be found.
When we got home, someone said, “Let’s pray for Max!” We knelt in a circle and said a simple prayer. We asked Heavenly Father for ideas for where to look for Max.
Just as we said “amen,” a bark came from the closet! It was Max!

“The lesson ‘How We Prepare for Our Life’s Work’ was made especially meaningful by my father who asked each of us what we wanted to be and then invited one of his friends who actually worked in each field to come and spend family night with us and tell us about his work and just how he had to prepare for that work.”

“Family vacations were the highlight of the year for our family. I’ve heard Daddy recall times when he had to borrow money for those family vacations, but both he and Mother felt that it was a good investment. Daddy felt that vacations were for Mother as well as for himself and us children, so he arranged it so that she wouldn’t have to cook or make beds or wash dishes. When we took a vacation, it was a vacation for everyone.”

This story took place in Nigeria.
Ephraim ran as fast as he could. His heart pounded. Each step sent clouds of dust into the air. He reached his arm out. He was so close!
“You’re it!” Ephraim said as he tagged his brother, Uchenna, on the arm.
“Ephraim! Uchenna!” Mom called from the house. “Time to come in. We still have a lot of work to do.”
“Yes, Mom,” Ephraim said. He and Uchenna went inside.
Today was their younger sister Johanna’s birthday. They were having guests over for her birthday dinner. There was a lot to do.
Ephraim helped Mom make Johanna’s birthday cake. He liked to help Mom cook. Especially when they made cake.
Ephraim looked over at his brother and sister. Uchenna was working hard to clean the house. But Johanna wasn’t helping at all. She was just reading a book.
“Why isn’t Johanna helping?” Ephraim asked as he stirred the cake batter.
“It’s her birthday,” Mom said. “We’ll do all her work for her.”
“But that’s not fair! Johanna wouldn’t help me if it was my birthday.” Ephraim felt a little mad. He stirred the bowl faster, and bits of batter hit his face.
Then Ephraim grinned. He had an idea. He would make Johanna promise to help him on his birthday. If she didn’t promise, then Ephraim wouldn’t help today! Then it would be fair.
He told Mom about his plan. But she didn’t seem very happy about it.
“Remember to think about what Jesus would do,” she said.
Ephraim thought about Jesus. Jesus helped others, but He didn’t ask for anything back. Ephraim knew that Jesus wanted him to serve others, like He did.
“I think Jesus would want me to help Johanna without making her promise me anything,” Ephraim said.
“I think so too,” Mom said. She helped Ephraim pour the cake batter into the pan.
Mom put the cake into the oven. Then Ephraim helped Mom make meat pie for dinner. He was excited to have some.
Ephraim saw that Uchenna wasn’t cleaning anymore. He was playing a game with Johanna.
Ephraim felt mad again. Why was he the only one helping? Maybe he should get two pieces of the meat pie. And Johanna and Uchenna shouldn’t get any! It was only fair.
But Ephraim thought about Jesus again. Jesus would want all of us to have a piece, he thought.
Ephraim helped Mom finish dinner. He even helped set the table without being asked. He felt a lot happier. He knew that the Holy Ghost was telling him he had made the right choice.
When they all sat down to eat, they sang a birthday song to Johanna. Ephraim sang as loud as he could.
Mom cut the meat pie, and Ephraim quickly reached to grab some. But then he stopped.
“You can have the first piece,” he said to Johanna. “Happy birthday!”
Illustrations by Corey Egbert

Among many very good deeds, Hilda was largely responsible for gathering the whole of Joe’s offspring as a family. In late 1952, Joe, Hilda, John, and I went to Southern Rhodesia, and siblings Gwen, Peter and Sue were taken out of the Fairbridge home, located near Bulawayo in the south, to join the rest of us now located in what was Salisbury, the capital. We were all together in the one home for a precious two years. Then, due to concerns about space in our three-bedroomed Rhodesia-Railways-provided house, Gwen left to live in a special establishment set up to house young single women.
Those years in colonial Rhodesia were wonderful, especially for John and me. As youngsters we lived a largely outdoor life, often running around barefoot and getting up to mischief, but mostly creatively (building platforms in trees; forming rowing boats from corrugated metal sheets — usually used for roofing purposes; fabricating catapults from carefully chosen branches of trees and rubber strips from old car-tyre inner tubes, and bows that we used to shoot arrows made from dried elephant grass with pins in their heads and chicken feathers as fletching). Hilda was always around to attend to our injuries, and provide as best she could for us, including repairing clothing.

