Gospel Story Finder

We were lined up along the edge of the sidewalk next to the curb as straight as a flock of crows on a barbed wire fence.
We had been told by reliable sources that a more boisterous bunch had never graced the halls of our elementary school. Today, however, we were on our best behavior as a requirement for witnessing a great display of skill. Even the mayor was there wearing his dark suit and white shirt, his collar button straining to hold everything together. Somehow, Mayor Smith still looked like a mechanic even when he left his garage and shed his coveralls.
But our attention was not on the mayor. It was focused on our school principal, Mr. Redding, and the event that was about to take place. Mr. Redding was standing next to some of the teachers at the street corner, his right hand held aloft, firmly grasping a stopwatch which was held for all to see.
This was a great day! Not only were we released from our classroom prisons, but we were to witness the unparalleled skills of the volunteer fire department!
Already we could hear the siren wailing and bells clanging. We strained on tiptoe to be the first to see the fire truck coming. A cheer erupted from 100 boys and girls as the bright red truck came into sight.
It rounded the corner on squealing tires with dust flying and dogs barking. Three brightly clad firemen jumped from the moving truck and braced their feet against the ground, holding firmly to the long, limp canvas hose. The spool whirled as the hose unwound and the moving truck pulled over to stop near the closest fire hydrant.
I yelled “Hi” to Bill Jenkins, but he had no time to talk to kids. He was a member of the volunteers, drilled and trained to a fine edge of efficiency. There was an economy in every movement.
Precious seconds were ticking off the stopwatch, but already the hose was trained on the imaginary flames licking at the walls of our house of learning.
The hose was quickly coupled to the hydrant and the nozzle trained upon our hypothetical blaze. A volunteer ran to the hydrant with a special wrench to turn it on. A look of alarm came upon his face—the wrench didn’t fit.
There was a scurry of movement as each area of the truck was ransacked to find the crucial missing wrench. The search continued, and the watch kept ticking.
Buzzy Harris was getting nervous. He stood first on one foot and then another. The length of time a boy can stand in line on the edge of a sidewalk has some definite limitations. Buzzy bent over and picked up a small stick and with a practiced swing scribed a perfect circle in the soft dirt beside the walk. Into this circle he threw down his best cat’s-eye marble. It was an unspoken challenge for anyone willing to take him on in a game of “migs.” I was out of the running because Buzz had already taught me how to play. All of my hard-earned marbles were resting securely in his swollen marble bag.
Three boys soon joined him kneeling in the dirt, doing their best to win that cat’s-eye and teach Buzz a lesson he’d never forget. Walter was chasing Suzie Adams, trying to pull her hair. She was screaming at the top of her lungs but not really running as fast as she might.
Mr. Redding was becoming visibly agitated. He glanced at the stopwatch still held partially aloft in his tiring right arm. He lowered his arm to rewind the watch.
Meanwhile, our volunteer fire department was searching for the right wrench. A pickup truck had taken off in a wild dash, its tires throwing gravel. It was headed back toward the fire station on a search mission.
Walter had caught Suzie, but what do you do with a cornered wildcat? Three of Suzie’s girl friends had come to her rescue, and there was some question as to whether he would escape alive.
Buzzy was looking for more takers as he poked newly acquired marbles into his bag. Mr. Redding wound his stopwatch. Three boys had come to Walter’s rescue, but Suzie was now receiving reinforcements.
There was no longer a straight line. The crows had hopped off the fence.
I glanced at the schoolhouse and our hypothetical fire. I decided by now the fire would have consumed the bottom floor, engulfed the second floor, and spread to the principal’s office on the third.
Meanwhile, our volunteer fire department was still looking for the right wrench. The watch kept ticking.
No one really noticed when the pickup truck came screeching back on the scene. Mr. Redding and the other teachers were busy picking boys and girls off a “dog pile.” Walter and Suzie were on the bottom and getting squashed. Buzzy was being threatened by a larger opponent who said he was only playing “funs,” not “keeps,” and wanted his marbles back. Mayor Smith had quietly gone back to his garage.
Suddenly the long white hose that had lain limp and useless began to take on life. The swelling motion began moving along its length toward the nozzle. Our volunteer firemen were sitting in the shade of the tree with the nozzle lying inertly in their laps. Suddenly the hose came to life. Like an angry cobra, it raised itself poised to strike, lashing out in every direction. Our volunteers bravely tried to control the maverick stream, but it kept dodging from their grasp. Dirt and grass were being washed down to native gravel, and mud was flying everywhere.
Our firemen didn’t catch the runaway hose. It caught them. But they grabbed it and held on. It took three of them to control it, and, in the process, Mr. Redding was drenched along with the rest of the faculty. The few crows that were still on the fence were unceremoniously washed off. Eventually, the stream was pointed in the right direction toward the imagined embers that had once been our schoolhouse. Mr. Redding promptly said, “All right, that’s it! Let’s go back inside!” It was Johnny Trump who asked the obvious question, “How long did it take, Mr. Redding? How long did it take?” There was no response.
The question was now chorused by a multitude, “How long did it take, Mr. Redding?” With some difficulty, Mr. Redding extracted his run-down stopwatch from a wet pocket. With a sigh of resignation he said, “Twenty-nine minutes, fourteen and five-tenths seconds.”
I glanced over at our hypothetical fire. Our schoolhouse had just burned down.
Through the years I have observed again and again that bright uniforms and shiny engines are useless if we don’t have the right wrench. Success comes to those who plan ahead and pay attention to details. Since that day on the school ground I have never accepted a responsibility without asking myself, “Am I really prepared? Do I have the right wrench?”

