Gospel Story Finder

Jason could almost feel the pebbly surface of the new basketball that would soon be in his hands. Just a few more cans and I can buy it, he thought as he turned the corner into the alley.
The sight of a short, skinny, bearded man looking through the trash bins behind the courthouse startled him back to reality. He didn’t want the man to see him, so he crouched behind a parked car. He had been collecting aluminum cans for the last three months and was going to turn them in to the recycling center to get the money for the basketball. Each day, Mr. Remington, the courthouse custodian, put a box of pop cans out in the alley for him.
The skinny man wore a lightweight jacket with a broken zipper. Underneath the jacket was a stained, hooded sweatshirt. There were holes in his tennis shoes, and he wasn’t wearing socks. Jason shivered when he thought about how cold the man must be.
The man continued sorting through the trash bins, pulling out bottles, newspapers, and old magazines and putting them in separate piles. He took a stack of magazines to an old bicycle that was leaning against the courthouse wall. The bike had high, V-shaped handlebars and a large wire basket on the front. The back tire rim was bent, and the two old tires didn’t match.
When the man was ready to go, he put the newspapers and bottles into a large garbage sack. As he got on his bike, Jason heard pop cans rattling inside the sack too. Jumping up, he yelled, “Hey! You can’t take those cans—they’re mine! Mr. Remington left them for me!”
The skinny man turned and stared at Jason. His lips were bluish gray, and his hands were shaking from the cold. “Finders, keepers, kid,” he said in a gruff voice, then rode out the other end of the alley.
Jason stared at the empty alley for a minute, wondering what to do. Then he ran around the courthouse and up the steps to the lobby, where it was warm. His dad was the county sheriff, and on days when he wasn’t busy, he met Jason in the lobby after school and drove him home in the police car. As Jason waited now, he thought about the man in the alley. Why was he going through the trash bins? Why wasn’t he wearing warm clothes? And why was he riding a bicycle in the middle of winter?
“Ready to go?” Jason turned to see his father standing behind him. He was a tall man who didn’t talk much.
“Somebody just stole the cans Mr. Remington put in the box for me,” Jason blurted out as they walked to the car. As they drove toward home, he told his father about the man in the alley.
“How many cans have you collected?”
“I have two big, green trash bags full of smashed ones, and with the cans I collect from the courthouse Christmas party next week, I’ll have enough to pay for my new basketball.”
“Well,” his father said, “you can get enough somewhere else—please don’t collect any more cans from the courthouse.”
“What? Those are my cans! Mr. Remington leaves them there for me!”
His father looked hurt. “Think about that poor man, Jason. If you can’t get cans somewhere else, you can earn money another way.” His father looked very serious as he repeated, “Think about it.”
Jason knew it was useless to argue. Hot tears began to well up in his eyes. He turned and stared out the police car window.
It was getting dark. The long shadows on the gray snow looked like strange dark animals playing tag with each other. I’ll think about it, all right, Jason thought to himself. Finders, keepers! He started to plan a way to get even with the man who had taken his cans.
They were almost home when the police radio came on. “This is County One,” his father said into the microphone. Jason was too upset to listen to what was being said. “Son,” his father said when he was through talking on the radio, “I have some business to take care of. Do you want to come with me?”
Jason kept staring out the window. “I guess so,” he said flatly.
