Gospel Story Finder

In about my tenth year, as Christmas approached, I yearned, as only a boy can yearn, for an electric train. My desire was not to receive the economical and everywhere-to-be-found windup train, but rather one that operated through the miracle of electricity.
The times were those of economic depression, yet Mother and Dad, through some sacrifice, presented to me on Christmas morning a beautiful electric train. For hours I operated the transformer, watching the engine first pull its cars forward, then push them backward around the track.
Mother entered the living room and told me that she had purchased a windup train for Widow Hansen’s boy Mark, who lived down the lane. I asked if I could see it. The engine was short and blocky, not long and sleek like the expensive one I had received.
However, I did take notice of the oil tanker that was part of his inexpensive set. My train had no such car, and I began to feel pangs of envy. I put up such a fuss that Mother succumbed to my pleadings and handed me the oil tanker and said, “If you need it more than Mark, you take it.” I put it with my train set and felt pleased with the result.
Mother and I took the remaining cars and the engine to the Hansens. Mark was a year or two older than I, but he had never anticipated such a gift and was thrilled beyond words. He would up his engine, and was overjoyed as the engine, two cars, and the caboose went around the track.
Then Mother glanced at me and wisely asked, “What do you think of Mark’s train, Tommy?”
I felt a keen sense of guilt as I became very much aware of my selfishness. I said to Mother, “Wait just a minute, I’ll be right back.”
As swiftly as my legs could carry me, I ran home, picked up the oil tanker plus another car of my own, ran back down the lane to the Hansen home, and said joyfully to Mark, “We forgot to bring two cars that should go with your train!”
Mark excitedly coupled the two cars to his set. I watched the engine make its labored way around the track, and as I did I felt a joy difficult to describe and impossible to forget.

When my younger sister, Dania, was diagnosed with a rare disorder, I wanted to do something to help her. Turner Syndrome is a genetic disorder where a girl is missing one of her X chromosomes, and that results in short stature, possible heart problems, and other difficulties. My sister was 11 when she was diagnosed, and she sees this as a blessing in her life and a chance to help other girls who have this syndrome.
My mom and I brainstormed ideas on what I could do to help, and we decided to sponsor a run for a society to help those with Turner Syndrome. I didn’t know where to start, but I gathered a group of friends together who helped me find sponsors and to spread the word around the community.
The response from community members was great—so many people were willing to help out. The event turned out to be fun and lively, and everybody had an amazing time. There were 12 girls with Turner Syndrome at the run, as well as many Church and community members.
I met so many wonderful people and heard their stories; I saw these people through God’s eyes. I learned that we really develop a love for those whom we serve, and I know that “when [we] are in the service of [our] fellow beings [we] are only in the service of [our] God” (Mosiah 2:17).
Makaila E., California, USA

I was preparing for my first assignment to preside at a stake conference as a new Area Seventy when President Packer called me. He asked if it would be convenient if he attended the conference with me, and I readily accepted. When we arrived for the meetings, President Packer said to the stake president, “You are probably wondering why I am here.” He then pointed to me and said, “I am here to whip him into shape.” It wasn’t long before I realized that he meant what he said.
Following our planning meeting with the stake presidency, President Packer suggested we take our seats on the stand. It was 20 minutes before the leadership meeting was to begin. Nearly everyone was in their seats, and I leaned over to compliment the stake president. Suddenly I received an elbow in my side, and President Packer said firmly, “No talking.”
I was shocked to receive a reprimand from an Apostle, and it took me a moment to recover. As I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that he was writing some notes on a fresh notepad, including a few scriptures that he planned to share. I was filled with the Spirit as I realized that President Packer was receiving revelation for what the Lord would have him teach. President Packer’s previous general conference address came to mind, “Reverence Invites Revelation” (Ensign, Nov. 1991). It was imperative that I keep quiet so as not to interrupt the whisperings of the Spirit.
A few moments later, President Packer leaned over and asked me to have the stake president request that the organist play the prelude more reverently. She had been playing energetically and perhaps with some added fanfare. I prayed in my heart that she would not be hurt by the request, and I passed the word on. The stake president somewhat hesitatingly spoke to the sister and almost immediately the volume, tempo, and spirit of the music changed. As I listened to the prelude, I was reminded that reverent, worshipful music adds immeasurably to the spirit of a meeting.
As the congregation began singing the opening hymn, President Packer whispered to me, “Not everyone is singing. Please have the stake president stop the hymn and invite everyone to sing the hymn ‘thoughtfully’ as suggested in the hymn book. This hymn communicates an important message that we will be learning about today.” Once again I passed the message on to the stake president. The spirit of the meeting changed as the entire congregation participated in singing.
Our meetings that weekend were reverent. There was a spirit of worship. Many of us received personal revelation and communed with God. I learned that reverence truly does invite revelation. I also learned that sometimes the difference between a mediocre meeting and a powerful meeting is in the planning and in the details.