One particular promise the Lord made through President Thomas S. Monson, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, is a story worth repeating. It is the story of the how those who live behind the Iron Curtain obtained a temple. It is a story of how the Lord directed the path of President Monson It is the story of a people who trusted in the Lord and applied reason and revelation to bring about the Lord’s purposes. President Monson was assigned to go beyond the wall to Eastern Germany in 1968. He reported:
“When I made my initial visit beyond the wall there was a time of fear on the part of our members as they struggled in the performance of their duties. I found the dullness of despair upon the faces of many passerby’s and bright and beautiful expression of love emanating from our members. In Goerlitz the building which we met in was shell shocked from the war, but the interior reflected the tender care of our leaders in bringing the brightness and cleanliness of an otherwise shabby and gloomy structure. The Church had survived both the war and the Cold War which followed. The singing of the Saints brightened every soul. I was touched with their sincerity. I was humbled by their poverty. They had so little.
My heart filled with sorrow because they had no patriarch. They had no wards or stakes they were just branches. They could not receive temple blessings neither endowments nor sealings. No official visitor had come from Church headquarters in a long time. Members were forbidden to leave the country. Yet they trusted in the Lord with all their hearts. In all their ways they acknowledged Him. This was evident in their prayers. I stood at the pulpit,” said Elder Monson, “and with tear-filled eyes and with a voice choked with emotion I made a promise to the people. If you will remain true and faithful to the commandments of God, every blessing any member of the Church enjoys in any other country will be yours.
That night as I realized what I had promised, I dropped to my knees and prayed. Heavenly Father, I’m on Thine errand, this is Thy Church. I’ve spoken words that came not from me, but from Thee and Thy Son. Wilt Thou therefore fulfill the promise and the lives of these noble people. There coursed through my mind the words of the great Psalm, “Be still and know that I am God, the heavenly virtue of patience then was required.”
And little by little the promise was fulfilled. First patriarchs were ordained, then lesson manuals were produced in their native language. Wards were formed, stakes were created, chapels and stake centers were begun, completed and dedicated. And then the miracle of miracles. A holy temple of God was permitted, designed, constructed, and then dedicated in Freiburg. Finally after an absence of fifty years approval was then granted for full time missionaries to enter the nation for local youth to serve elsewhere in the world. Then like the wall of Jericho, the Berlin Wall crumbled, and freedom with it’s attended responsibilities returned.”
Elder Monson continues, “All of the parts of the precious promise of the twenty seven years earlier were fulfilled save one. The tiny Goerlitz branch where the promise had been made still had no chapel of its own. Now even that dream became a reality. The building was approved and completed, dedicated in1995 27 years after the promise. Sister Monson and I along with Elder and Sister Dieder Uchtdorf held a meeting to dedicate the Goerlitz chapel. Same songs were sung as were rendered twenty seven years ago. The members knew the significance of the occasion, marking the total fulfillment of the promise. They wept, they sang songs of the righteous were indeed a prayer unto the Lord and had been answered with a blessing upon their heads.