The car turned sharply and headed toward the south side of town. Jason didn’t like this area; it made him nervous. Most of the houses were old and rundown. The stores didn’t have Christmas lights, and their parking lots were littered with trash. Cars had been left on the side of the road with their hoods up and their windshields broken. Jason began to wish that he hadn’t come along.
After going under a freeway overpass, they pulled into the driveway of an abandoned house. In the front yard two men stood warming their hands over a fire in an old steel drum. The strong wind whipped the fire, and the light danced across the police car. The men’s shadows stretched across the house like grotesque giants. “Jason, I have to talk to some men. Stay in the car and keep the doors locked.”
As his father walked over to the two men and began talking, Jason wondered idly why the men were out on such a cold night. After a while, his father turned on a flashlight and went toward the house. Most of the windows had been broken out, and there were no lights on. Jason’s eyes followed the beam of light as it searched the house. Suddenly it lit up something familiar: On the front porch was the bike with the V-shaped handlebars! Jason sat up in his seat and pressed his face against the car window to see better.
Three men came out of the house and began talking to his father. Jason tried to see if the skinny man was in the group, but it was too dark to see their faces.
The icy wind began to blow harder. Gusts shook the car and drove snow into the house. Jason’s father talked a little while longer, then came back to the car. When the car door opened, a gust of cold air blasted Jason’s face with tiny, sharp snow crystals. He shivered as his father started the car.
“Dad, did you see him, the guy who took my cans?”
At first his father didn’t answer. They drove for about a mile before he said, “Jason, the man who took the cans is not as fortunate as we are. He doesn’t have a job and lives in that abandoned house. He buys food with the money he gets from selling what old newspapers and cans he’s able to collect. Do you understand?”
Jason looked up slowly and nodded. “I understand that you’re going to let him steal my cans.”
As soon as they pulled into their driveway, Jason opened the door. Before he could jump out, though, his father put a hand on his shoulder. “Listen,” his father said quietly, “I think that he needs the cans more than you do. But you’re a good boy, and you’re old enough to make some of your own choices. If you feel right about taking those cans, go ahead. It’s your decision.”
The day of the courthouse Christmas party, Jason got out of school early. “Finders, keepers, finders, keepers,” he said over and over as he ran to the courthouse. He thought about all the cans that Mr. Remington would put in the box and about how much they would be worth. He thought about the new basketball and about his father’s words. Then he thought about how surprised the skinny man was going to be when he found that Jason had arrived at the alley first.
He had never done anything like this before. His heart was pounding, and his stomach was in knots. “Finders, keepers,” he repeated as he looked over his shoulder to make sure that no one was watching. He turned the corner and went into the courthouse alley.
Twenty minutes later the skinny man wheeled his bike into the alley. Jason was hiding in a doorway, his feet and hands aching from the cold. The man went to where the box of cans was kept. He stood quietly for a moment when he saw that the box was empty. Then he reached down and picked up two large green trash bags with red Christmas bows on them.
As the man opened the first bag, Jason heard the unmistakable clink of smashed pop cans. The sound sent a warm rush through his body, and he felt wonderful. Finders, keepers, Jason thought. Finders, keepers!