We had gone up the canyon to study, but the mountain air and warm sunshine made it too relaxing to concentrate. So I just lay there in a kind of sleepy intoxication while Sarah continued her story. I rolled over to let the sun warm my face when I noticed two young boys climbing the mountain beside us—a trek that was pretty rough going. As the boys pulled themselves up by grasping branches and roots as anchors, rocks and earth under them slid down into the water. Sometimes the roots they grabbed pulled right out of the dirt, and they would slide down the face until they found something to grab onto. The small avalanche they created continued without them into the water below.
As we watched the boys with mild interest, Sarah proceeded to tell me about her best friend in high school. At least Sarah said this girl was her “best friend.” I didn’t know how that was decided. As the story went, this girl had been spending the weekend at Sarah’s, and one night they were up late talking. She told Sarah that although Sarah was fun for the first day or so, her charm soon wore off. Sarah, who was overweight and insecure, didn’t have many friends, and she had believed what this girl had told her.
I thought about this “best friend” and what her motives could possibly have been. Maybe she was annoyed with Sarah and just wanted to be mean. Maybe she was merely entertaining herself and didn’t realize that five years later, Sarah still believed that her charm quickly wore off like Cinderella’s gown.
Sarah had finished talking, and I looked over and saw the boys had finally made it to the top of the mountain. Self-satisfied, they happily scanned the world from their new vantage point and never noticed the scars they had left on the fragile mountainside.
I couldn’t help but notice the parallel between those boys and Sarah’s “best friend.” One remark had scarred Sarah enough, that years later she still expected to be rejected after people really got to know her.
Some time later, I was dealing with a socially clumsy guy who excelled at making a nuisance of himself. Steve had been wearing on my patience already, and when he made some comment that was obviously out of bounds, I turned and snapped at him. My snide remark brought laughter from the group around us, and I felt satisfied that I had made my point.
That night, I was reading in the Book of Mormon when I came across two scriptures that had profound meaning.
“And again I say unto you, is there one among you that doth make a mock of his brother, or that heapeth upon him persecutions?
“Wo unto such an one, for he is not prepared, and the time is at hand that he must repent or he cannot be saved!” (Alma 5:30–31).
I pondered Alma’s question. I remembered my comment to Steve, and I thought back to Sarah and the mountainside. Even though Steve was hard to deal with, he didn’t know any better. His awkwardness deserved love, not a confirmation of his insecurities. I realized that no matter how annoyed I was—or even how thoughtless—I will be held directly responsible for how I treat each of Heavenly Father’s children. Christ has promised that our interactions with each other are important. He said, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:40).
I know now I would rather have Heavenly Father refer to the service I rendered than to the injuries I compounded.

In February 2022, Sister Basilisa Nadreke Lotawa was asked by the Sigatoka Branch president to serve as a temple and family history specialist. Basilisa’s job was to urge her congregation to lift their spiritual eyes to the light of the temple and to prepare themselves for temple worship. She also had to learn how to do genealogical research and then teach her fellow Saints how to identify their deceased ancestors and perform proxy temple ordinances on their behalf.
Basilisa, a young mother of three, shook her head and laughed. “I knew nothing about doing family history—nothing . . . and I’m too young to do it.” Still, wanting to serve the Lord, she sought the help of an experienced genealogist and was soon able to assist her branch members. With a new conviction and passion for family history, Basilisa expressed: “I am so blessed and honoured to participate in this glorious work. It has been marvelous, tremendous! I have seen miracles and wonders. The Lord provided a way for me to do the work and to help my branch.”
With young children in tow, Basilisa spent many hours at the computer in her chapel helping others to extend the branches of their family trees. She invited them—adults and youth—to find five deceased family members who needed proxy baptisms. Branch members caught her enthusiasm and found two hundred ancestors!
As for Basilisa, there is no doubt that her love for the temple and family history work—even at this busy stage of her life—will continue to bless her. She said: “I feel the same joy doing this [work] that I felt when I served my mission.” She and her branch now keep their eyes fixed firmly on the holy temple.

Perhaps only couples who have been childless can understand the heartbreak, frustration, and envy that can develop in nine and a half years of a childless marriage. My husband’s patriarchal blessing had promised him children, but mine did not even mention marriage. We had asked for and received priesthood blessings twice—one from my father, who was our bishop, and one from our stake president five years later. The first promised children “in the Lord’s good time”; the second that we would lose no opportunity for a rich, full life.
Time passed. My husband received his Ph.D. in June 1975, and with it came a job offer from Brazil. We put all our belongings in storage and flew to Brazil with two suitcases, a bag of books, and a violin to begin our new life.
There are many children in Brazil—most are loved. The poorest father will tell you proudly how rich he is in children. But some are put up for adoption, and we knew adopting a child would be easier here than in the United States. In spite of our eagerness to adopt a child, however, we always felt “not yet” when we spoke of it.
Some weeks after arriving in Brazil—partly because of the different language and customs, but mostly because of an empty house—I became homesick. It was an aloneness I had never felt before. The feeling continued to oppress me until, one day, I suddenly felt a sweetness enter our home. With the sensation came the feeling that a spirit child was there with me. Though I could not see him, I sensed that he was as anxious as I was—excited, expectantly waiting. And then he said to me distinctly, though the words were never audibly spoken, “I will be born in February.”
February was the month of Carnival. Everything simply stopped, and all of Brazil was a gigantic festival for a week. We did not participate—we found ourselves chaperoning a Church youth conference instead. The last weekend in February was our district conference. Then the month was over and there was no child, even though we had prayed earnestly that we would be guided to find him. The speakers at the conference only intensified the pain we felt by their references to the importance of having children.
Thursday night following conference, a sister who works in the children’s hospital came to our home, greatly excited. There was a baby boy in the maternity hospital, and the social worker would save him for us till noon the next day. We were at the hospital by 7:30 A.M. We had had a sleepless night and had prayed fervently that we would have no problems—we had already had sufficient experience to know how difficult adoption could be. The social worker was very kind, but the natural mother had changed her mind and had taken the child home early that morning.
Then she hesitantly said, “We have another boy here. Would you like to see him?”
It seemed like we climbed a million stairs going to the nursery. Then they showed us a clear plastic crib containing a very wrinkled little baby. His tiny face turned to ours, and he looked at us with intensely blue eyes. We knew for a surety that this baby was for us.
By noon all the paper work with the juvenile court was done, and at 6:00 P.M. I went to get our son and took him home. We discovered that he had been born February 7, but since he weighed only two kilograms at birth he had stay in the hospital for nearly a month. As it was, when he came into our lives he weighed only 2.2 kilograms and was too weak to cry. We worried that we would lose him.
That Sunday was fast day, so we fasted for him, and Larry gave him a priesthood blessing. That very day he started waking up for meals, and two days later he managed a feeble cry and rolled himself over. Six months later he was a smiling, giggling, 6.8-kilogram, 68.5-centimeter normal baby boy.
We wait for the Lord’s “own good time,” and sometimes we find it very hard. We get frustrated and angry; we cry, hope, envy—I even felt resentment during those nine years. But when the gift is given, we understand.
Like Abraham and Sarah, (Gen. 12:5) like Jacob and Rachel (Gen. 30:1), like the parents of Samuel (1 Sam. 1:20) and John the Baptist (Luke 1:13), my husband and I have felt the greatness of God’s giving. And watching this tiny, growing gift from God, we pray that we, like them, will be equal to His trust.