As a mission president, my husband talked to one missionary who was really depressed and struggling. My husband felt impressed to ask him, “So, Elder, what did you have for breakfast?”

“Ice cream.”

“What did you have for lunch?”

“French fries.”

“What did you have for dinner?”

“French fries and ice cream.”

“How long have you been eating just French fries and ice cream?”

“About a month.”

“Here’s your assignment: go home and eat something green—but not mint ice cream.”

Take advantage of companionship inventory. You have time set aside once a week where you and your companion can talk openly and lovingly about your companionship. This is not a time to nitpick your companion’s personality or habits, but rather a time to lovingly identify things you can work on together to improve your companionship with the goal of becoming better missionaries. For example, one time my companion pointed out that I was complaining frequently. I hadn’t noticed, but once she helped me recognize that, I was able to make an effort to be more positive, and our work improved.

Elder Koichi Aoyagi of the 2nd Quorum of the 70 spoke in April General Conference about his life changing as a result of a seemingly "small thing" that someone did for him. In his talk, he told of his conversion at age 17 in Matsumoto Japan.
He said:
"The next year I entered the university in Yokohama. Living alone, far from my hometown and the people I knew, I became lonely and strayed from the Church. One day I received a postcard from a Church member back home. She wrote that she had heard I was not attending Church meetings. She quoted a scripture and invited me to return to church. I was overwhelmed by the words of the scripture. This helped me realize that maybe I had lost something important, and I pondered and struggled for many days..."
"I realized that I was not praying with all of my heart and decided to do so. ...Through the power of the Holy Ghost, I learned that God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, live and that They truly appeared to Joseph Smith. I made a commitment in my heart to repent and faithfully follow Jesus Christ for the rest of my life." "This spiritual experience changed my life completely! I decided to serve a mission out of gratitude to the Lord and to the Church member who rescued me. Following my mission, I was sealed in the temple to a wonderful girl, and we have been blessed with four children. Not coincidentally, this is the same girl who saved me by sending a postcard to that lonely apartment in Yokohama many years ago. I remain ever grateful for the mercy of the Lord and the help of this Church member, who invited me to once again come unto Christ."[1]

A story is told of an English farmer at work one day in his fields when he saw a party of huntsmen riding about his farm. Concerned that they might ride into a field where the crop could be damaged by the tramp of horses, he sent one of his workmen to shut the gate and then keep watch over it and on no account to open it. He had scarcely arrived at his post when the hunters came up and ordered that the gate be opened. He declined to do so, stating the orders he had received, and steadfastly refused to open the gate in spite of the threats and bribes as one after another of the hunters came forward.
Then one of the riders came up and said in commanding tones, “My boy, do you know me? I am the Duke of Wellington, one not accustomed to being disobeyed, and I command you to open that gate, that I and my friends may pass through.”
The boy lifted his hat, and before the man whom all England delighted to honor, answered firmly, “I am sure the Duke of Wellington would not wish me to disobey orders. I must keep this gate shut, nor suffer anyone to pass but by my master’s express permission.”
Greatly pleased, the duke lifted his own hat and said, “I honor the man or boy who can be neither bribed or frightened into doing wrong. With an army of such soldiers, I could conquer not only the French, but the world.” (Adapted from “The Boy Who Kept Out Wellington,” in Moral Stories for Little Folks, Salt Lake City: Juvenile Instructor Office, 1891, pp. 112–13.)