Randy Thomas and Heather Young, both members of the Cherry Hill New Jersey Stake, take their dogs to church on Sunday. They also take them to stores, schools, restaurants, airports and other public places.
How do they get away with it?
Actually, Randy and Heather are encouraged to do all these things. The dogs they take care of—a new puppy every year—will eventually belong to a blind person and will be their “eyes” when they go out in the world.
“Initially, I got into this project because I liked the idea of getting a new puppy every year,” says Heather. “It’s hard to let them go after you train them and bond with them for a whole year, but it feels good to know that you’re helping someone else.”
Randy, Heather, and all of the other youth involved in the project give mobility and freedom to hundreds of people each year.
“Once I first picked up the harness handle I knew that the world of possibilities now lay at my fingertips,” says one recipient.
For Heather and Randy, comments like that make it all worthwhile.

How was school?
Not that great.
You look exhausted. How much sleep did you get last night, and what did you eat for lunch?
I’d really like you to take better care of yourself, Nico—and so would Heavenly Father. Try going to bed earlier and eating healthier foods. You’ll feel better—physically and mentally.
Hm. Maybe Mom’s right about taking care of myself. I should give it a try.
How was school, Nico?
It was great!

Stewart woke up with an intense feeling of dread. It was Friday—dodgeball day in gym class. His stomach was already tying itself in knots.
He ate no breakfast, and he was mostly silent while his mom drove him to school.
First period was art class, his favorite. He liked it because it was something he could do well. He also liked it because he didn’t have to compete with anyone. There was no winner, no loser, just everyone doing his very best. That’s fair, he thought.
Second period was English, a class that Stewart would have really enjoyed if it were not right before gym. He loved to read. It was a grand adventure to let his imagination whisk him off to faraway places. But today, just as he got into a story and started enjoying it, he remembered that in less than an hour he would be in his gym shorts and sneakers, waiting for all the other boys to be chosen for teams. Then someone would finally say, “Oh great—I guess we’re stuck with Stewart!” He hated that part even worse than the actual playing of the game. Naturally, the biggest, most athletic boys were chosen first; Stewart understood that, but he didn’t understand why they had to make fun of him just because he didn’t play as well.
Third period came. Stewart walked across the football field to the gymnasium, dreading even the musky smell of the locker room. He and the other boys dressed quickly and took their places on the gym floor; the coaches didn’t like to be kept waiting.
“Line up; it’s dodgeball day,” Coach Warden shouted. “We need some team leaders!”
Stewart kicked at the chipped lines painted on the old gymnasium floor, wishing that the period was over and that he was eating lunch. He was startled when Coach Warden called his name—he had never been called on to choose a team before!
Soon he and three other boys were standing in a line facing the group. Then Coach Warden walked over, “Stewart, you go first.”
Immediately most of the boys began the usual ritual of jumping up and down, waving their hands, and yelling, “Me! Me! Me!” Joe Dan just stood there with his arms folded across his chest. He didn’t have to jump up and down; he was the best athlete in the whole school and was always chosen first. He told Stewart, “Go ahead—pick me and I’ll pick the rest of the team for you.” When Stewart hesitated, Joe Dan looked puzzled. “Pick me—you know I’m the best.”
The entire gymnasium became silent in disbelief when Stewart said, “I choose Craig.”
Craig stepped forward with a look of amazement that turned into a big grin. “I’ve never been first pick before.” He had always been chosen just before Stewart—next to last.
The other team leaders made their first choices. When it was Stewart’s turn again, a pin could have been heard dropping as he called out, “Andy.” Andy had usually been chosen just before Craig.
At each subsequent turn, Stewart went on going up the ladder instead of down, choosing boys who were usually “assigned,” rather than chosen. The other team leaders chose the best athletes, as usual.
For the first time, Stewart enjoyed the game. His team came in last, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that every boy on it felt wanted.
After the game, the boys went to change clothes. Stewart was tying his shoelaces when Joe Dan towered over him and taunted him, “I told you to pick me. But you wouldn’t do it. You’re nothing but a loser.”
“Joe Dan!” It was the authoritative voice of the coach. “Stewart is many things, but a loser certainly isn’t one of them.” Coach Warden made Joe Dan apologize, sent him and the other boys on to class, then turned to Stewart. “I want to thank you.”
“Huh? What for?”
Coach Warden sat down on the bench, motioning Stewart to sit beside him. “For reteaching me a very important lesson. You see, whenever there’s competition, there has to be a winner and a loser. Everyone wants to be a winner, and nobody wants to be a loser. Today the other team leaders were thinking only about winning, so they chose the best athletes. You were more concerned with the boys themselves, with their feelings. It would’ve been very easy for you to have picked Joe Dan and let him put together the winning team for you. But you didn’t. You were brave enough to choose those whom the others considered losers. But you were the real winner today, Stewart, and so were your teammates. I’m very proud of you.”
The coach walked with Stewart to the door, then went into his office and made a list of all of the boys. He cut the names out on individual strips of paper and threw them into a baseball cap, ready for picking the next day’s teams.

5. Publicize and recruit.
It took time for some of the youth in the stake to get used to the idea of a service-oriented conference. The stake youth leadership held a fireside to build up enthusiasm. One boy, Todd, who at first did not want to become involved in the project, later surprised everyone with his enthusiasm. The builders showed him what needed to be done, and he worked like a professional. Todd also developed a good relationship with another, rather lonely boy, by working with him and showing him how to use tools. The two boys not only established a friendship between themselves but with the adults as well.