Sister Berry enthused about her Hong Kong mission saying, “Serving in Hong Kong was one of the best experiences and held a special place in my heart. I loved every part: the people, food, culture, members, companions, and mission. I was always amazed by the beautiful Hong Kong scenery and weather.”
Soon after arriving in Hong Kong, civil protests began, but the mission understood the importance of the work at hand and, with hopeful hearts, “soldiered on and worked hard.”
China wanted to bring Hong Kong under Chinese law, rather than the democracy it had inherited from British rule. The Hong Kong people were protesting that they would be brought under Chinese rules and regulations when it came to types of crime and sentencing.
Sister Berry recalls, “We learnt to simply adapt and change our schedules to fit curfews, and our approach to ensure it would still allow us to share the gospel and bring happiness to those around us. We loved and trusted our mission president and his wife dearly; we knew that they were inspired, and as long as we were obedient to their word, we were safe and protected.” She explained, “As a mission, we came together, and during that gathering, our mission president presented a plan, reminding us that it is necessary to be prepared within Church culture.”
“The plan was to cover us in the case of an evacuation, or a need to stay within our apartments for a few days, or to report to a particular area if Hong Kong went into social unrest.
“We stocked up on food, were given individual telephone SIM cards, directions on how an evacuation would occur and, most importantly, a unique code word that only our missionaries and our mission president knew: ‘Jell-O-nation’.
“This code word was put in place to be used only if the evacuation was to occur, and we would know that it was not a false alarm or a disturbance from an outsider at the time. The protests continued, resulting in us missionaries having to spend certain days indoors spring cleaning or randomly heading to the nearest sister or elder missionary apartments, when instructed, to spend the night while it calmed down. It was decided that no new missionaries were to report to the China Hong Kong Mission until it had calmed down. We had around 80 missionaries in the field, and this figure was capped at 100 for about three transfers.
“Although we were short on missionaries, we were never short on blessings and miracles, and continued to help even more people learn of the gospel and our Saviour Jesus Christ. We truly felt the love, support and encouragement from our leaders and members during the process.
“During that time, we had a zone conference with half the missionaries, where we were astonished and delighted to be told that we were teaching more than ever and finding souls and introducing baptism to just as many as in the years before, when there were twice as many missionaries.
“President Phillips loved to set us challenges and always encouraged us to enhance and strengthen our testimonies, such as by prayerfully studying the Book of Mormon front to back in 80 days, following the Spirit and setting a minimum of ten ‘windows of heaven’ each week. We loved it.
“The ‘windows of heaven’, or as we liked to call them, windows, were a unique finding technique that we loved to do.
“In Hong Kong, we were limited when it came to the traditional door knocking. People lived in apartments with guards who knew the missionaries very well and could keep us away. Most parks had rangers that would keep an eye on us in case we were handing out flyers. So, we would just have to hit the streets every day and do windows.
“Besides regular finding or district finding with other groups of missionaries, we would take some time each week to pray as a companionship, specifically about a time and place that we feel we should go to find someone ready to hear the gospel. We would look at our planners and the map of our area and listen to the Spirit. Once we figured out the time and place, we would slot it into our diaries, which was considered an appointment with God. We would have to show up around 15 minutes early, pray to open the window and talk to everyone we could find. The idea of windows was to promise to God that you would go to the place you felt the Spirit told you to go, and that He would guide someone ready to hear the gospel to find you.
“When we did come across someone interested, we were to find a spot and teach them about the gospel there and then for 10–15 minutes or even longer. Each window was usually an hour or hour and a half long, and we would try our hardest to speak with everyone. We would have around two of these each day and made them priority above all appointments because that was an appointment with God.”

While serving as an Area Seventy in Mexico, Elder Adrián Ochoa spent a couple of days in the city of Chihuahua in counsel with the stake president and others, then boarded a plane destined for home. But after taking his seat, he received a forceful spiritual prompting that his work in Chihuahua was not finished.
The flight crew was making final preparations for take-off. “But,” said Elder Ochoa, “I knew I had to get off that plane.” So he disembarked. A series of subsequent interviews yielded important information that resolved a difficult issue and permitted the spiritual progress of a family.