Recently I had the privilege of performing the temple sealing ordinances for a wonderful family. It was a beautiful occasion, as such ceremonies almost always are. But if you had known the father of this family several years earlier, you would have understood what a miracle was taking place in the house of the Lord that day. With his permission I quote from a letter he wrote to me:
“I was born into the Church and was taught the gospel at my mother’s knee. Through her diligence and perseverance, she kindled a small ember of testimony that never left me even through some of the roughest times of my life. In my teen years Satan hit me hard. It was during the late 1960s and early 1970s, a time of great turmoil, and Satan was hard at work on me. I was taken with the practice of free drugs, free love, free fun, and the rest of the world be damned. Beginning with my first drink of alcohol, I began to slowly deteriorate. After alcohol, other drugs were that much easier to use. In order to take drugs, you must become a good liar. You learn to do whatever it takes to conceal your behavior from others.
“After many years of living this way, all my moral fiber seemed to be completely eroded away. I had a minimal amount of conscience and had sunk to the depths of despair and depression. I watched friends die from drugs and suicide. As time passed, my friends and I were exposed to the criminal justice system. In fact, many of my former friends are still in prison. Had it not been for the small flicker of testimony instilled in me by my mother when I was a child, to know that Heavenly Father could still love me, I have reservations as to whether I would even be writing this letter today.”
Some parents might have given up hope on this prodigal son, but not this man’s mother. She continued to believe that he would find his way back to the teachings of his childhood and once again place his trust in the Lord Jesus Christ. With the loving support of his family and friends, that is exactly what he did. Let me read again from his letter:
“If there is one thing I have learned, it is that no matter how lost you feel, no matter how low you may have sunk, there can be forgiveness and peace. I learned that the further one drifts from the Lord, the harder it is to return to Him and His teachings. But once I opened my heart and called out in prayer to Heavenly Father to help me in the name of His Son, Jesus Christ, I came to know the power of repentance and the blessings of obedience to God’s commandments.”
Brothers and sisters, I wish all of you could have been with us in the temple that day to feel the joy of hope fulfilled. I am sure you would have sensed, as I did, the rekindled love for God and the sublime happiness that filled the heart of my friend’s mother as her four sons, their companions, and other family members surrounded her in the sealing room.

I have always had my best criticism from my own family. For the past ten years Professor Marvin S. Hill of the BYU History Department and I have been working on a book on the trial of the nine men who were indicted for the murder of Joseph Smith, which will be published in the next few weeks. We tried very hard to make the book interesting rather than just scholarly, and I was very proud and sure we had succeeded. About a year ago, when we had what we thought was a final typed manuscript, I proudly presented the fat packet to my wife, June, and asked her to read it and give me her comments. I then went to Washington for several days on business. When I returned I asked her what she thought of the manuscript. She replied that she had only found time to read one chapter. I expressed my disappointment and chided her for not reading the book and helping me. Quick to leap to her mother’s defense, our youngest daughter said, “Daddy, I know she was reading the book when you were gone because I came by and woke her up twice.”

I know a young woman who grew up in President Spencer W. Kimball’s ward. She had a fervent testimony of his calling, but while she was on her mission, President Kimball died. This young missionary worried about testifying of a prophet she didn’t know. One evening as she prayed for newly sustained President Ezra Taft Benson, she was immediately flooded with the warmth of the Spirit, and she gained a new testimony. “The Lord knew I needed to know,” she said, “and he knew I would share that witness in the conversion of others.” Sisters, this can happen for you!