My mother recently passed away; it was a shock. I love my mother and did not plan on losing her so young. But through her passing, my family and I have experienced both sorrow and joy. I know because of Him, she is not dead—she lives! And I know because of Christ and the priesthood keys restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith, I will be with her again. The sorrow of losing my mom has been swallowed up in the joy of Christ! I am learning that to “think celestial” and “let God prevail” includes focusing on the joy available in Christ.

You’re Rosalie Pakiding, you’re 18 years old, and you’ve just graduated from high school. You’ve been accepted at the University of San Carlos in your native Cebu, Philippines, and you’ve decided you want to major in political science. You’ve got the world in front of you, and you can’t wait to tackle college. You’ve got big plans.
Then the next thing you know, you’re withdrawing from classes and telling your family and friends you’ve decided not to go to school for six months. Attending school right now just doesn’t feel right. You say it’s a feeling you have, but you really know it’s the Holy Ghost speaking to you. It doesn’t make sense to many people. But it does to you, and that’s all that matters.
So you’re left waiting for the second semester to start, which is still six months away. Half a year with free time on your hands. What do you do? You could apply for a job, so you check around to see what’s available. You’re offered a position working in a factory assembling parts to telephones. But working all day means you’d miss your institute classes, and since you enjoyed seminary so much when you were in high school, you turn the job down because, as you say, “Institute is more important.”
Then some things happen that help you understand why you had the feelings you did about going to school. It begins to make more sense.
You meet with Mrs. Itomay from your neighborhood. Her six-year-old daughter, Queenie Ann, is in kinder-one in school, but she has some troubles. She was born with a defect in her tongue that limits her ability to speak. Mrs. Itomay works all day, and she is worried. She knows Queenie Ann needs a tutor who can give her individual attention in the areas that are hard for her. But Mrs. Itomay doesn’t know who could provide that help. To compound matters, she doesn’t have much money to pay a tutor.
So you look at Mrs. Itomay and say, “I think I have an idea.”
You volunteer to be Queenie Ann’s tutor, and Mrs. Itomay is so relieved. What little money she does have she offers to you, but you turn it down. Although you could use the money you realize those seminary lessons about service really did sink in.
Suddenly you’ve got things to do, and life is going to be a bit different. It seems a little odd that instead of sitting in college classes as you planned, it’s you and this six-year-old working on the alphabet.
But you settle into a routine. You do your household chores in the morning and then pick up Queenie Ann. You have word exercises for her to do, you help her write her letters, and you take her to school. She’s a bit of a slow learner. But when she writes out a letter or says a word, you feel so good inside. You also discover she likes to sing. She’s shy around strangers, but you’ve quickly become her best friend. She sings to you a lot. Things are going so well that Queenie asks you if you’ll teach her more. You can tell she’s really learning. And she seems very happy. Whether you’re learning words or stopping for a soda pop break at a store outside the school, it doesn’t matter. She just likes being with you. And you know what? You like it too.
“I’ve learned to love her,” you say, not the least bit surprised by your response.
Taking a semester off, you also figured to have some free time when you weren’t with Queenie Ann. But then your ward, Mandaue II, is asked to produce a road show about the Book of Mormon for a stake activity. It’s a big project, and your bishop is looking for a person to serve as the scriptwriter. Everybody is so busy with school except you, so you volunteer for the assignment. Again, it just feels right.
There have been times when you wondered if you made the right decision, delaying school and everything. You’ve watched while friends progressed in school without you. You’ve asked your Heavenly Father for a confirmation that what you were doing was what he wanted and what was best for you. Eventually those feelings of doubt leave and you say, “I understand now.” And you really do.
Your testimony continues to grow, and you are so excited when you learn new gospel concepts. You’re a bit short on money, but that doesn’t seem to matter. “The knowledge I have learned from institute class cannot be exchanged for the money I could have earned if I had worked,” you explain when someone asks why you’re doing this. Then you continue. “I’m very happy about it.”
It’s then that you look down at Queenie Ann, who’s holding your hand. She looks up at you while squinting in the hot Philippines sun. She smiles, and as you smile back you realize that while dropping out of school for one semester would not be the right decision for most people, it was one of the best decisions you’ve ever made.