We were nearly halfway through the journey from Utah to our homestead in New Mexico. For several days we had found no water, and our barrels were low. The men were becoming anxious. We knew from the map that we were coming into Indian territory.
When we reached the edge of the reservation the wagons stopped for our leaders to consult. Because of his experience with Indians, Papa was chosen to go ahead and see what arrangements he could make. As we slowly drove on, we had a feeling that we were being watched.
“I hope the village ahead has plenty of water,” Papa said.
“I hope they are friendly,” Mama replied.
“I’m prepared to take care of that even if they’re not,” Papa assured her.
“How?” Mama asked.
“I have a trick up my sleeve,” he answered, but he would tell her no more.
In a few moments we saw a cluster of huts up ahead. And about the same time two little girls with black braids ran from the shadows toward the village.
“Messengers,” Papa observed.
“What do we do now?” Ed asked.
“Wait,” Papa said and pulled the horses to a stop. He jumped down, climbed in the back of the wagon, and came out carrying his unfinished basket and a hank of straw.
“You children stay in the wagon,” he instructed firmly. And we settled in a spot where we could watch what was going on.
Papa sat down on the ground and began weaving. It seemed to me like a silly time and place to finish his basket, but I had learned that patience answers many questions, so I watched and waited.
Before long five or six braves came riding up on their ponies and formed a circle around Papa.
“You cannot cross Indian land,” one insisted.
Papa said nothing but kept on with his work.
“Go back,” another brave said, pointing in the direction we’d come from. “Do not cross Indian land.”
Papa nodded to acknowledge he had heard but he stayed where he was. Nothing moved but his hands. I had watched him make many baskets, and I knew that his fingers could fly as fast as frightened quail. Now he was weaving slowly, exaggerating the in and out movements as he laced the wide strips between the twisted upright ribs.
The belligerent expression on the Indians’ faces changed to curiosity. One by one they slid off their ponies and came closer. After they had watched awhile, Papa handed the basket to one of the braves, who copied the motions he had been watching. The Indian smiled at his handiwork. Then the basket was passed around the circle, with each brave taking a turn at the weaving and all of them becoming excited and pleased.
Papa began a new basket and handed some straw to one of the Indians to start one too. Before long each brave was sitting cross-legged on the ground, busy on a basket. Papa had motioned to Ed and me to climb down from the wagon, and we slipped out quietly and stood by his side. Other Indians came one by one and soon quite a crowd was watching the activity.
I turned to look toward the village and saw a large squaw coming toward me with a loop stretched open between her hands. Smiling, she came closer and closer, holding the noose high as if to place it over my head and around my neck. To choke me, I thought, and began to shake with fear. Please, Heavenly Father, save me, I silently prayed. My hands tightened on Papa’s arm, and he sensed my fright.
“It’s all right, Dora,” he assured me. “She won’t hurt you.”
By now the squaw was close enough so that I could see she was holding a beautiful necklace of dried berries and seeds. She placed it over my head saying, “Pretty, pretty.” I guess she had never seen yellow hair before.
All of a sudden I felt that she was a special person, and I wanted to do something for her. I climbed into the wagon and found the mirror I had brought rolled up in my sweater so it wouldn’t break. It was a round one with a handle. I handed it to the squaw and when she looked at it and saw her face reflected back, she was delighted. She showed it around with great pride, pointing to her image and laughing.
While the braves worked and the others watched, Papa spoke to them in gentle tones. “We want to be friends and will do you no harm. We are moving to New Mexico and would like to cross your land. We have our food and supplies with us. We need to stop tonight to rest our horses and fill our water barrels. We will leave tomorrow. Other wagons are behind waiting to hear your answer.”
At this point, five more braves and the chief rode up at a gallop. They began to talk rapidly in their own language with the weavers, who jumped up, showing off their baskets. After some discussion the chief turned to Papa and asked, “What are you teaching?”
“Basketmaking,” Papa said. “How to make baskets.”
“Basket,” one brave repeated, pointing to what he had done.
“You are good,” the chief said. “You can camp here tonight. There is plenty of water.” Then he motioned for Papa to mount one of the ponies, and they rode back together to get the rest of the camp to join us.
Soon after we left the Indian reservation, Sister Owens in the next wagon became ill, and we camped for several days.
Some of the braves rode over from the reservation to get help with their baskets. Papa didn’t have much straw left to give them, but they had already decided that bear grass would do just as well. Papa showed them how to do a braided edge around the top of their baskets. He took out a pocketknife to trim the ends, and a little Indian boy who had come with his father looked so pleased with the knife that Papa let him keep it. Later that day the boy’s father returned with a strange-looking three-pronged stick that he gave to Papa, explaining how he could use it to find water for digging a well.
“I can probably use this later,” Papa said as he fastened it securely to the wagon.
After we left this place the weather became hotter and the land drier. We had one more stop for supplies before we came to a stretch of desert, and Papa was able to replenish our ice supply. We had left Salt Lake City with a hundred-pound block of ice in a tub to keep our meat cool. Since it was wrapped in newspapers and burlap bags, it melted slowly and lasted quite a while. Ice was harvested from frozen streams and lakes just before the spring thaw and packed in sawdust in dirt-covered sheds. Most towns had a supply that lasted until the next winter, so we were able to buy it as we needed it along the way. That day we were very glad we had some.
The desert sun was hot. Heat waves curled up in ghostly spirals. We choked on the dust stirred up by the wagons and animals. Papa chipped off pieces of ice for us to suck on. They tasted so good that soon all the other children were coming to our wagon for ice chips.
“You’ll give it all away and then we won’t have any,” Caroline complained to Papa.
“Now, now,” he replied. “They don’t have any, and we can share.”