Miranda hurried through the front door, thankful that her house was cooler than the hot summer weather outside. She was sweaty from playing her last soccer game of the season and frustrated because the Teal Turbos had lost. Again.
Mom came into the room carrying a water bottle and a bag of leftover orange slices from the game. “You played a great game. Being goalie is a rough job.”
Miranda had played well—she had blocked a lot of shots and kicked harder than usual. But most of the other girls on her team had never played soccer before, and today made it official: they had lost every game this season.
“I just wish I could be on a team that won once in a while, you know?” A few tears leaked out of the corners of Miranda’s eyes and fell onto her blue-green jersey. As she squeezed her eyes shut, the phone rang.
Mom picked up the phone and after a moment said, “It’s for you.”
“Hi, Miranda? This is Tom, coach of the Chili Kickers. I was watching your game today. You looked great out there.”
Miranda’s heart started beating faster. The Chili Kickers was the best soccer team in the league!
“Our team is going to the regional championship games next month. You played so well today that I want you to come with us as a back-up goalie.”
Miranda’s heart nearly leaped out of her chest. This was her chance to play with a winning team!
“I’d love to come!” Miranda said. They talked for a few minutes about the details before she hung up and ran into the other room to tell Mom. Together they started writing the dates of the practices and games on the family calendar.
Suddenly Mom stopped writing, her pen hovering above one of the calendar squares.
“Uh-oh. Miranda, these games are on Sundays. Here, look.” She pointed to the game schedule and turned to Miranda with a worried frown. “What do you think we should do?”
Miranda’s heart sank, and she bit her lip as she thought about her options. Mom might let her play if she asked, but when she thought about playing on Sunday—and especially about missing church—she got a sick feeling in her stomach. She knew Sunday was for going to church and worshipping Heavenly Father, and she couldn’t really do those things while playing soccer.
“I think I should probably call him back and tell him I can’t play,” Miranda said. She tried hard not to cry. Even though she knew it was the right choice, it was hard to give up something she wanted so badly.
“And you know what I think?” Mom said, giving her a big hug. “I think you are one great kid.”
That Sunday, as Miranda sat in Primary, she thought about the good decision she had made. The coach was surprised when Miranda had called and said she couldn’t play soccer on Sundays. He had tried to get her to change her mind, but she had stuck with her decision. Now, as she listened to the Primary songs and lessons, Miranda smiled. The peaceful feeling in her heart told her that she was in the right place. She’d made a winning decision after all.

When I was a teenager, I struggled with some sinful habits that bordered on addictive. The struggle went on for several years and affected the way I perceived myself and my relationships with others.
In church and at home, I heard often about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ’s perfect love for each of us, regardless of what we’ve done. This is a beautiful truth. But despite that knowledge, I still felt stuck in what seemed like a never-ending rut of sin and self-hatred that I couldn’t escape. I simply couldn’t find the strength to change.
It wasn’t until college that I started to really strengthen my testimony of Christ, and only then did I become personally acquainted with the aspect of His character and His Atonement that I needed: His enabling power.
I needed to know that Jesus Christ could change me. I’d proven countless times over the years that I didn’t have the power to change myself; only He could help me. And once I finally gained that testimony for myself, I found His help in ways I never could before.
One Sunday as I took the sacrament, I pondered about the symbolism of the bread and water—which represent the body and blood of Christ—and the order in which we partake of them. It was significant to me that we are offered the bread (which reminds me of sustenance and strength) before being given the water (which makes me think of washing and cleansing). To me, this suggests that the Savior doesn’t wait to offer us strength until after we have repented and are made clean. Instead, His enabling power is available to us throughout the repentance process.
As Elder D. Todd Christofferson taught: “We do not need to achieve some minimum level of capacity or goodness before God will help—divine aid can be ours every hour of every day, no matter where we are in the path of obedience. But I know that beyond desiring His help, we must exert ourselves, repent, and choose God for Him to be able to act in our lives consistent with justice and moral agency.”1
This was a pivotal realization for me.
I had been trying and failing to overcome my bad habits on my own for years. So from that moment forward, I started viewing the sacrament as an opportunity to draw strength from the Savior every week, as well as a preparation to receive the cleansing, sanctifying power of the Holy Ghost.
My prayers started including pleas for increased ability to resist temptation, instead of just asking for forgiveness. I saw those prayers answered over time. My scripture study became less of an item to check off and more of an opportunity to hear the voice of the Lord. Going to church became more significant. The Spirit began to point out things I was doing or exposing myself to that, though not inherently sinful, were not contributing to my spiritual well-being, and I found the motivation to remove them from or limit them in my life.
As Christ enabled me to make these seemingly little adjustments, the Spirit’s influence on me grew, and with that growth came an increased ability to resist the temptations that had previously held me captive. The intervals between my moments of weakness gradually lengthened. I started noticing factors that left me vulnerable to temptation, and it grew easier to limit those factors. Instead of my bad habits being removed all at once, it was an incremental process of replacing that sin and evil with righteousness and good habits.
Through this process, I learned so much about how the Savior knows our needs and can provide us with unique help for the unique problems we have at certain times of life.