Friends who don’t share your standards could actually weaken and tear your standards down. When I first moved to my new school, I tried to fit in by saying some of the things people around me would say. I almost forgot some of my standards while trying to be like everyone. I know now that in order to build your standards, you need friends who support and share your standards. I’m grateful I eventually found friends like that because they remind me of my standards.
Logan J., age 15, Utah, USA

When I became too sick to continue my mission, I knew that God wanted me to go home, but that was the exact opposite of what I wanted. I was also distressed by the sudden loss of my health, which later proved to be the beginning of a chronic, disabling condition.
While adapting to my illness, I felt I had lost my purpose. I needed so much help and felt I had nothing to offer. But I knew I needed to continue exercising my faith, so I kept studying, praying, and trying to follow the Spirit. While studying the New Testament one day, I came upon a painting by James Tissot entitled Jesus Commands the Apostles to Rest. This depiction of Mark 6:30–31 immediately soothed me. As I saw Christ watching over His resting servants, I felt how much He loved them. And me.
Eventually, I learned that the expectations I had for myself were not the same expectations that God had for me. In some ways, His were more personally challenging, but they were much more attuned to my needs. I’m so grateful for the way He teaches me to more fully accept His help and His perfect love. His faith in me gives me the hope I need to keep going.
Sabrina Maxwell, Utah, USA

There is, however, one thing Chris has always wanted—a championship ring. He just missed taking state in high school. And his college team won the conference the year he left on his mission. Knowing this, some friends on his mission got together and bought Chris a ring—a CTR ring that he wears continually. It’s become his championship ring.
Whenever Chris looks at it he is reminded of what he believes deep inside. “Right makes you happy. If you do what is right, everything will fall into place.”

Try to feel the heart of a young man, Nkosiyabo Eddie Lupahla, in Africa, writing about his friend.
“Two and a half years prior to my joining the Church in 1999, my good friend, Mbuti Yona, looked me up. We had been friends through grades 5 to 12, then [were] separated when we attended different [schools].
“Mbuti was baptized in April 1999, and four weeks later he visited me at home and introduced the gospel to me. Regardless of the rumors about the Church, I was impressed by the ‘fellow Saints’ who gave me a warm welcome on my first visit. It was this same Sunday that my friend introduced me to the missionaries. Arrangements were made to be taught. My friend was there for every discussion, and he kept inviting me to the activities. I really enjoyed being around people with the same values, interests, standards, and goals. It was during this same time period that I began attending institute [of religion]. It all seemed very natural: Thursday nights [5:30]—missionary discussion, followed by institute.
“I learned a lot in institute and especially enjoyed our class about how to achieve a celestial marriage. The first semester ended in May, shortly after I began attending, and I felt cheated. But I was fortunate enough to catch the second-semester class, Teachings of the Living Prophets. While in institute, I bought myself the four standard works and I continued to learn and grow in the Church line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little. I was baptized September 17, 1999, by another friend I had made while attending institute.
“I am thankful for the institute program. It has not only shaped me, but it has also helped me qualify to become a missionary, which mission I started preparing for five months after my baptism. I have been blessed with many opportunities to serve and to teach prior to my mission.
“I am thankful for my friend. I hope he realizes what he has done for me. We have both served missions, I to South Africa Durban, he to South Africa Cape Town. All it takes is a friend to bring such a mighty change in one’s life.”

