Gospel Story Finder

Illustration by Carolyn Vibbert
I was serving in the California Sacramento Mission during Christmas 2003. My companion and the two other sister missionaries we shared an apartment with began receiving gifts and letters from their relatives and friends. I knew it would not be the same for me.
My family in Argentina had few resources, and their letters were usually delayed two to three months. I was far from my family, but I was happy to spend Christmas in the service of Jesus Christ.
On Christmas Eve, we were getting ready for bed when one of the sisters told me that someone had left some packages at the door with my name on them.
“For me? It can’t be!” I said, amazed.
Two large boxes had my name on them but no return address. I was excited, and the other sisters were excited for me too. I opened the packages, which were full of gifts, sweets, children’s drawings, and other items! I couldn’t hold back the tears.
“Who could have sent me these packages?” I wondered. None of us knew, but we all rejoiced because of the generosity.
Several days after Christmas, I still did not know who had sent the packages. So I called the mission office and asked the secretary if she could tell me the name of the mysterious sender. She told me that members in a ward who wanted to remain anonymous had decided to send packages to me with Christmas goodies. I will always be thankful for the generosity of the ward that brought so much love that Christmas Eve and for the support I received during my mission.
I learned that every member of the Church can make the missionaries—though far from home—feel at home through their encouragement and service. That was one of the best Christmases of my life. I was serving the Savior and felt His love through the members of His Church.

Before I was born, my family had four boys. My mom and dad thought their family was complete. Then my mom felt the Spirit tell her they needed to adopt a daughter.

My family had to wait almost two years before they could adopt a baby! So my grandparents, parents, and brothers were all very excited to meet me at the airport. Six months after I arrived, my family took me to the Spokane Washington Temple, where I was sealed to them forever. The gospel teaches me that I am a child of God. He knows me and loves me. Because of the temple, I can receive every blessing that my brothers, who were born to my parents, can receive. I can be part of an eternal family!

A year ago, I was called to serve as bishop in my home ward. At least for me, this was a terrifying assignment. I felt there were many people better suited to the task than I was. I was nervous about directing the work of a complex organization. I didn’t know how I was going to pay attention to 83 youth without ignoring everybody else. I worried about letting my friends and neighbors down. I worried about giving adequate time to church, work, and family responsibilities. Most of all, I worried about helping people repent. I could just imagine someone unburdening their soul to me and then looking at me expectantly. As if I knew what to do. Or what to say. I was so intimidated by the prospect that my very first Sunday I found myself alone in my office offering this absurd prayer: “Dear Heavenly Father. Please don’t let anyone confess anything to me today. I just can’t.”
On my second day as bishop, I discovered that I could create my own study notebooks in the Gospel Library app. I started one labeled “repentance” and began reading the scriptures with that theme in mind. Every time I read something that struck me as useful, I wrote it down. Over the next weeks and months, I found myself making notes about a number of verses in the Doctrine and Covenants and New Testament. However, the book of scripture that had the most to say, by far, about repentance, forgiveness, and individual application of the Atonement of Jesus Christ was the Book of Mormon. Over and over again, I found that the messages contained in the Book of Mormon are uniquely suited to answer the concerns of those of us who want to repent.