Twenty years ago my bishop was interviewing me for my temple recommend. Because I was a member of a stake presidency, I knew all the temple recommend interview questions. I asked them weekly to other members, and I was prepared to answer each question that my bishop asked me. But following the formal questions, he caught me totally off guard with an additional inquiry about my understanding of the gospel.
He asked, “Jay, do you know how to repent?” My first thought was to say, “Yes, of course I know how to repent.” I paused for a moment to think about it, and the more I thought about it, the more uncertain I was of my answer. The standard five or six R’s of repentance (recognition, remorse, restitution, reformation, resolution, etc.) did not seem adequate. In fact, they were meaningless to me at that time. They seemed to be too trite, too compartmentalized.
I know there are some great doctrines and principles in those R’s of repentance, but I did not feel comfortable giving an immediate answer or using them in my answer. Finally I said rather hesitatingly, “Yes, bishop. I think I do.” I do not remember any other details of the interview because I was so struck with that one question. “Jay, do you know how to repent?” Since then I have thought a lot about that question and the associated doctrine.
Some years ago I worked in the Missionary Department of the Church. We were developing materials to help missionaries be better and do better. One of the General Authorities shared this experience about repentance:
“A little over a year ago, I had the privilege of interviewing a young man to go on a mission. Because he had committed a major transgression, it was necessary for him under then-existing policy to be interviewed by a General Authority. When the young man came in, I said, ‘Apparently there’s been a major transgression in your life, and that has necessitated this interview. Would you mind telling me what the problem was? What did you do?’
“He laughed and said, ‘Well, there isn’t anything I haven’t done.’ I said, ‘Well, let’s be more specific then. Have you … ?’ And then this General Authority began to probe with some very specific questions. The young man laughed again and said, ‘I told you, I’ve done everything.’
“I said, ‘How many times have you …’ He said very sarcastically, ‘Do you think I numbered them?’ I said, ‘I would to God you could if you can’t.’ He said, again quite sarcastically, ‘Well, I can’t.’
“I said, ‘How about …’ And then the General Authority probed in another direction. He said, ‘I told you. I’ve done everything.’ I said, ‘Drugs?’ He said, ‘Yes,’ in a very haughty attitude. I said, ‘What makes you think you’re going on a mission then?’ He said, ‘I know I’m going. My patriarchal blessing says I’ll go on a mission, and I’ve repented. I haven’t done any of those things for this past year. I have repented, and I know I’m going on a mission.’
“I said, ‘My dear friend, I’m sorry but you are not going on a mission. Do you think we could send you out with those clean, wholesome young men who have never violated the code? Do you think we could have you go out and boast and brag about your past? You haven’t repented; you have just stopped doing something.
“‘Sometime in your life you need to visit Gethsemane; and when you have been there, you’ll understand what repentance is. Only after you have suffered in some small degree as the Savior suffered in Gethsemane will you know what repentance is. The Savior has suffered in a way none of us understands for every transgression committed. How dare you laugh and jest and have a haughty attitude about your repentance? I’m sorry, you are not going on a mission.’
“He started to cry, and he cried for several minutes. I didn’t say a word. Finally, he said, ‘I guess that’s the first time I have cried since I was five years old.’ I said, ‘If you had cried like that the first time you were tempted to violate the moral code, you possibly would be going on a mission.’
“He left the office, and I think he felt I was really cruel. I explained to the bishop and the stake president that the boy could not go on a mission.”
About six months later the same General Authority returned to that city to speak in a lecture series held in the evening. When he finished, many young adults lined up to shake hands with him. As he shook hands, one by one, he looked up and saw the young man that he had previously interviewed standing in the line about four back. The General Authority relates the following:
“My mind quickly flashed back to our interview. I recalled his laughing and haughty attitude. I remembered how sarcastic he was. Pretty soon he was right in front of me. I was on the stand bending over, and as I reached down to shake his hand, I noticed a great change had taken place. He had tears in his eyes. He had almost a holy glow about his countenance. He took my hand in his and said, ‘I’ve been there; I’ve been to Gethsemane and back.’ I said, ‘I know. It shows in your face.’ We can be forgiven for our transgressions, but we must understand that just to stop doing something is not repentance. If it had not been for the Savior and the miracle of forgiveness, this young man would have carried his transgressions throughout all eternity. We ought to love the Savior and serve Him for this reason and this reason alone” (Elder Vaughn J. Featherstone, Sweden Area Conference, Youth Session, Aug. 1974).
The words “conditions of repentance” (see Hel. 5:11; Hel. 14:11; D&C 18:12) have great meaning. I have studied and pondered the scriptures to learn what those conditions are and discovered that these conditions could also be called prerequisites to the five or six R’s. These R’s are important and much needed, but the following conditions need to precede them.
The first condition is that God lives. He is in heaven. He knows us by name. We cannot hide from Him. He has a fullness of divine attributes and perfections, including all knowledge. In order for repentance to begin, we must start with God and our relationship to Him.
Elder Jeffrey Holland made a very insightful comment about repentance and God. “Someone once said that repentance is the first pressure we feel when drawn to the bosom of God” (Ensign, Nov. 1996, 83).
We are fallen, mortal, unclean and we need help. We are estranged and cannot live with Him being mortal.
We need to know the doctrine that one day we will die. Some die early, some late. But that day will come; it is absolute.
There will be a final judgment. An important condition of repentance is to believe that one day we will all stand before the judgment bar. That day will come.
Another prerequisite or condition to repentance is to know that no unclean thing can dwell with God (see 1 Ne. 10:21; 1 Ne. 15:34; Alma 7:21; Alma 40:26; and Hel. 8:25). You can hide sins from your bishop, you can hide them from your parents and friends, but if you continue and die with unresolved sins, you are unclean and no unclean thing can dwell with God. There are no exceptions.
We are saved only through the merits, the mercy, and the grace of the Holy One of Israel (see 2 Ne. 2:8). He is our only hope. As we find ourselves where we are, we turn to Him. I am so grateful for the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, a message of hope. There is hope and He can make us clean.
I have worked with many, including my own self, and have seen the miracle of forgiveness, the miracle of cleansing, and I bear witness of Him, as one of His witnesses. I know that He lives. May you ever be blessed to stay on that straight and narrow path that leads you to God.