Could you use some great new friends? Would you like to discover talents you never knew you had? And how’s your self-confidence and poise? Could you use more?
Okay, let’s say you’re interested, but suspicious. What would I have to do? you are wondering. It’s easy. Become a pirate. Or a pioneer. Or a Nephite warrior. In other words, you might consider getting on the stage—and we’re not talking about the first stage out of town, either.
Every year, thousands of LDS youth are making new friends, discovering new talents, and gaining new confidence by getting involved in community theater, stake productions, or pageants.
Wait a minute, where are you going? What was that you mumbled about not being able to sing or dance or act? So what if you’re not one of those people who are loaded with talent and love to perform? Plenty of nonsingers, nondancers, and nonactors are discovering that they can sing and dance and act—at least a little—and they are having a great time doing it. They have no intention of making a career of it, but they are learning worthwhile things about themselves and about life. And they are making new friends and having fun in the bargain.
And those who absolutely don’t want to be in front of the scenery are having lots of fun painting that scenery. Or moving it around. Or handling the lights and sound. Or playing in the orchestra.
Oakley, Idaho, is just north of the Utah-Idaho border. Population: between 600 and 700. This is an unlikely place for an opera house. But it has one. And local youth, most of whom are LDS, are playing major roles in its success.
If the term “opera house” conjures up images of big ladies wearing horned helmets and carrying spears, well, that’s not exactly the kind of opera we’re talking about here. Last summer’s production at Howell’s Opera House featured bumbling cops, bungling pirates, and giggly school girls. Gilbert and Sullivan’s comic opera The Pirates of Penzance is hilarious to watch and even more fun to perform.
But even before the performance, when you visit backstage, the first thing you really notice is the closeness of the cast, the easy-going, comfortable friendships. Downstairs in the crowded “green room” they joke and chat as they help each other with makeup like life-long friends. Only when you talk to cast members do you discover that it was the show that really brought most of them together. They come from all over the area, and they go to several different schools. Some are new to the valley, and this has been a great way to make friends.
Nathan Archibald, 16, and Matt Niu, 18, are good buddies now. But they didn’t even know each other before the play. “That alone is worth your summer,” says Nate.
Melanie Ricks, 18, agrees. For her, the cast is the best part of the show. “I’ve made a lot of friendships I wouldn’t have made otherwise.”
Okay, time to change scenes (notice the theatrical term). Now the setting is the Salt Lake Valley. Earlier this year, the Sandy Utah Stake staged Promised Valley, which portrays the sacrifices of the pioneers and the Mormon Battalion. This musical drama has its humorous moments, but it centers around the pioneer experience, the hardships and separations and the faith they required. This makes it very different from The Pirates of Penzance. But if you put the two casts together to compare experiences, they would have a lot in common—like the friendship element.
On a Saturday morning at the Sandy stake center, one of the final rehearsals is taking place. There’s an air of controlled chaos as the orchestra tunes and practices and groups of performers mill around waiting their turns. You see them everywhere in small groups in the halls, the foyers, and corners of the cultural hall: friends, like Justin Dunslow and Thomas Hood. Both are 17 and both are very busy in school, and one of the best things about being in this play together, Justin says, is “it’s brought our friendship closer.”
Obviously, friendships are not the only thing that grows when you answer the casting call. Some of the kids in both Oakley and Sandy are old hands in the theater, with experience in numerous church, school, and community productions. Others are just beginning to discover what they can do. But everyone is discovering new talents and abilities.
Eli Hansen, 15, from Burley, Idaho, was taking an acting class in high school and thought Pirates would be fun. “I learned I have some talents I’ve never used before,” he says. “I didn’t know I could dance or sing. Now they’re getting me into the ward choir.”
Jud Vorwaller, 19, was in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat the summer before. In his senior year he sang in his high school choir. “I didn’t know I could sing,” Jud says. “A friend prompted me to try out. I didn’t want to because I was shy. Last year I had one solo and I was scared to death to do it. Opening night was nerve-racking. This year [when he had a lead role] I wasn’t nervous. I knew I had a lot to do, and if I got nervous, I was really in trouble.”
What has this experience done for Jud? “I’m not nearly as shy as before. I have more confidence in myself.” For someone headed for the mission field, that’s not a bad accomplishment.
Spencer Williams, 17, had a role as a Mormon Battalion member in Promised Valley, a part that required him to sing a solo. “I don’t like it much,” he admitted before the performance. And the thought of singing on the stage at the University of Utah’s Kingsbury Hall was kind of intimidating. But he went through with it. “It was a good experience,” he reported later. “Each night I got a little better.”
To be honest, Spencer didn’t sound like he was anxious to try out for a solo part again. And Thomas Hood, who had acted in his high school’s production of Arsenic and Old Lace, was pretty frank in evaluating his musical talents. “I found out I can’t sing,” he said good-naturedly. But even those who found singing a real stretch enjoyed their overall experience.
Speaking of music, one of the most obvious places to use a musical talent is in the orchestra pit. It’s hard work, say Shane Larsen, 14, and his brother Joseph, 16. When you point out to Shane that nobody really sees the orchestra, he says, “Yes, but they hear us. And if the music isn’t good, the play won’t be any good either.” Joseph admits that when he was on stage in previous productions, he kind of took the orchestra for granted, too. But not any more.
Of course, when it comes to being seen, no one would be seen—or heard—if the stage and sound and light crews were not on the job. Sandy stake’s Thomas Craft, 19, has acted in some productions, but he prefers to work behind the scenes. “Backstage people don’t always get credit, but they are very important for the play to turn out the way it should.”
Which brings up some of the things the stage can teach you about life. Kaisa Hansen was in Pirates. Now she’s a student at BYU. As much as anything, performing gave her an appreciation for the work of others. “When you get involved, you see how much people do behind the scenes. I have started realizing how much work people put into things. And when you are involved in something with other people, and you just play a small role, you are part of the glue that holds things together.”
Eli Hansen, 15, of Burley, talks about another lesson learned from the stage: “When you’re not part of the action, don’t upstage the others. Focus attention on them. Stay in character all the time. There’s always somebody watching you. You represent the Church name, your family name, even your employer. You have to be ‘on’ around the clock.”
When you get involved in stake productions or even Church pageants, there are still more lessons learned—things that shape and strengthen your testimony. Many of those who performed in Promised Valley volunteered that the experience had given them a greater appreciation of the pioneers and of their own heritage. As Spencer Williams notes, “To get into character, you have to imagine what it would have been like.” For him, the miracle of the crickets and the seagulls took on much deeper meaning.
Just like the friendships formed, those kinds of experiences can stay with you for years. Amy Hill, 18, of the Taylorsville Utah Central Stake, remembers when she was in her stake’s performance of the Book-of-Mormon-based A Day, a Night, and a Day. Amy was a ninth grader and had only a small nonspeaking part. But she has vivid memories of “acting out the Book of Mormon, thinking, Wow! this is so cool. This is how it would have felt.” Would she do it again? “I’d definitely recommend that kind of experience. I miss it sometimes.”
So what do the critics say? You’ve just heard from the critics who matter most—the people who have done it. So next time you have a chance to get on the stage (or behind the scenes, or in the orchestra pit) don’t start looking for the first stage out of town. If you want to develop friends, talents, and self-confidence, that stake musical or school play or community theater may be just the ticket.
Be a critic. The world judges plays and musicals as good or bad based on how well they are written and performed. Latter-day Saints must be concerned about content. What is the message? Are language and costumes appropriate? If you have to “become your character” in order to act well, what kind of character are you being asked to play? Several of the young people we talked to indicated that they were touched emotionally and spiritually by what they were portraying.
Be aware. There are lots of opportunities to get involved in wholesome theater. Most—but not all—school plays are safe. (Get a look at the script if you are unsure.) Stake and ward productions are a wonderful opportunity for friendships and personal growth. And many communities—especially those with a strong LDS influence—have local theater companies that have high moral standards. Ask around.
Be prepared to commit yourself and work hard. Rehearsals can be boring and tiring. But when everything comes together, the payoff can be terrific.