April 14, 1832, was a snowy day in Mendon, Monroe County, New York. In spite of the cold, thirty-year-old Brigham Young went down into the waters of the river near his home and was baptized by Elder Eleazer Miller. Immediately after, at the river’s edge, he was confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. Brigham Young had given his heart to a great cause, and he never wavered from the promises he made that day.
The story is told that shortly after his baptism, Brigham went to the man for whom he was doing some carpentry work and informed him, “I am not going to work for you any longer, sir; I am going to do something better—preach the everlasting Gospel!”
A few months later Brigham set out on foot with his brother to preach the gospel in Canada. They traveled over 250 miles in snow “a foot and a half deep with a foot of mud under it,” and in two months they converted 45 souls. Whatever the price, Brigham was willing to pay it in order to build up the kingdom of God on the earth. “I was as destitute of language as a man could be … ,” he said, “but I was so gritty that I always tried my best.”
Born in Whittingham, Vermont, on June 1, 1801, Brigham was the ninth child in a family with five sons and six daughters. Although he had only “eleven days schooling,” he was taught to read by his mother. He also learned to “make bread, wash the dishes, milk the cows and make butter.”
When Brigham was fourteen years old, his mother died and he was apprenticed to a neighbor to learn carpentry and painting. At sixteen, he was in business for himself.
Although the Youngs were a Bible-reading family and three of Brigham’s brothers became itinerant preachers for the Methodist Reformed Church, Brigham himself was not really converted to any church until he received a copy of the Book of Mormon from his brother Phinehas and studied it. Even then “I weighed the matter studiously for nearly two years,” he said, “before I made up my mind to receive that Book.”
In the fall of 1831 five elders from an isolated branch of the Church in Pennsylvania came to the neighborhood to preach. Brigham and his friend Heber C. Kimball listened to them and believed what they taught. Within a few months they were both baptized. Father Young, all Brigham’s brothers and sisters, and his ailing wife also became members.
A few days after his wife’s death in September 1832 Brigham left his two little daughters in the care of Vilate Kimball, Heber’s wife, and traveled to Kirtland to meet Joseph Smith. He later wrote, “Here my joy was full at the privilege of shaking the hand of the Prophet of God, and received the sure testimony, by the spirit of prophecy that he was … a true Prophet.”
And Joseph said of Brigham, “The time will come when Brother Brigham Young will preside over this Church.”
That time came all too quickly for Brigham, who developed a deep love for and loyalty to Joseph. Brigham followed the young Prophet unquestioningly through many difficult times, and at the Prophet’s call Brigham left his family again and again to preach the gospel in the eastern United States, in Canada, and in England. He was in Boston on June 27, 1844, the day Joseph and Hyrum were killed in Carthage, Illinois. Though rumors of the brothers’ deaths spread rapidly, it was not until July 16 that Brigham learned for certain of their martyrdom.
As President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, Brigham Young gathered the other members of the quorum who were also preaching throughout the eastern states and returned with them to Nauvoo.
A conference was held in Nauvoo on August 7 and 8, and Brigham addressed the grieving Saints. Benjamin F. Johnson reported that “as soon as [Brigham] spoke I jumped upon my feet, for in every possible degree it was Joseph’s voice, and his person, in look, attitude, dress and appearance … ; and I knew in a moment the spirit and mantle of Joseph was upon him.”
As Brigham took over the leadership of the Saints, he knew they would soon have to leave Nauvoo. They had been driven from their homes before. Brigham himself had organized their move from Missouri to Illinois when Joseph was in Liberty Jail and the persecutions in Missouri were great. Because many of the Saints at that time were poor and ill, Brigham had had everyone sign a covenant stating that none would leave unless all could leave. Those with more would share with those who had less. Brigham made the trip several times to help others.
Now as he faced the task of moving the Saints from Illinois to the Rocky Mountains to once again escape their enemies, he showed this same concern for his people. In the spring of 1846 he left Nauvoo with an advance company. They established several settlements where crops were planted to help those who would follow. At Winter Quarters the Saints settled in to prepare for the trek ahead and to wait for spring. Here Brigham established schools, and within two months 538 log homes and 83 sod homes had been built. “Where the Saints do all they can,” he said, “the Lord will do the rest.”
Early the next spring Brigham Young led 143 men, 3 women, and 2 children across the plains, through the mountains, and finally down into the Great Salt Lake Valley. Almost immediately he began the journey back to Winter Quarters to help others prepare for the journey. On the way he passed companies of Saints led by Daniel Spencer, Parley P. Pratt, John Taylor, and Jedediah M. Grant.
The next spring Brigham Young left Winter Quarters once again for the Salt Lake Valley, this time leading a great company of “397 wagons, 1229 souls, 74 horses, 19 mules, 1275 oxen, 699 cows, 184 cattle, 411 sheep, 141 pigs, 605 chickens, 37 cats, 82 dogs, 3 goats, 10 geese, 2 beehives, 8 doves, and 1 crow.”
The remainder of Brigham’s life was to be spent in the West, where he directed the settlement of many towns and cities. He established schools, was governor of the territory, began work on the Salt Lake Temple, and saw the St. George Temple completed. During his presidency, missionaries were sent throughout the United States and Canada and to many other countries.
Brigham Young led the Church for twenty-nine years until his death on August 29, 1877, never forgetting the promise he had made to build the kingdom of God. “This is the business of the Latter-day Saints,” he once said, “and it is all the business that we have on hand.”
The year before the Prophet Joseph Smith was killed, he said of Brigham, “I can fervently say, may the Lord bless his way before him, and bless those that obey his teachings wherever they are with ears to hear and hearts to feel. He is worthy to be received and entertained as a man of God.”