This story took place in the USA.
Josie sat with her cousin Ashlyn under a tree outside her house.
“I wish there was something fun we could do to earn money,” Josie said.
“Maybe we could earn money by doing things for people,” said Ashlyn.
“What if we made it a club?” Josie jumped up excitedly. “Like a pet-sitting club or a dog-walking club.”
“We could do all kinds of things,” Ashlyn said. “People always need help. And they would pay us.”
Ashlyn was right. Every day Josie saw people who needed help.
Suddenly Josie had another idea. She felt warm inside. It reminded her of her baptism last year. She’d promised to always remember Jesus and follow His example. She knew one way she could do that.
“What if we have a club that helps people for free?” Josie asked. The warm feeling got stronger.
Ashlyn’s eyes grew wide. “That would be really fun,” she said. “We can help people at school and church—pretty much everywhere.”
“We can call it the Making Things Better Club!” Josie said. “Let’s start tomorrow at school.”
The next day at recess, Ashlyn and Josie ran to the edge of the playground.
“Do you see anyone we can help?” Ashlyn stood on her tiptoes and looked toward the bumpy rainbow slide.
“Not yet.” Josie searched the monkey bars and the swing set. Kids were sliding and swinging. They were bouncing balls and playing with jump ropes. No one really looked like they needed help. Everyone seemed to have a friend. Then she saw a younger girl all by herself with a jump rope.
Josie grabbed Ashlyn’s arm. “Look over there!”
Josie and Ashlyn found jump ropes and walked over to the girl.
“Hi. I’m Josie.”
“And I’m Ashlyn. What’s your name?”
The girl looked surprised. “I’m Leslie.”
“Do you want to play with us?” Josie held up a jump rope.
Leslie smiled. “Yes!”
Ashlyn and Josie taught Leslie some new ways to jump rope. When the bell rang, they said goodbye. Josie felt good inside. She knew it was the Holy Ghost.
After that, whenever Josie and Ashlyn saw Leslie in the hallway, they said hi to her.
Josie and Ashlyn looked for more people to help. Sometimes they said nice things to people and tried to cheer them up. Other times they invited kids to play with them.
One day, Josie smiled at a boy outside the school. “I like your dinosaur shirt,” she said.
The boy grinned and looked down at his shirt. “Thanks.”
As Josie sat down, she realized she hadn’t even thought about doing that for the club! She had just done it.
Josie thought of all the friends she had made since she and Ashlyn started their club. Josie really liked helping people. It made her want to do more nice things for others. The Making Things Better Club was making her better. And that felt great.
Illustrations by Tania Rex

Some time ago, we were in the kingdom of Tonga. A family home evening, with music and spoken word, was arranged by President Muti in his stake center. The home evening was in honor of His Majesty King Tupou the Fourth, the reigning monarch of Tonga. The king, his daughter, and granddaughters graciously attended, as did many of the nobles and diplomatic representatives in Tonga. Our members put on a superb program of song and verse. One of the king’s granddaughters sang a little solo entitled “How Much I Love My Grandfather.” Elder John Sonnenberg and I were invited to respond briefly, which we were pleased to do.
After the program was over, the king ignored the usual royal protocol and came over to graciously greet us and our wives as an expression of appreciation for the performance of his subjects who are members of the Church. Social protocol is observed in many places, but the expression of kindness is universally appropriate.