When I was in my teens, a recently returned missionary named Brother Peterson taught our Sunday School class. Every week he would draw a large arrow from the lower left-hand corner of the blackboard pointing to the upper right-hand corner. Then he would write at the top of the blackboard, “Aim High.”

Whatever doctrine he was teaching, he would ask us to stretch ourselves, to reach a little higher than we thought was possible. The arrow and those two words, aim high, were a constant invitation throughout the lesson. Brother Peterson made me want to serve a good mission, to do better in school, to set my sights higher for my career.

Brother Peterson had a work for us to do. His goal was to help us “think about, feel about, and then do something about living gospel principles.” His teaching helped save my life.

Aunt Jennie sent me a scrapbook for my birthday. The cover is red with “My Book of Remembrance” written on the front in big blue letters. Inside, the pages are thick and gray.
I decided to put the supplies I needed to work on my scrapbook in a shoe box. I soon had the box filled with markers, crayons, stickers, scissors, glue, and tape.
Mom is going to help me fill my book with things about me. She said that when I have filled this book, she will buy me another one!
For the first page I glued a photo of me and signed my name below it. Then I wrote, “My eyes are green. My hair is brown. I am six years old.”
On the next page, I glued a special letter from Grandma. It is the first letter that I have ever received.
Last month I wrote my dad a poem for Father’s Day. Then I colored purple flowers all around it. Dad said it was OK to glue it in my book.
On another page, I drew pictures of my mom, dad, brother, cat, and me. I added a photo of the whole family and wrote, “We are a family.”
Mom helped me find a picture of the Portland Oregon Temple to glue in my book. I want everyone to know that we are a forever family.
I drew a picture of my house and my favorite climbing tree. I also wrote my address and phone number on the page.
If you read my book of remembrance, you will learn lots of things about me. You can fill a scrapbook with things about you, too. When people read it, they will learn about your history!