I was just a young child when my father died of pneumonia. My fourteen-year-old brother died just a few days later from an unrelated illness. It was the early 1930s, the middle of the Great Depression in the United States. Jobs were scarce and so was money. My mother, a nurse, struggled to provide a living for the five remaining children. It wasn’t an easy life for any of us, and I often wondered how it would all work out.
But one thing happened during those tough times that I remember as well as if it had happened yesterday, something that made me look forward with courage and hope.
About a year after my father’s passing, his cousin came to visit our home. Israel Bennion came, not just on a social call, but as the stake patriarch. Each of us children, scrubbed clean and dressed like we were going to church, waited in turn to have this dignified man place his hands on our heads and give us our patriarchal blessings.
I was only seven, not old enough to understand the significance of all that was going on. (Today, the Church advises you to wait until you’re older to get your patriarchal blessing.) But I felt a great reverence, the same sort of feeling I felt during fast and testimony meetings. I remembered his instructions, although they were brief, that my blessing should be a guide to me, something I could use to chart my course through life.
Although I was young, I was impressed by the statements Brother Bennion made as he gave me my blessing. He told me that the Spirit of the Lord would be with me as I was growing up, that the gospel would be in my heart, that I would love the work of the Lord, and that the Lord would bless me.
He spoke of the future, that I would someday be a judge in Israel, that I would have children, that I would have a strong body and a sound mind.
But most of all, he stirred something in me. He helped me to begin to realize how literally I was a son of God. The Lord knew who I was and what I was doing. If I lived the right way, the Lord would help me.

“I’m 18, too, and had been inactive for several years. Recently this changed. My branch president began visiting me, and he gained my trust to the point that I talked with him about my problems. This greatly relieved the burden I was carrying.

“The missionaries also began visiting me. I began reading the Book of Mormon and praying again. Much of this was because of a long period of fasting, praying, and fellowshipping by members of the Church. Because these people would consistently show their love for me, I gradually came around. They also showed me how the Church could help me with personal goals.

“If you truly want to reconvert your friend, try doing with him what my friends did with me. And pray for the Lord to soften his heart. With God’s help, he’ll come around. I know I did. But it may take a while.”
Braun ThompsonAustin, Minnesota

During the summer of 2001, 17-year-old Tricia Hale had an idea, or a dream as she calls it, to put on a spiritual Christmas dance program that would portray the life of Christ.
She enlisted the help of three friends and fellow dancers (Anna Woolf, 17; Jill Hendrickson, 16; and Donelle Crandell, 16) at her high school in Mesa, Arizona, to turn the dream into reality.
The dancers were on the school’s dance team but had taken issue in the past with music and costumes they felt were inappropriate or not in keeping with Church standards. They wanted to use their talents to present their testimonies of Christ by dancing to sacred music and wearing modest outfits.
The program that resulted would be an experience that strengthened their testimonies and was well-received by family, friends, and the community. Other young women took over after these girls graduated, making the spiritual experience an annual program.
Other dancers are invited to join them in planning, practicing, and performing. Although some of the dancers are not members of the Church, prayer, devotionals, and sharing testimonies are part of rehearsal time.
The free program, entitled “Let There Be Praise,” portrays the life of Christ from birth to resurrection through scriptures, narration, slides, and lyrical dance to hymns and other spiritual music. It drew more than 500 people the first year, and the audience has since grown.
Clint W. Smith, president of the Mesa Kimball Stake, enjoys the performance.
“Dressed in white, these girls are so modest and pure and are able to share their talents and gifts in a way that is very powerful and appropriate,” he says. “It is a wonderful experience for those who are in it and for those who see it.”
McKenzi Fackrell, one of the group’s past presidents, admits it was a lot of work to organize and head up the program. “But it was so worth it,” she says. “It is such a testimony builder.”
After McKenzie graduated, Kelly Allen took over as co-president and chose a younger co-president, Brianna Barba, to work with her.
“I just love it,” says Kelly, who has danced since she was nine years old.
Even though Kelly keeps busy with the school’s dance group and making straight A’s, she’s able to keep her life organized.
“Being involved in this is a big blessing,” she says. “Somehow there is time for everything.”
Brianna has danced in the program since she was in eighth grade. “It has strengthened my testimony so much,” says the honor student, who is also involved in the school’s dance group and competition cheer squad.
In a devotional she told the dancers, “Christ can turn our shabby gifts into a beautiful miracle and a shining star.”
Brianna has been able to use the program for missionary experiences, inviting a friend to dance as Mary and another to perform a vocal solo for one of the dances.
“I knew they would be able to feel the Spirit and also bring their families so they would be able to share in this, too,” she says.
Brianna’s younger sister, Brittney, who performed for the first time as a sophomore, is one of many dancers who uses the experience as a Personal Progress project.
“I chose Individual Worth, because being in this has helped me learn so much about myself,” she says. “When you learn about Christ, you learn more about being a daughter of Heavenly Father and how much He loves you. My testimony has grown so much.”
The program ends with the song “How Great Thou Art,” and the dancers raise their arms in praise.
“The group has never done a curtain call because we want that to be the last thing the audience sees,” says Tricia Hale Campbell, who is now a dance teacher at her own studio and has continued to help the high school students with the program. “This isn’t about the dancers. We feel grateful to use our talents in a spiritual way to focus on the Savior and we give that glory to the Lord.”
Sisters Kelsey, Kali, and Karissa Jarvis say that there are a lot of opportunities to sing or speak your testimony, but not a lot of places to dance your testimony.
“It lets others know that I do have a testimony,” says Kelsey.
Older sister Kali agrees. “You know how you feel bearing your testimony or having a great spiritual experience with someone? It’s the same great feeling, but you get to share it with all these people in dance.”
Kim Hathcock has returned to perform after graduating. “It’s one thing that makes Christmas meaningful for me,” she says.
During high school she performed as Mary. “It really made my testimony grow,” she says. “I also feel like we’re doing service, because so many people who see it comment that this is what gets them into the real Christmas spirit.”
Christy Quintero is a member of a local Christian church. “I thought it would be a good experience to dance to Christian music,” she says. “I really like being with everybody; they are good examples to be around.”
Don Johnson, whose daughter, Aimee, has performed for several years, says he enjoys the “spirit-filled” program.
“These girls are so busy themselves, but they sacrifice to put this on so we can feel the Spirit,” he says. “That’s very Christlike.”
Drama teacher Sandy Stones of the Mesa Kimball Stake is the faculty sponsor for the club and is on hand when the girls practice.
“It’s an honor and privilege for me to sponsor the group,” she says. “They are a light to the school and community.”