A year or two later a business associate asked me if I would be willing to accept some counsel. I readily indicated I would be happy to receive it. He suggested that I was too abrupt, too impatient, too brusk, and too intent on achieving my goals quickly. I had such respect for this man that I spent many hours pondering his perception and have made a great effort over the course of many years trying to gain control over an intensity that might overshadow other qualities I would rather acquire. The direction of my life has been affected in a major way by this effort.

Our mission president had been admonishing the missionaries in the Ghana Accra Mission to “stay focused.” He was famous for using this phrase. At one of our zone conferences, he suggested ways we could do this, and a key point in his list was having a favorite hymn.
He told us to select a favorite hymn, memorize it, and sing it at times we may be tempted or down. This statement echoed in my memory throughout the day.
I was homesick. Nobody in my family had written to me recently, and I felt depressed. I had been less focused. This was the moment I needed to select a hymn to uplift my spirit. I was familiar with many hymns in our green hymnbook, but which did I love the most?
That night, I took an old hymnbook and flipped through the dog-eared pages, searching for a hymn that had a comforting meaning to me. Immediately, I had an idea. Elder Sheldon F. Child of the Seventy, then Africa West Area President, had visited our group in the missionary training center and spoken about the Atonement. He concluded, “If all you young missionaries understood the Atonement of our Lord Jesus Christ, there would be no need of mission rules.”
That was the kind of hymn I needed. I was no longer confused. If I had a hymn about the Atonement, I would feel the love of my Savior, be comforted, and stay focused on what He wants me to do.
I finally chose hymn number 136, “I Know That My Redeemer Lives.”
Today I am grateful to my mission president for his wise counsel. Now I have a favorite hymn memorized, which I ponder always and remember to sing in times of depression, trials, and difficulties. “I know that my Redeemer lives. What comfort this sweet sentence gives. … He lives to bless in time of need.”

My older brother, Joshua, was going to be baptized. He was going to sing a song about baptism. My little brother, Joseph, and I were going to hold up pictures when Joshua sang his song. I wanted to hold the picture of Jesus being baptized by John the Baptist. It’s my favorite. Joseph was going to hold up a picture of a father baptizing his son.
When it was time for Joshua to sing, Joseph wanted to hold up my picture. I didn’t want to let it go. Joseph started to cry a little, so I thought for a second and looked around at everyone. I decided to let Joseph hold my picture. I know I didn’t have to let him hold it, but I didn’t want him to cause a problem for Joshua’s baptism. I really love my brothers, and it makes me happy when they are happy, too.
After I let Joseph hold my picture, all the people smiled at me. That was nice. Joshua smiled, too. I like to choose the right. It makes me feel good, and I know that Heavenly Father and Jesus like it, too.

Concerned for the youth of his ward, a good bishop in Bountiful challenged his young people to taste the sweetness of beautiful service. Reluctantly at first, they put aside their entertainment. One project was making quilts for the mentally retarded at the American Fork Training School. Upon completion of their quilts, the girls delivered them. They arrived at the school in time to help feed supper to the “children.” And that was an experience. As they left the school, with mashed potatoes, gravy, and assorted vegetables in their hair and on their outfits, one girl, touched by the sweetness of the “child” she had fed, said, “I’ll never forget Billy.”

Amanda Rawlins, a 13-year-old Beehive from the Burton Second Ward in Rexburg, Idaho, just finished holding a weeklong Locks of Love event. She decided to organize the event for her Good Works project after seeing a TV interview about girls going through chemotherapy. Amanda learned that it takes 6 to 10 ponytails to make a wig for one patient who has lost her hair. She realized that simply donating her own hair would not be enough. She wanted to do more.
She made arrangements for a beauty college to give free haircuts to those willing to donate their hair for the event. With her mother’s help, Amanda put up posters and handed out flyers at local schools. At the end of the project, they had collected 30 ponytails. That’s enough hair for three or four full wigs. “I am so happy with how many ponytails we received,” Amanda says. “I am so thankful to all those willing to cut off the 10 inches needed for the donation.”