Many unselfish children of God are involved in teaching efforts, also worldwide. A good example, known to us through our humanitarian efforts, is the activity of a man known as Mr. Gabriel, who has been a refugee from various conflicts on several occasions. He recently observed that hundreds of thousands of refugee children in East Africa needed help to keep their hopes alive and their minds active. He organized other teachers in the refugee population into what they called “tree schools,” where children were gathered for lessons under the shade of a tree. He did not wait for others to organize or direct but personally led efforts that have provided learning opportunities for thousands of primary school children during stressful years of displacement.

One night in ancient times, three horsemen were riding across a desert. As they crossed the dry bed of a river, out of the darkness a voice called, “Halt!” They obeyed. The voice then told them to dismount, to pick up handfuls of pebbles, put the pebbles in their pockets, and remount. The horsemen followed the instruction.
The voice then said, “If you have done as I commanded, tomorrow at sunup you will be both glad and sorry.” The horsemen rode on. When the sun rose, they reached into their pockets and found that a miracle had happened. The pebbles had been transformed into diamonds and other precious stones.
The horsemen remembered the warning that they would be both glad and sorry. They were glad they had taken some pebbles, sorry they had not taken more.

President Daniel Allotey, stake president of the Ghana Kasoa Stake, knows that it is indeed his religious responsibility to consider how to strengthen and support the young single adults in his stake. President Allotey and his counselors prayerfully began to study President Nelson’s direction and counsel. The stake presidency received answers to their prayers and knew that their focus needed to be on YSA gathering places. This meant asking members to make sacrifices to serve with the YSA.
President Allotey shared, “Having the desire to be perfectly aligned with the prophet brings light and revelations to the mind and heart and rekindles the energy and ability to do what may seem impossible. Upon the authorization of gathering places by the Brethren, and prayerfully seeking to understand the vision, I felt the calm assurance within my heart, and I knew for certain this is the Lord’s answer and perfect solution to the YSA dilemma my stake has been trying to solve for many years. To organize the gathering place with no supporting budget became the real test of our faith. We knew that if we would take that faithful step, the Lord would make a way for us” (see 1 Nephi 3:7).
A YSA council was created. Brother and Sister Dwamena-Frimpong and Brother William and Sister Karen Aryee were called to serve as YSA supporting couples and gathering place specialists, respectively. “When this calling was extended to us, we had no idea of what to do and how to get things done,” said Sister Aryee. “As it is our human nature to come up with plans, thoughts, and goals for the future, we needed to realize God is the only one who truly knows what’s best for us. That was how we sought direction from the Lord for us to come up with activities that will unite, educate, and bring souls unto Christ. The Lord, indeed, answers prayers as we received guidance steadily on what to do and how to get all our YSA’s involved.”
The Aryees met with the stake presidency and began to petition the Lord to lead them and give them direction. President Ghunney, second counselor in the stake presidency, said, “Under the direction of the stake president, we met to discuss and plan on how to implement the gathering place. Through these council meetings, I have seen the heavens open, and revelations poured out to our understanding, and the more we met in council, the more the Lord made clear to us what we needed to do.”
The newly called leaders knew that within their stake there would be experts in various fields that could teach the needed classes. Visits were made to wards and branches seeking teachers for bead making classes, fashion, IT proficiency, eCommerce and web design, wood engineering, computer animation, web design, cosmetology, driving, detergents making and culinary arts. President Allotey said, “When I called each teacher, I told them to be prepared to make some sacrifices to help the YSA in our stake.” In West Africa, transportation costs and the premium placed on long work hours are high.
A gathering place devotional was held. Members of the Church, neighbors and friends were invited to register for skills training and BYU-Pathway classes.
There was a lot to learn. At times, leaders were not feeling the success and seeing the number of YSA for which they had hoped and prayed. They prayed continually. They felt certain that sacrifice was the key to success. When there were not enough computers for the web design class, students shared computers. When internet was not available, instructors spent time during the week creating tutorial videos that students could watch when internet was available.
Sister Mercy Dady, beads instructor, declared, “When our class started, getting beads was not easy for YSAs due to financial challenges.” Sister Dady purchased all the beads required for the first two weeks and provided the class with all essential tools and materials. This initial sacrifice gave the class a successful start. Some of the YSA were able to contribute small amounts of money to purchase the beads required for subsequent classes.
Sister Atistosgbui shared her thoughts on being an instructor. “Volunteering as an instructor over the past few weeks has been challenging, yet an eye-opening, learning opportunity for my students and me. My desire to see the YSA succeed motivated me to sacrifice my resources to transporting mannequins, pressing iron, and sewing machines among other things from my workshop to the gathering place and back twice every week. Although the cost of transporting the equipment to class was high, I knew the Lord always blesses the cheerful giver”, she said.
Brother Collins Sarkodie Aning said, “I thank my Heavenly Father for the opportunity to volunteer as the e-commerce and web design instructor. Personally, I will say that what has kept my class going since the gathering place launch is the love that I have for the YSA and my quest to help them acquire a skill to support themselves and their families.” Twice each week Brother Sarkodie dedicated an entire day to his classes and transported himself from his home or workplace to meet and teach the YSA.
At the completion of twelve weeks of classes and at the end of a BYU-Pathway semester, a graduation ceremony was held at the stake center. Students displayed projects and shared newly acquired skills and talents. Traditional dancing, music, and the awarding of certificates to 106 students ended the semester on a high note.
President Allotey testified, “The gathering place has transformed every participant’s life. Nonmembers also have been blessed, several being willing to meet with full-time missionaries to be taught the gospel of Jesus Christ.
“The happenings in the YSA gathering place are amazing! It has been many years since we last saw YSA trooping into our stake center and gathering together almost every day of the week. As I keep meeting and interacting with returning inactive YSA and even nonmember YSA who have come from the neighborhood to the gathering place, my heart swells with joy as I see the real fulfillment of the prophecy of the gathering of Israel on this side of the veil and the eventual salvation of the rising generation. I know that the YSA gathering place principle is revealed by God through our prophet to save this rising generation.”