Sandra was a student in my advanced English class. Several weeks into the year, she hadn’t done any of the homework or projects. She just daydreamed at her desk. She made up excuses for why she hadn’t completed her assignments, and she demonstrated neither the attitude nor the work necessary for success in such a demanding course.
Her counselor and I decided to schedule a conference with Sandra, her father, and some of her other teachers to determine what direction she should take: should she drop her advanced courses and take standard ones instead? Most substantial was the unspoken question weighing on all of our minds: could we find a way to help Sandra succeed?
Believing that Sandra had been given many chances to succeed but instead had chosen to fail, I went into the meeting feeling very discouraged. Secretly I hoped she would decide to drop my class so that I wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore. I felt I had done all I could and that it was already too late.
In the meeting, Sandra’s body language revealed that she too doubted her ability to succeed. She stared at the table as I recounted her failure in English class. As her history teacher confirmed that Sandra was failing his class as well, her body slumped lower in her chair and I could see tears streaming down her face.
Mustering compassion, I explained to her and her father that if Sandra wanted to succeed in these challenging courses, she was going to have to change the behavior that had gotten her so deeply into this hole and that it was going to be very difficult.
The counselor then turned to Sandra’s father, a man with little education who seemed uncomfortable in the school setting. The counselor asked him if he had any questions for the teachers. He said he didn’t and thanked us for what we had done for Sandra. But then he said he had something to say to his daughter.
My heart tightened. I had been a part of some parent-teacher conferences where the parents had verbally rebuked their children in front of teachers and counselors, berating them for their laziness, inattentiveness, and lack of motivation. I braced myself to hear it again.
What I heard instead surprised me. Sandra’s humble father turned to his tearful 16-year-old daughter who was weighed down by shame and regret and said to her, “It’s not too late. It’s not too late for you to succeed. It really is not too late.”
I left that meeting grateful for his loving reaction but concerned that he had no idea what it would take for his daughter to pass at this point. It seemed impossible. Word came later that she had decided to drop her history class but not my English class.
Sandra, with motivation to start again, made slow but significant changes. The transformation was not easy—it required daily effort to overcome her bad habits—but she saw the rewards of her efforts as her grade gradually improved.

After the completion of his mission, “life was not easy,” says Prince.

“We were still struggling as a family to put meals on the table, but that did not affect my faith in Jesus Christ.”

A former mission friend suggested that he try to move to America to study.

But in order to do that, he needed to secure a study visa. “When I went to apply for my visa the first time it was rejected because I did not have strong enough family ties to prove I would come back to Kenya after my schooling,” he says. “I was determined. I felt this was my opportunity to excel in life and somehow improve life for my family. So, I tried a second time. Again, my application was rejected.”

Undeterred, Prince decided to give it one more go.

On the way to the embassy to submit a third application, he stopped in at his older brother’s office, who had agreed to provide a bank statement to bolster his case.

His older brother asked someone to prepare a drink for Prince, and after a few minutes he was presented with a cup of tea.

“I told my brother, who was not a member, ‘you know I do not take tea.’

“He apologized and laughed and asked the lady to prepare drinking chocolate for me. I responded, ‘Do not worry, just give me the documents and I will rush to the embassy.’

“But,” says Prince, “he insisted.”

Prince waited while the hot chocolate was prepared, drank it, got the document, and left.

He was walking past the Kenya Cinema—only a few meters away from the American embassy—when he heard a blast.

That blast was the sound of gunshots.

“If I had left only three minutes earlier, I would have been caught in the middle of the August 1998 terrorist attack on the US embassy,” says Prince.