A number of years ago I received a telephone call that would change my life—my eternal life.
A good sister from my ward called to invite me to perform a dance floor show number at a Mutual activity evening that was being held in a couple of weeks. Dancing was a hobby of mine, and I was studying ballroom dancing at a studio in Salt Lake City. I had never been to a youth MIA dance before, and I was excited to accept the invitation to perform.
My partner and I arrived on the appointed evening and were greeted enthusiastically. I was surprised to find that we were the only ones on the program. It was an exciting experience, and I thoroughly enjoyed the evening.
The following Sunday morning, I decided to go to church in our ward for the first time since I was ordained a deacon. At that time none of my family was active. I found people who welcomed me warmly, and they demonstrated a genuine friendship and caring. These experiences started me on the road to activity and service in the Church that has been a joy to me throughout the years.
The senior Aaronic Priesthood committee, as it was called then, was a group of brethren who worked with men who were older than the normal Aaronic Priesthood age. These were just regular men who were doing what the Lord wanted them to do. They took me under their wing, and we became good friends. A wonderful returned missionary gave our class instruction. He taught the basics of the gospel and helped prepare me to serve a mission. During this same time I was asked to help teach dancing in the ward, which gave me a feeling of being needed, and it also gave me a responsibility.
The next 15 months flew by, filled with growth and happiness as I progressed. I soon received a call to serve a mission in Mexico. I quickly grew to love the language, the country, and its people. Sharing the message of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ gave me a foundation upon which to build the rest of my life.
That evening so long ago when I was invited to share my talent, the door opened to a wonderful new world of friends and activity in the Church. I am grateful for those who reached out with a warm hand of fellowship, invited me in, nurtured me, and blessed my life.

In my last conference message, I related my devastating experience many years ago when, as a heart surgeon, I was not able to save the lives of two little sisters. With permission of their father, I would like to say more about that family.
Congenital heart disease afflicted three children born to Ruth and Jimmy Hatfield. Their first son, Jimmy Jr., died without a definitive diagnosis. I entered the picture when the parents sought help for their two daughters, Laural Ann and her younger sister, Gay Lynn. I was heartbroken when both girls died following their operations. Understandably, Ruth and Jimmy were spiritually shattered.
Over time, I learned that they harbored lingering resentment toward me and the Church. For almost six decades, I have been haunted by this situation and have grieved for the Hatfields. I tried several times to establish contact with them, without success.
Then one night last May, I was awakened by those two little girls from the other side of the veil. Though I did not see or hear them with my physical senses, I felt their presence. Spiritually, I heard their pleadings. Their message was brief and clear: “Brother Nelson, we are not sealed to anyone! Can you help us?” Soon thereafter, I learned that their mother had passed away, but their father and younger brother were still alive.
Emboldened by the pleadings of Laural Ann and Gay Lynn, I tried again to contact their father, who I learned was living with his son Shawn. This time they were willing to meet with me.
In June, I literally knelt in front of Jimmy, now 88 years old, and had a heart-to-heart talk with him. I spoke of his daughters’ pleadings and told him I would be honored to perform sealing ordinances for his family. I also explained that it would take time and much effort on his and Shawn’s part to be ready and worthy to enter the temple, as neither of them had ever been endowed.
The Spirit of the Lord was palpable throughout that meeting. And when Jimmy and Shawn each accepted my offer, I was overjoyed! They worked diligently with their stake president, bishop, home teachers, and ward mission leader, as well as with young missionaries and a senior missionary couple. And then, not long ago, in the Payson Utah Temple, I had the profound privilege of sealing Ruth to Jimmy and their four children to them. Wendy and I wept as we participated in that sublime experience. Many hearts were healed that day!
On reflection, I have marveled at Jimmy and Shawn and what they were willing to do. They have become heroes to me. If I could have the wish of my heart, it would be that each man and young man in this Church would demonstrate the courage, strength, and humility of this father and son. They were willing to forgive and let go of old hurts and habits. They were willing to submit to guidance from their priesthood leaders so that the Atonement of Jesus Christ could purify and magnify them. Each was willing to become a man who worthily bears the priesthood “after the holiest order of God.”
Are we willing to pray, fast, study, seek, worship, and serve as men of God so we can have that kind of priesthood power? Because two little girls were so eager to be sealed to their family, their father and brother were willing to pay the price to bear the holy Melchizedek Priesthood.

Several years ago, Amy Stohl didn’t know exactly why she accepted a position as an au pair (similar to a nanny) with an LDS military family living in Belgium. She just felt right about it. She enjoyed her time with the Robert McBride family, and they became close friends.
Soon, however, Amy was back at BYU, where she continued work on her pre-med requirements. But she became convinced that medical school just wouldn’t be right for her, and she switched to a humanities major.
A couple of years later, the McBrides, now assigned to the U.S. Military Academy, called to tell Amy about a cadet named Shaun Greene. He’d been a student at BYU before, but was now at West Point. He was going to be at BYU for a couple of days in the fall to watch a football game, and they’d like her to meet him. Shaun and Amy got acquainted and began writing to each other.
By January, Amy was close to graduation, but was planning to stay at BYU for one more semester. “But I became restless,” she says. “I prayed for guidance, and I felt something important was coming up.”
She talked to the McBrides and decided to move to Manhattan. “I found a place to live, had a job lined up, even arranged to finish my degree by correspondence,” Amy says. “Everything seemed to be working out.

“But when I visited West Point, I had a strong impression that I had to stay, isolated as it was, so that I could understand Shaun and what he had been through. I don’t know that anyone can fully understand a cadet’s thinking without spending time at West Point.”
The understanding grew. In fact, now Shaun and Amy see each other every evening.
It’s graduation day at West Point. Time for the final parade. And even though rain will soak cadets and spectators alike, it won’t matter. Tomorrow the sun will shine, bright and hot, and the graduates, dressed in white because their gray uniforms were ruined by the storm, will receive their diplomas and commissions from the President of the United States.
A few days later, Shaun and Amy will enter the Washington D.C. Temple to be married for time and eternity. Oh, sure, by July Shaun has to report for additional training. But before that, there’s a honeymoon to attend to. It’s a matter of putting first things first.