For example, a young woman describes how she stays on the covenant path: “I once had a classmate ask me for help. I didn’t think much of it, just gave her the help she needed. But afterward, the Spirit reminded me that by helping bear her burdens, I was keeping the covenants I made when I was baptized (see Mosiah 18:8–10). I am grateful for the opportunities Heavenly Father gives me every day to choose to walk the covenant path.”

I remember my daughter as she was growing up had a constant feeling in her mind that the second coming was just around the corner and she would not live to adulthood or have the privilege of raising children. It was interesting as this feeling of insecurity constantly bothered her. We were unaware that in Family Night as we spoke of the Second Coming and as she listened to the daily news about the cold war and the A bomb, she was internalizing this in a way that she was afraid. She would even go to the extent of saving food and putting it in a drawer. This was her way of implementing the food storage program. It was not uncommon for her mother while cleaning her room to find a chicken leg or wing stuffed in one of the dresser drawers.

Are there any toads where you live? We have lots of them around our house. My dad works at a laboratory where they try to learn how to help farmers grow food better. Sometimes he takes my brothers and me on Saturday mornings out to see the fields he studies. There are long ditches that bring water to irrigate the crops, and sometimes they are full of tadpoles. We usually catch a few of them and bring them home with us. The first time we did this, we put them in an aquarium in our family room. They really liked it there—except for one thing. Our fighting fish bit off their tails and then ate them up!

I was nearing my seventh birthday when we went to Grandma’s house. I ran into the house yelling, “Grandma, we’re here!”
“Aren’t you excited?” she asked. “This is your present.” She was sitting at a table with a nearly finished porcelain doll that she had made to look like me! It had brown hair and blue eyes like me. It was in a white dress. She explained that the white dress was to help me prepare for my baptism in a year. The doll was holding a bouquet of flowers, which she explained were the colors of the Young Women values.
The white dress was for faith, the blue flowers for divine nature, the red flowers for individual worth, the green leaves for knowledge, the orange flowers for choice and accountability, the yellow flowers for good works, and the purple flowers for integrity. She said that she is going to give me a new doll each year representing these value colors to help me prepare for Young Women.
I wore a dress very much like the doll’s to my baptism!Krystel A., age 8, Utah

Thompson remembered from his boyhood in Norway speeding down mountains on skis. Why can’t mail be delivered this way, he reasoned.

In January of 1856, Thompson set out on his first mail run from Placerville, California, on the western slope of the Sierras, to Carson Valley on the east side, nearly one hundred miles away. To travel on top of the snow, he wore ten-foot-long, twenty-five-pound runners that he had whittled himself. Observers and Thompson both called them Norwegian snowshoes.