“Those extra three minutes waiting for the hot chocolate to be prepared saved my life.”

More than 200 people died in terrorist attacks in East Africa that day, “but I feel I was protected personally because I lived the Word of Wisdom,” says Prince.

“I can testify that if I had thought that drinking tea was a small commandment, I am not sure I would be alive today.”

Prince saw the very real promises contained in section 89 of the Doctrine and Covenants come into play: “And I, the Lord, give unto them a promise, that the destroying angels shall pass by them . . . and not slay them” (verse 21).

In the end, Prince never went to America. He discovered that “the Lord had great plans for me here in Kenya,” he says.

Mark and Barbara were engaged. In fact, it was just a few weeks before the wedding. Everything seemed to be in their favor. They were in love, they wanted children, Mark had a job waiting for him to start right after graduation, and just to make sure that they would get off to a great start they were taking a class together at Brigham Young University, “Achieving Success in Marriage.”
And then the plot began to thicken. One of the major assignments for the class was for a couple to do a babysitting project together. They were to volunteer, without pay, to spend as long a period as they could tending the children of a family they would choose. When Barbara proposed the plan to Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, who had seven children, they thought it was the best thing that had happened since Christmas and made plans to spend the next Saturday off by themselves in the mountains, leaving at nine in the morning and returning at ten in the evening.
The very first time Mark and Barbara had talked about having children, Mark had assured her that he wanted six. “Six?” Barbara had asked weakly. “Are you sure we can handle six?”
“Six,” Mark had emphasized. “The Lord will provide.”
At ten minutes past nine, seven children under eleven years of age waved good-bye to their parents and turned curiously to their two baby-sitters.
“Want to play ball with me?” said the five-year-old to Mark.
“Uh—sure.” Mark followed the boy out to the backyard.
In 15 minutes Mark was back in the house. He fished out his Advanced Accounting text from his briefcase and quickly converted the dining room table into a desk.
“I didn’t know about this test on Monday, Barb. But I think just a couple of hours should take care of it. If you can keep them outside for a while, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Come on, kids. Out to the backyard,” said Barbara. “I’ve got this game I want to teach you.”
The next three hours sped by for Barbara on wings of lead. She kept the children as quiet as possible while Mark studied, and then they all joined together for a backyard picnic lunch that Barbara and the older children had prepared.
“I think I’m too old to be a mother,” Barbara sighed, pouring Mark another glass of lemonade. “When I was 13 I used to do this all the time. What’s happened to me?”
“You’re doing great,” he assured her, fortifying her with a kiss.
“Wrestling time, wrestling time!” The eight-year-old boy pounced on Mark, and was quickly followed by three other children.
Mark good-naturedly rolled onto the grass, tickling as many ribcages as he could reach. Then he pushed the two-year-old toward Barbara with a look of great distaste on his face. “Phew. Smells like somebody’s pants need changing.”
So Barbara changed the pants. And Mark sat on the couch reading a storybook to the younger children, which was soon replaced by a news magazine. For the rest of the afternoon Mark’s major participation in the flow of events was to tie three pair of shoelaces and to send the rest of the problems to Barbara. At six o’clock he asked, “How long until supper, Barb?” And at eight o’clock, “Hey, isn’t it time these kids were heading for bed?”
At nine o’clock the last head was lying on its pillow. Barbara collapsed on the couch and closed her eyes.
“Alone at last,” sighed Mark and pulled her close to him.
“Just a minute,” said Barbara coolly, moving away. “I think we need a little talk.”
“Oh?”
“Six children? You said you wanted six children?”
“Yes.”
“You said the Lord would provide?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s beginning to seem to me that what you meant was that the Lord was going to provide you with me to do all the work.”
“I—I don’t get it.”
“Your idea of family living seems to be that you will preside and I will conduct—everything. Is that right?”
“Well, no. I expect to do my share. I’ve been working my tail off to get through school and get a job. It’s no easy thing to be a breadwinner these days.”
“So that’s all you’re going to be—a breadwinner? Have a nice, tidy, eight-to-five job, while mine goes eighteen hours a day, seven days a week?”
“Well, people sort of have to specialize. Our economy’s built on it. I guess I figured that I would specialize in bringing home the bacon and you would specialize in taking care of the kids. What do you want—one of those fifty-fifty contracts that some brides draw up?”
“No. No, I don’t. But I do want a husband that intends to be a father to his children, not just somebody that shows up at the supper table and gives a few instructions and hides behind a magazine.”
When the Taylors came home, the discussion was still going strong.
“Thanks so much,” said Mrs. Taylor, as she saw them to the door. “We had a wonderful time. I hope you learned what you came to learn.”
“More,” Barbara smiled. “Much more.”
At her place the discussion resumed, a discussion that should have happened months before. As they parted, Mark and Barbara were no longer engaged. Her idea of what a father should be, and his idea, were not the same.