Robert Minnick, a deacon from the Jordan Fourth Ward, Salt Lake Jordan Stake, has found a unique way to help others. He cares for, loves, and trains a puppy for 12 months, without pay, then gives the dog back after the end of the year never to see it again. The dogs are bred to be guide dogs for the blind, and Robert and his family have been chosen by the Guide Dogs for the Blind Kennel in San Rafael, California, to perform this service.
It isn’t easy to give up a dog you’ve become attached to, but Robert realizes there are people out there who need the dogs desperately. He has found a way to be involved in a worthwhile service project 24-hours a day.

On Easter Sunday some years ago, my four-year-old son Ben came down the hallway of our meetinghouse after Primary, happily waving the paper he had colored. He called out with pure excitement, “Mom, Mom, have you heard about the Resurrection?” He wanted to make sure I had heard the good news. Something his Primary teacher had said really touched Ben’s heart so that he joyfully began to understand the Resurrection. How nice it would be for all of us to feel that same joy every Easter!

Putting God first means that we can trust Him to make more of our lives than we can on our own. My grandson received an old bike with rusty handles. To help him be excited about this bike, his father showed him how to sand the handles and then promised to bring his favourite colour paint to coat them that afternoon. After 15 minutes of sanding, the task seemed more challenging for this little guy than he had expected, and he complained about the difficulty, to which his father said words we can all take comfort in: “You do the best you can, and I will make up the difference.”

This summer my wife and I had the opportunity to visit an eighty-year-old man who certainly demonstrated each of these elements in his life. He was born in a small Idaho town and worked long hours on the farm to finance his education. He spent his professional life teaching English and Spanish in a small high school. To set aside funds for missions and the education of his large family, he grew strawberry and raspberry crops to be picked and sold to the local markets. This labor occupied his summers.
Because these fruits were so labor-intensive, few people had the ambition to grow them. They were much-wanted crops. The demand was always there for as many berries as he could produce. He was never satisfied with the productivity of his crops, so he studied new varieties in an attempt to find the best producers. His backyard was literally an experimental farm for testing the variety of bushes that produced the sweetest and most abundant fruit in his particular climate. His studies yielded increased productivity. The labor kept him in good physical health. The fields of berries furnished automatic employment for his children each summer. The berries delivered to the market could be exchanged not only for cash but also for commodities to be used in their home storage. He managed his resources to build a beautiful home and supply the needs of his family.
This man loved to watch the Lord’s system of multiplying and replenishing the earth, which gave him social, emotional, and spiritual strength. Now retired from active teaching, he continues to grow his berries, not for profit but for satisfaction. Six mornings each week during the berry harvest season, you will see him leading a parade of ten to twelve cars out of the city toward his berry patch. Families come to add to their home storage by picking the berries. I asked him the price per case if we supplied our own labor. He answered: “I don’t know. My pay is seeing the look on people’s faces as they leave the field holding the fruits of their labors in their arms.”

Photo illustration by Ilda Masa/iStock/Thinkstock
On the first morning of our vacation, my family and I went snowboarding. After several runs and then lunch, my father, my older brother, and I decided to try a new trail. We snowboarded for quite some time through unfamiliar territory, encountering strange obstacles that you wouldn’t normally find on a regular ski trail. We weaved through trees and pushed through the endless snow until we discovered we’d taken a wrong turn at the top of the mountain. Now near the bottom of the canyon, we realized we were lost.
We were standing in three feet of snow, and aside from the few pine trees that dotted the canyon, everything was white. We had no idea where to go. It was three o’clock in the afternoon; in a few hours, the sun would set and temperatures would drop dramatically. Plus, the ski patrol went home at four o’clock. If we didn’t get help soon, we’d have to spend the night in the freezing cold, stranded in a snowy canyon without food, water, or clothes that would keep us warm enough through the night. I didn’t even want to think about what might happen to us.
We knew that contacting Mom was the only way we’d get out of the canyon that night. So we got out our phone, but we didn’t have any reception and the battery was almost dead. We adjusted the settings on the phone so an alarm would go off if we got to a place with service, and then we wandered anxiously as the sun sank lower behind the mountain.
As it got darker and colder, our chances for survival seemed to decrease. I began to worry. “What if we don’t make it out tonight?” I thought. Feeling overwhelmed and scared, the three of us offered a prayer to Heavenly Father asking for safety and for the comfort of the Holy Ghost. We asked Heavenly Father to help us find our way out of the canyon, to meet our physical needs, and to allow us to contact help.
As we opened our eyes, we saw a small trail, and the Holy Ghost prompted us to follow it south. Hiking through three feet of snow in winter gear is not an easy task, but we felt God’s merciful hand pushing us forward.
We reached the top of a small hill, and the phone beeped. We didn’t dare move from where we stood. Carefully, I pulled out the phone and sent Mom a message explaining our dire situation and asking her to contact the ski patrol.
By this point, the sun had almost disappeared behind the mountain. Temperatures averaged -25º Fahrenheit (-32º C) and were dropping fast. We were wet, cold, and tired, and we still had no idea where to go. “We could die out here,” I thought.
Then we heard voices—people were yelling for us! We yelled back and waved our arms around to try to get their attention. The ski patrol followed the sound of our voices until they saw us. They led us safely out of the canyon, and we were reunited with Mom, who waited just outside the mouth of the canyon. We had been saved.
As soon as I sat down, my tired body collapsed, the setting sun disappeared behind distant mountains, and my cell phone’s battery died. Heavenly Father had given us just enough energy and time to safely make it out of the canyon. He had heard our prayers and granted them to the fullest.
I am so grateful for a loving Heavenly Father who hears our prayers and watches over us.