His first winter trip might have been Thompson’s last, because at one point he mistakenly trusted a snowbridge across a chasm. It had seemed firm and solidly frozen, but when he reached the center, it began to pull away from the cliff behind him. Fortunately, he managed to grab a tough pine root on the cliff ahead just as the bridge collapsed and fell into the rocky abyss below. He thanked God and vowed he would never make that mistake again.

As he went on, he had to judge correctly the safety of the icy crust of fifty-foot drifts. He kept his bearings by observing trees, wind direction, rock and mountain formations. When nighttime came, he stayed on course by observing the stars. He slept warmly at night by setting a stump afire, hollowing a cave in a snowdrift facing the fire, and lining the cave with pine boughs.

It took three days’ travel for the longer, steeper climbs of the eastward crossing and two days to return to California. When the citizens of Placerville, California, heard Thompson’s High Sierra whoops as he skimmed down the last slope carrying mail from Carson Valley, they cheered. “Snowshoe Thompson!” they shouted, and the name “Snowshoe” was born.

I remember a fine minister, visiting Salt Lake City from South Africa, who came to my office inquiring:
“What is the basis for your doctrine of baptism for the dead?”
“Is baptism essential?” I asked.
“Yes,” he responded.
“Do you believe God is just?”
“Of course,” he replied.
“Then what of those who died without baptism?” I inquired, and he indicated that he had often wondered about that. I asked whether he had overlooked Paul’s teaching: “Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead, if the dead rise not at all? why are they then baptized for the dead?” (1 Cor. 15:29.) The minister looked at me and quietly said: “Thank you for explaining that doctrine.” I was glad he had been enlightened but sad that he and so many others had failed to see before. Yes, our Father in Heaven loves all of his children and has provided a way for every one of them to return to him.

Note: Mary’s 10-year-old son, Joseph Fielding, who drove a team to the Valley as well as any man, later became the sixth President of the Church.
After two difficult years at Winter Quarters, Nebraska, Mary Fielding Smith was anxious to follow the Saints west with her family. Besides the children of her martyred husband, Hyrum, Mary’s household included several others for whom she felt responsible. By the spring of 1848 Mary had managed to acquire seven dilapidated wagons, pulled by mismatched teams of calves and young steers yoked together with a few oxen. Urged on by her faith and determination, the caravan hurried to catch up with the other emigrants, three days away at Elk Horn.
At Elk Horn the man in charge said … “You will be a burden on the company the whole way, and I will have to carry you along or leave you!”
Not knowing Mary’s faith, the man was surprised and resentful at her answer, “I will beat you to the valley and will ask no help from you either.”
Midway between the Platte and Sweetwater Rivers, one of the Smith’s plodding oxen lay down in the yoke as though it had been poisoned. “I told you that you would have to be helped and that you would be a burden.”
But Mary calmly asked her brother and a neighbor to administer to the ox.
Within a few moments, the animal was up and pulling his load. Two other times the Smith’s animals were administered to and healed.
It was a difficult journey under the hot blistering sun …
But eventually the company struggled to the top of East Mountain. “Look Mother, there it is!”
That night the company camped at the base of Little Mountain.
When the order was given to roll in the morning, the Smiths met with still another disappointment—most of their teams had strayed away. The supervisor, anxious that Mary’s promise not come true, ordered the company to leave anyway.
“Forward, Ho!”
Although it was a beautiful, sunny September day, a dark thundercloud formed over the final hill the company was ascending before entering the valley.
Suddenly a violent storm broke! The teams became unmanageable and the supervisor ordered them to be unhitched. Frightened, the untethered animals escaped.
Meanwhile, the Smiths’ strays were rounded up and hitched to their wagons and the storm had quieted down. When Mary’s brother Joseph asked if they should wait for the company to reassemble, she replied with well-earned independence: “They have not waited for us, and I see no necessity for us to wait for them.”
True to her promise, Mary Fielding Smith reached the valley ahead of the company and without any help from them. She had placed her faith in the Lord, and had overcome every obstacle.
Note: Mary’s 10-year-old son, Joseph Fielding, who drove a team to the valley as well as any man, later became the sixth President of the Church.