Several years back, some youth from my branch and I were returning from an activity and were standing alongside a lonely road waiting for a bus. Finally we saw a car coming. It stopped, and the driver was my former teacher, Mr. Enemor. We had not seen each other for some years. With great joy on his face, he exclaimed, “Ihenkoro, it’s been quite some time. You’ve grown big.”
Having him stop seemed a miracle, for we had been there for hours without seeing any cars. Now we would not even have to pay for a ride. As we drove, Mr. Enemor asked, “Where are you people coming from?”
I replied, “From a Church program.”
He said, “Oh, that’s nice. How I wish every young person would attend church. This country would be fine.” Then he asked, “Which church?”
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” I told him.
“Mormon? Are you a Mormon?”
I said yes.
He said, “That is not a church. I have heard about them.” He pulled over and said we should get out of his car. We did.
With a smile on my face, I said to him, “Thank you, sir, for the ride. I know you will one day bear a testimony of this Church.” He drove away, and we stood for another hour and a half before we could get a bus home.
I knew I would have to pay a price to be a good missionary. We all have to pay a price for anything of value. Our Savior showed us that when He paid the price for our sins.
I wanted to share the gospel with Mr. Enemor, so I went to his house. He never allowed me in, but I dropped off several Church pamphlets and a Church magazine for him.
Many months after that I received a letter from him. In the letter he asked, “Please forgive me for what I did to you that evening. I owe you an apology and all our thanks. My family and I are now members of that church I was once against. I am now a Latter-day Saint.”
Brother Enemor and his family are strong members of the Church in Abuja, Nigeria. He and his family have been sealed in the temple. He still writes me and always says, “I thank you for leading me to the light.”
We gain a living by what we get, but we gain a life by what we give. We can give the gospel and bring light to the lives of many others. People may forget what you say and what you do, but they don’t forget how you make them feel. Go and make them feel good by giving them the gospel light. I have been blessed with great rewards for the small price I paid to share the gospel with someone who at first spurned me for my beliefs.

Every day is busy for Clint Callender, another member of the Garden Park Branch. But being busy keeps him happy. The 17-year-old did so well on his exams that he is now teaching information technology at the Tutorial High School. He was recently sustained as district clerk, a calling that matches well with his interest in computers and his plans to study computer science at a university next year. He is also busy with Aaronic Priesthood and Mutual activities, seminary, basketball, friends, and simply living the gospel day by day.
“I’m trying to be a light to my family and to other people,” Clint says. For example, he encourages his family to pray and to hold family home evening. And with friends, he says, “I try to get them to take a look at what they’re doing, to see what is right and what is wrong, to guide them if they want help.” He also talks with friends about the Church’s humanitarian efforts worldwide. “I tell them that in disasters, we provide food and clothing.” And, he says, smiling, “We offer prayers, too.”
Clint says his personal prayers lift his spirit. “It’s wonderful to know that you can kneel down and speak directly to Heavenly Father sincerely, and you will receive an answer, not always right away, but eventually. Prayer helps you to be much closer to Heavenly Father. Just keep the channel open all of the time.”
He looks to the future with hope. “When I’m 19, I see myself serving a full-time mission,” he says. “That’s another way to be an example.” He believes that someday there will be a temple in Guyana.
“Families will go there to be sealed, and I hope my family will be one of them,” Clint says. “A temple in Guyana means many more Guyanese will be Latter-day Saints. The temple brings a feeling of peace and reverence, and I think all of Guyana will be blessed.” What a great day that will be!

I want to share with you an experience I had this summer. I spent three days in a wilderness camp with 150 youth. We did a lot of hiking and had some hard physical challenges like when we rappelled down an eighty-foot cliff. On the last day we were given instructions to go into the woods alone. Before leaving the group, each youth was given a letter from home which had been written by his or her mother or father for this occasion.
When I went out alone, I took my scriptures with me. I read about my Father in Heaven’s love for all of us and for me. It was then that I realized that these scriptures are like letters from home.
After a time we gathered together. Everyone had opened and read his or her letter. One young woman stood expressing the feelings of her heart. She held her letter close. In her words, “I nearly bawled my face off when I sat there alone and realized how much my mom and dad love me.” I nearly bawled my face off when I read again about how very much our Father in Heaven loves us.
Can you imagine being away from home and receiving a letter from your parents and not bothering to open it or read it? This is what happens when we don’t read these precious records. The holy scriptures are like letters from home telling us how we can draw near to our Father in Heaven. He tells us to come as we are. No one will be denied. He loves everyone. (See 3 Ne. 9:14, 17–18.)