I was nervous, but I remembered a story about President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) when he received a mission call to England. He was preparing to leave in the midst of economic pressures and concerns that troubled him. Just before he left, his father handed him a card with five written words: “Be not afraid, only believe” (Mark 5:36). I also remembered the words of my bishop: “Have faith. God will provide.” These words gave me courage and strength to move forward.

I was a Scoutmaster leading 20 young men and two leaders on an activity trip in southern Utah, USA.
When we got to the turnoff that would take us to the campsite, I stopped and surveyed the desert in front of me. I had made this trip many times, but for some reason, I couldn’t see anything that I recognized. I scanned left and right, looking for something familiar.
No matter how many roads I turned onto, they were all dead ends.
It was getting dark. Finally, I stopped and told everyone to stay put. I grabbed a flashlight and told them that I’d find the road on foot and signal to them once I had found the way.
What I actually did was kneel down and beg Heavenly Father to help us out of this awkward situation. I poured my heart out to Him, detailing my preparedness, my love for the boys, my gratitude for the fathers who had come with us, and my absolute faith that He would answer my prayer quickly. I finished my prayer and stood up. I expected to get up off my knees, point my flashlight out into the darkness, and have the beam immediately fall upon the right road.
But nothing happened.
I silently scanned the horizon as far as my beam would reach.
Still nothing.
I couldn’t believe it. I knew that as soon as I stood up, I would see the road. I knew that the Lord would not let me down, especially with so many people depending on me.
I now had to face two frustrated fathers and their vans full of rowdy, anxious young men, all of them asking, “Are we there yet?”
I apologized and assured them that I had made this trip 20 times in my life and that I knew the road was there. I just couldn’t see it.
Finally, we decided to drive into town and rent two motel rooms. We would start out fresh on Saturday morning.
Since we couldn’t build fires to cook the campfire dinners we brought, we went to the local pizza place we’d seen at the end of town.
The pizza was delicious and the boys were happy, but I still felt guilty about the motel and dinner bills.
As we ate, I wondered why Heavenly Father hadn’t answered my prayer, when suddenly I heard a loud boom.
I got up, swung open the door of the pizza place, and saw the biggest downpour of rain I had ever seen. There were lightning bolts to the northwest—right toward where I had been praying for an answer not an hour earlier. At that moment, the Spirit came over me, and I realized that the Lord had answered my prayer!
The next morning, the sky was blue, and as we headed back into the maze of dirt roads, I drove straight to the exact turnoff I had been searching for the night before. I know now how prayers are sometimes answered with a no, but they are always answered.

“Eternal burnings,” “candle of the Lord,” “the tongues of seven thunders”—his words are visual and powerful. They illustrate gospel principles with examples. He counseled the Saints, for instance, to pray so the Spirit would be with them, even when they didn’t feel like praying: “Some of the brethren come to me and say, ‘Brother Brigham, is it my duty to pray when I have not one particle of the spirit of prayer in me?’ … My doctrine is, it is your duty to pray; and when the time for prayer comes, … knees get down, I say; and down bend the knees” (Teachings, 45).

Curiously enough, it was one of the most famous apostates of the second century who gave impetus to the movement to formulate a New Testament. His name was Marcion, a wealthy shipowner from Pontus in Asia Minor. Marcion sought to sever the church completely from Judaism and Jewish influences. He proposed that the church reject the Old Testament and substitute a canon5 of their own. He suggested that the canon should consist of the Gospel of Luke and ten of Paul’s letters. Marcion was excommunicated and led away a powerful apostate faction. He did, however, stimulate interest in a Christian book of scripture. It was not long before other prominent Christians were recommending their lists of preferred books. For the next two hundred years Christian churches and leaders carefully sifted through the literature of the church and finally selected only twenty-seven short booklets and letters as the New Testament canon.