Angelo Scarpulla started his theological studies in his native Italy when he was 10. He eventually became a priest and served his church with devotion. At a certain point his faith started to waver, and he sought and received opportunities for further study. The more he studied, however, the more concerned he became. What he read and felt convinced him that there had been a general apostasy from the true doctrine taught by Jesus and the early Apostles. Angelo searched for God’s true religion in various faiths but was left unsatisfied for many years.
One day he encountered two members of the Church who were helping the missionaries find more people to teach. He felt drawn to them and joyfully listened to their message. Angelo willingly accepted a copy of the Book of Mormon.
That evening he started reading the book. He felt overcome with joy. Through the Spirit, God gave Angelo an inner assurance that in the Book of Mormon he would find the truth for which he had been seeking for many years. Sweet feelings flooded through him. What he read and what he learned from the missionaries confirmed his conclusion that there had been a general apostasy, but he also learned that God’s true Church had been restored to the earth. A short while later, Angelo was baptized into the Church. When I first met him, he was the president of the Rimini Branch of our Church in Italy.

When I was a little girl, my parents took my sister and me to an orchard owned by the Church. We were there to help pick peaches. We climbed up on tall ladders and reached through thick leaves to pick the peaches off the trees.
At first, we were excited. But soon the fuzz on the fruit made our arms all itchy! We told our mom, “We don’t want to do this anymore. We want to stop.”
My mom asked us if we knew where all the peaches went. When we said no, she explained it to us.
“Each of these peaches is taken to a building where volunteers put them in cans. Then those cans are given to people who need food. Each year the Church donates thousands of cans of food.”
All of a sudden, my sister and I stopped worrying about our itchy arms. We were helping people who needed food! After that, we had fun climbing up the ladders and picking the fuzzy orange fruit.

Thirteen years ago we discovered that our daughter Becky was expecting twins. The doctors determined through many tests that they were at high risk, developing in the same sac, with a mortality rate of 20 to 60 percent. Normally this condition requires automatic hospitalization at 24 weeks so the babies can constantly be monitored. With a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old already in her family we knew that this would be next to impossible. Immediately we all started praying for miracles, whatever that meant. The priesthood blessings she received from her husband gave her great comfort.
At about 16 weeks she saw the specialist for the first time. He reviewed the past tests and came back with the same grim results. Then he did yet another ultrasound. The doctor was stunned by what he found, so he called in other doctors to verify his findings. Finally he reported that they had actually seen the faintest membrane developing, meaning that the babies were indeed in two separate sacs. Our son-in-law, her husband, who is also a doctor, had seen all the previous test results and now this new one. He said it was nothing short of a medical miracle – a membrane was developing. Our Becky called me in tears and said, “People can explain it however they want, but I know it’s the miracle we’ve been praying for.”
After many other uncertainties and complications during the pregnancy coupled with amazing blessings, two miraculously perfect little 5 pound girls were born. I felt that angels were attending our daughter and I knew that the day of miracles has not ceased.

When I was a boy, I was my mother’s most difficult young child to raise. I had an overabundance of energy. My mother tells me that her greatest fear was that I would not live to see adulthood. I was just too active.

I remember as a young boy sitting in one particular sacrament meeting with our family. My mother had just received a new set of scriptures. This new set combined the entire standard works into one bound edition, and in the very center was lined paper for note-taking.

During the meeting, I asked if I could hold her scriptures. With the hope of promoting my reverence, she handed them down the pew. As I perused her scriptures, I noticed that she had written a personal goal in the note section. To provide context for her goal, I must tell you that I am the second of six children and my name is Brett. My mother had written, in red, just one goal: “Patience with Brett!”

As further evidence to help you understand the challenge my parents faced in raising our family, let me tell you about our family scripture reading. Each morning, my mother read the Book of Mormon to us during breakfast. During this time, my older brother, Dave, and I would sit quietly but irreverently. To be completely honest, we weren’t listening. We were reading the print on the cereal boxes.

Finally, one morning, I decided to square up with my mother. I exclaimed, “Mom, why are you doing this to us? Why are you reading the Book of Mormon every morning?” I then made a statement that I am embarrassed to admit to. In fact, I can’t believe I actually said it. I told her, “Mom, I am not listening!”

Her loving response was a defining moment in my life. She said, “Son, I was at a meeting where President Marion G. Romney taught about the blessings of scripture reading. During this meeting, I received a promise that if I would read the Book of Mormon to my children every day, I would not lose them.” She then looked me straight in the eyes and, with absolute determination, said, “And I will not lose you!”

Her words pierced my heart. Notwithstanding my imperfections, I was worth saving! She taught me the eternal truth that I am a son of a loving Heavenly Father. I learned that no matter what the circumstance, I was worth it. This was a perfect moment for an imperfect little boy.