Several weeks ago we began planning our daughter’s wedding. With great joy, we dreamed and brainstormed as we considered all the options. And then my husband, Greg, received a phone call he couldn’t ignore. It was the oncologist confirming what we hoped wasn’t true. Greg’s cancer had returned.
Isn’t it amazing how you can go from best day to worst day in a matter of minutes?
This is mortality. A proving ground. A place designed for growth. I have learned that God allows mortality to do its work in us—and that includes both best days and worst days.
I don’t know what your story looks like right now, if today is a best day or a worst day. But here is my advice for you. On that worst day with Greg several weeks ago, I opened my For the Strength of Youth guide, wondering if the eternal truths, invitations, and promised blessings from the guide could really help Greg and me find strength in Christ.
Here is what I read. Maybe these words will help you.
“God’s plan is for you. … He has all power and knows all things. You can trust Him, even when life is hard.”
“God wants to communicate with you.” He knows you. He knows your name. “Pour out your heart to Him. … Be still and listen for His answers.”
“Jesus Christ will help you. … When you are worried, afraid, or [struggle] in any way, He will comfort you.”
“Walk in God’s light. … You make better choices when you can see things clearly.”
“Temple ordinances and covenants give you greater access to God’s blessings,” help you navigate your life with divine guidance, increase your companionship with the Spirit and with angels, and enable you to live up to your privileges and draw upon the power of God.
Finally, “Jesus Christ brings joy. … You might have a bad day, a bad week, or a bad year. [Just remember,] joy is not the absence of sorrow in your life; [it is] the presence of [Jesus] Christ in your life.”
As you spend time in this guide, you will begin to realize that this is not just a guide for standards; this is a guide for strength.

Tory swung her legs back and forth under her chair. Her stomach growled. She loved going to her new church, but sometimes she got a little hungry by the end.
“What can we do to follow Jesus?” Sister Jameson asked the class.
Tory put her feet on the floor. She sat up straight. I want to follow Jesus! she thought.
Erica raised her hand. “We can read the scriptures.”
“That’s a great idea. Our stake president just asked us to read the Book of Mormon every day,” Sister Jameson said. “Who will do that?”
Everyone raised their hands high. Everyone except Tory. She raised her hand only halfway.
Tory was a new member of the Church—and the only member in her family. She had first learned about the Church when her friend Erica invited her to Primary.
Tory still had a hard time reading the Book of Mormon on her own. It had lots of funny names in it, like Teancum and Anti-Nephi-Lehies.
“I’m not sure if I can,” Tory told Erica.
“I’ll help you!” Erica said. “You can come to my house before school. My family reads scriptures right after breakfast. Then we can walk to school together.”
“Thanks!” Tory said. She was glad that Erica lived so close.
Dad said it was OK, so every morning Tory went to Erica’s house before school. They read the Book of Mormon with Erica’s family. Tory even tried reading by herself on the weekends.
But then one day in soccer practice, Tory twisted her ankle. After a trip to the doctor, Mom helped Tory to the couch so she could rest. Then Tory called Erica with the bad news.
“I hurt my ankle at soccer today. I have to use crutches for two weeks! And my mom has to drive me to school.” Tory swallowed. Her eyes stung a little bit. “I can’t come over to read scriptures anymore.”
“Oh no! I’m so sorry,” Erica said.
“I wish I could keep reading the Book of Mormon with your family.” Tory frowned at her foot. It was wrapped in white, sticky tape and propped on a chair in front of her.
Erica was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “I have an idea—a way we can keep reading together!”
“How?”
“Stay by the computer before school tomorrow. You’ll see!”
The next morning Tory got ready for school as fast as she could. But her ankle made it tricky. She got out her favorite green socks. But they wouldn’t even fit on her foot! Tory hobbled to the living room and plopped into the chair by the computer.
The computer made a beeping sound. It was a video call from Erica’s family! Tory answered, and a blurry screen came up. Erica’s face appeared.
“We’re ready!” Erica grinned. “Now you can still read with us every morning.”
Tory opened her scriptures. She followed along as they read 1 Nephi 3:7: “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded.” She smiled. She was doing what the Lord had commanded too!

I can remember being taught this lesson many times in my life. Once, when I was in high school and we lived on a family farm in Buhl, Idaho. Our farm had a dairy, lots of row crops, some fruit trees, and three fish ponds. My father loved the fish ponds and he regularly invited Cub Scout groups or youth groups to come fishing. But the ponds took a lot of work. Before someone would come to fish we had to clean the weeds away from the edges of the ponds, make sure the water was clear and that any muddy irrigation water was diverted so that the area was clean and presentable for his fisherman friends. Anytime someone would come to fish, the whole family would join Dad and our guests. We would help them bait the hooks, teach them to use lures or counterfeit worms, how to hide the hook, how to cast the fishing pole or remove the snags, and we would talk to them while we sat and waited for the fish to bite.