Priscilla Sampson-Davis was given a Book of Mormon while she was visiting Holland in 1963, but the Church was not organized in her homeland of Ghana until 1979. For sixteen years, she met regularly with other converts in Africa, awaiting baptism.
One of the sisters whom she visit-taught could not read. So, to give this sister the opportunity to drink deeply of gospel truths, Sister Sampson-Davis read the scriptures to her often and explained their meaning. She lived the counsel Paul gave to Timothy: “Be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity” (1 Tim. 4:12).
Naaman’s nameless servant and Sister Sampson-Davis each took time to teach someone important lessons. They exemplify the counsel given us in Doctrine and Covenants 88:77–78: “And I give unto you a commandment that you shall teach one another the doctrine of the kingdom.
“Teach ye diligently and my grace shall attend you.” [D&C 88:77–78]

I saw again the power of keeping covenants through a chance conversation with a man I sat down next to on a trip. I had never met him before, but apparently he had seen me in the crowd because his first words after I introduced myself were, “I’ve been watching you.” He told me about his work. I told him about mine. He asked about my family, and then he told me something about his. He said that his wife was a member of the Church and that he was not.

After he came to trust me, he said something like this: “You know, there is something in your church you should fix. You need to tell your people when to quit.” He explained that he and his wife had been married for 25 years. She had been a member of the Church since childhood. In their years of marriage she had only once stepped into a building of the Church, and that was to tour a temple before its dedication, and then only because her parents had arranged it.

Then he told me why he thought we ought to make a change. He said that in those 25 years of married life, in which his wife showed no interest in the Church, visiting teachers and home teachers had never stopped coming to their home. He told of one evening when he went out to walk his dog alone only to find the home teacher happening by with his dog, eager to visit with him.

He told, with a touch of exasperation, of another night when he came home from a long business trip, put his car in the garage, and then came out to find his home teachers standing there, smiling. He said to me something like, “And there they were, right in my face with another plate of cookies.”

I think I understood his feelings. And then I tried, as best I could, to tell him how hard it would be to teach such teachers to quit. I told him that the love that he had felt from those many visitors and their constancy over the years in the face of little response came from a covenant they had made with God. I told him about the baptismal covenant as Alma described it in the Book of Mormon. I didn’t quote these words, but you will remember them as Alma asked those he had taught whether they wished to be baptized:

“And it came to pass that he said unto them: Behold, here are the waters of Mormon (for thus were they called) and now, as ye are desirous to come into the fold of God, and to be called his people, and are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light;

“Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that ye may be in, even until death, that ye may be redeemed of God, and be numbered with those of the first resurrection, that ye may have eternal life” (Mosiah 18:8–9).

Those home teachers and visiting teachers understood and believed that the covenant to be witnesses and to love were intertwined and that they reinforced each other. There is no other way to explain what had happened. My new friend recognized that the visitors had genuine concern for him and for his wife. And he knew their caring sprang from a belief that impelled them to come back. He seemed, at least to me, to understand that those visitors were driven from within by a covenant they would not break. As we parted I think he knew why he could expect that there would be more visits, more evidence of caring, and more patient waiting for the opportunity to bear testimony of the restored gospel. As we parted, I realized that I had learned something too. I will never again see home teaching or visiting teaching as only programs of the Church. Those faithful teachers saw what they were doing for what it really was. Such work is an opportunity, not a burden. Every member has made the covenant in the waters of baptism to be a witness for God. Every member has made a covenant to do works of kindness as the Savior would do. So any call to bear witness and to care for others is not a request for extra service; it is a blessing designed by a loving Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus Christ. They have provided such calls as well as other settings, sometimes without a formal call, all for the same purpose. Each is a chance to prove what blessings flow from being a covenant people, and each is an opportunity for which you agreed to be accountable. Each is a sacred responsibility for others accepted in the waters of baptism but too often not met because it may not be recognized for what it is.