On one occasion there were lots of little boys and their parents there fishing, and I was a little impatient. My "It's all about me" attitude showed in how I was treating others, and I started to complain about all the work required for this "foolish fishing" event. Turning to my father, I asked permission to leave because "I wasn't getting anything out of the experience." He looked me straight in the eyes and without even a second's hesitation said, "Maybe it's not about you."

The young women in the Paradise Ward, Adelaide Australia Modbury Stake, found a great way to combine service and fun when they organized a Wake-a-thon.
The girls wanted to earn money for John Stevens, a member of their ward who had recently become a paraplegic, and his wife and children. Sixteen girls and six leaders committed friends, relatives, and neighbors to pledging money for every hour they stayed awake during a "sleep-over."
Then they designed activities through the night to focus on the seven different Young Women values. These activities included ironing clothes for busy mothers, writing to missionaries serving from their ward, preparing a Young Women sacrament program, and making toys for patients at a local children’s hospital. They also watched a movie about the true story of a paraplegic woman.
When the sun came up, the girls discovered they had stayed awake long enough to earn over $550, which was almost half the cost of a wheelchair. And they discovered that it is possible to serve and have fun at the same time.

At first, I didn’t really understand what my dad was doing those mornings when he prayed for me. But as I got older, I came to sense his love and interest in me and in everything I was doing. It is one of my favorite memories. It wasn’t until years later, after I was married, had children of my own, and would go into their rooms while they were asleep and pray for them, that I understood completely how my father felt about me.

Even President David O. McKay went through this mental process as a teenage boy. He has told us about kneeling by a serviceberry bush as a boy in Huntsville to find out once and for all about the truth of the work. May I quote President McKay as he tells of that occasion:
“I knelt down and with all the fervor of my heart poured out my soul to God and asked him for a testimony of this gospel. I had in mind that there would be some manifestation; that I should receive some transformation that would leave me absolutely without doubt.
“I got up, mounted my horse, and as he started over the trail, I remember rather introspectively searching myself and involuntarily shaking my head, saying to myself, ‘No sir, there is no change; I am just the same boy I was before I knelt down.’ The anticipated manifestation had not come. …
“However, it did come, but not in the way I had anticipated. Even the manifestation of God’s power and the presence of his angels came; but when it did come, it was simply a confirmation, it was not a testimony.” (Treasures of Life, [Deseret Book Co., 1962], pp. 229–30.)

Many years ago I was assigned to divide the Modesto California Stake. The Saturday meetings had been held, the new stake presidencies selected, and preparations concluded for the announcements to be made the following morning in the Sunday session of conference.

As the Sunday session was about to begin, there went through my mind the thought that I had been in Modesto before. But when? I let my mind search back through the years for a confirmation of the thought I was thinking. Suddenly I remembered. Modesto, years before, had been a part of the San Joaquin Stake. The stake president was Clifton Rooker. I had stayed in his home during that conference. But that was many years earlier. Could my thoughts be playing tricks on my mind? I said to the stake presidency as they sat on the stand, “Is this the same stake over which Clifton Rooker once presided?”

The brethren answered, “Yes, it is. He was our former president.”

“It’s been many years since I was last here,” I said. “Is Brother Rooker with us today?”

They responded, “Oh, yes. We saw him early this morning as he came to conference.”

I asked, “Where is he seated on this day when the stake will be divided?”

“We don’t know exactly,” they replied. The response was a good one, for the building was filled to capacity.

I stepped to the pulpit and asked, “Is Clifton Rooker in the audience?” There he was—way back in the recreation hall, hardly in view of the pulpit. I felt the inspiration to say to him publicly, “Brother Rooker, we have a place for you on the stand. Would you please come forward?”

With every eye watching him, Clifton Rooker made that long walk from the rear of the building right up to the front and sat by my side. It became my opportunity to call upon him, one of the pioneers of that stake, to bear his testimony and to tell the people whom he loved that he was the actual beneficiary of the service he had rendered his Heavenly Father and which he had provided the stake members.

After the session was concluded, I said, “Brother Rooker, how would you like to step with me into the high council room and help me set apart the two new presidencies of these stakes?”

He replied, “That would be a highlight for me.”

We proceeded to the high council room. There, with his hands joining my hands and the hands of the outgoing stake presidency, we set apart to their callings the two new stake presidencies. Brother Rooker and I embraced as he said good-bye and went to his home.

Early the next morning, after I had returned to my home, I had a telephone call from the son of Clifton Rooker. “Brother Monson,” he said, “I’d like to tell you about my dad. He passed away this morning; but before he did so, he said that yesterday was the happiest day of his entire life.”

As I heard that message from Brother Rooker’s son, I paused to thank God for the inspiration which came to me to invite this good man, while he was yet alive and able to enjoy them, to come forward and receive the plaudits of the stake members whom he had served.